Ccg 8.1.4 -

“It’s a trap,” Mercer said. “The Syndicate. The Tarrans. Someone who cracked the old archives.”

“You have to.” He tapped his chest. The life-support monitor there was a flat, green line. “The paste ran out this morning. I’ve been running on adrenaline and spite for the last six hours. I just wanted to see your face one more time before I went.”

He looked like a corpse that had refused to lie down. His skin was gray. His left arm ended in a cauterized stump. But his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—were alive. And they were smiling.

“We swept the debris field ,” Elara corrected. “We never went back to the surface.” Ccg 8.1.4

Elara felt the tears come, hot and silent. She didn’t wipe them away.

No one else could know that name. The Colonial Guard had scrubbed it from every record after the disaster.

Elara sat in the command chair. The data chip felt like a loaded gun in her pocket. “It’s a trap,” Mercer said

Elara’s mind reeled. “Who?”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

“Then why use a personal authenticator I never filed?” Elara stood up. Her knees ached. She was too old for ghosts. But she’d left Jin for the fire. She’d sealed the blast doors herself, his voice screaming through the comm: Go, Sundog! Go! Someone who cracked the old archives

She keyed the ship’s intercom. “Mercer. Get to the bridge. Now.”

“Captain—”