The projections dimmed slightly after Serena's praise.
Not because Krysta changed them.
Because the system automatically adjusted to the slowing movement in the room.
The Vanguard Fleet hummed softly beneath the floor while hundreds of rotating data windows continued drifting lazily through the laboratory like artificial constellations.
Nobody spoke for a little while.
Jules finally opened one of the abandoned food containers.
Steam escaped immediately.
"…miraculously still edible."
Krysta accepted the bowl automatically without looking away from the projections.
Then paused.
Looked down.
"…when did this get here."
"An hour ago."
"That feels emotionally manipulative."
"It was."
"Fair."
She took one bite absentmindedly while still reviewing personnel trees floating overhead.
Serena watched her daughter carefully.
Then quietly noticed something else rotating near the far edge of the room.
Not tactical overlays.
Not cadet structures.
Old records.
Very old records.
Serena's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Krysta."
Krysta hummed distractedly around another bite of food.
"What."
Serena pointed slowly toward the far projection cluster.
"What are those."
Krysta finally looked properly.
Then sighed softly.
"Oh."
The room shifted slightly after that.
Because her voice changed.
Subtle.
But enough.
Jules immediately recognized it too.
That wasn't military analysis anymore.
That was personal.
Krysta set the food bowl down carefully before walking toward the far end of the room.
The projections followed her automatically.
Images expanded quietly into the center space.
Old photographs.
Academy uniforms.
Smiling cadets.
Young.
Too young.
Jules frowned slowly.
"…who are they."
Krysta hesitated briefly.
Then answered quietly.
"Missing persons."
That immediately changed the room.
Serena stepped closer without speaking.
The first image sharpened fully.
Three girls stood together in old academy uniforms beneath sunlight reflecting off a frigate landing platform.
One leaned casually against the railing.
One smiled directly toward the camera.
One looked halfway through laughing at something outside the frame.
Alive.
Bright.
Young enough it hurt to look at.
Krysta lifted one hand toward the center figure.
"Juliette Torres."
Another shift.
"Marina Forest."
Another.
"Francesca Mercier."
Jules blinked slowly.
"…Torres' aunt."
Krysta nodded once.
"And the Forest twins' aunt."
Another small movement.
"Rafe's aunt too."
Serena's expression sharpened immediately.
Because now the implications mattered.
Great House children.
Missing.
Together.
The image shifted again.
Additional cadets appeared.
A Vega engineering student.
Two Titan pilots.
Escort personnel.
Training officers.
Mission prep footage rotated slowly through the room in grainy archive quality.
Jules stepped closer quietly.
"They look happy."
Krysta's mouth tightened slightly.
"They were."
Silence settled softly afterward.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
Krysta expanded another file slowly.
MISSION RECORD: THIRD-YEAR FIELD DEPLOYMENT
CLASSIFICATION: ARCHIVED
STATUS: UNSOLVED
Jules frowned.
"…third-year deployments."
Serena nodded faintly.
"They stopped those after the holiday massacre."
Krysta folded her arms lightly.
"This happened before that."
The projection shifted again.
This time the image quality worsened immediately.
Static.
Distortion.
Damaged recording fragments.
Everyone in the room stilled.
Because suddenly this no longer looked like history.
It looked familiar.
Too familiar.
The audio crackled first.
Broken breathing.
Then—
"…not pirates…"
The room went silent instantly.
Krysta's eyes remained fixed on the projection while the dying voice struggled through interference.
"…black ship…"
Static tore violently across the recording.
"…no markings…"
Jules slowly lowered the food container in his hands.
Because now even he recognized the pattern.
Unknown ship.
Unmarked transport.
Extraction.
The same shape as Wrong Sky.
The same feeling.
The recording continued briefly.
"…girls taken…"
Then silence.
Complete.
The projection froze.
Nobody spoke.
Because the meaning settled immediately.
Not random violence.
Not piracy.
Collection.
Serena's gaze hardened sharply.
"How long ago."
"Twenty-five years," Krysta answered quietly.
Jules exhaled slowly.
"…and nobody found them."
Krysta shook her head once.
"No bodies."
A pause.
"Just the escorts."
The room remained painfully quiet.
Because now Wrong Sky felt different.
Closer.
Older.
Like something unfinished had reached back toward them again.
Serena stepped closer toward the frozen projection.
"Who buried this."
Krysta's eyes shifted briefly toward her mother.
"We don't know."
A beat.
"But someone did."
More files unfolded automatically afterward.
Investigation shutdown notices.
Restricted access markers.
Suppressed fleet reports.
Fragmented testimony.
Too many gaps.
Far too many.
Jules stared upward slowly.
"…someone covered this up."
"Yes," Serena answered immediately.
Not speculation.
Fact.
Krysta expanded another projection slowly.
Age progression models appeared beside the original photographs.
Juliette.
Marina.
Francesca.
Older now.
Not memories anymore.
Possibilities.
The room shifted emotionally after that.
Because suddenly those girls stopped looking dead.
And started looking missing.
Jules rubbed one hand across his jaw slowly.
"Torres knows you're digging through this?"
Krysta looked mildly offended.
"Torres sent me half the archive personally."
"…right."
Of course he did.
Serena studied the projections carefully.
Then quietly realized something else.
"These disappearances stopped."
Krysta nodded immediately.
"After the holiday transport massacre."
Another shift of files appeared.
Policy revisions.
Academy deployment restructuring.
Third-year missions canceled permanently.
Only fourth-year evaluations remained.
Serena's eyes narrowed.
"They adapted."
Krysta nodded again.
"Which means somebody realized the original system exposed students too early."
The implication settled coldly across the room.
Not prevention.
Optimization.
Jules looked increasingly disturbed now.
"I genuinely hate this conversation."
"That's because it keeps getting worse," Krysta informed him.
Helpful.
Very helpful.
The projection shifted once more.
This time toward newer files.
Wrong Sky.
Kael.
Ryven.
Containment vectors.
Unmarked extraction pathways.
The parallels became impossible to ignore.
Serena stared at the overlap silently.
Then quietly said—
"They came back."
Nobody argued.
Because everyone there saw it now.
Not coincidence.
Pattern.
A long one.
Krysta crossed her arms tightly afterward.
"They wanted Caleb alive."
The room tightened immediately.
Because hearing it spoken aloud still felt wrong somehow.
Jules looked toward his daughter carefully.
"You think this is connected."
Krysta met his gaze directly.
"I think someone has been collecting exceptional cadets for decades."
Silence.
Deep.
Dangerous.
Because none of them could immediately disprove it.
Serena's posture shifted subtly then.
Commander again.
Strategic.
Focused.
"We tell no one else about this yet."
Krysta nodded immediately.
"Already encrypted."
"Good."
Jules glanced upward nervously.
"I miss when our family problems involved Caleb falling out of trees."
Krysta frowned thoughtfully.
"He technically jumped voluntarily."
"That somehow makes it worse."
The room softened briefly around the edges again.
Small.
Human.
Necessary.
Because without those moments—
fear would have swallowed everything.
Serena looked one final time toward the aged projection models floating quietly beside the old academy photographs.
Juliette Torres.
Marina Forest.
Francesca Mercier.
Missing girls frozen forever between history and possibility.
Then her gaze shifted.
Toward Kael's tactical marker.
Toward Ryven's.
Toward the future.
"They failed twenty-five years ago," Serena said quietly.
Not emotional.
Absolute.
"They will fail again."
Krysta stared silently at the rotating projections afterward.
At all the names.
All the cadets.
All the children trying to survive a Federation slowly revealing darker truths beneath its foundations.
Then quietly—
almost too softly to hear—
she said,
"I'm making sure of it."