Ryven Voss woke before the station lights shifted into morning cycle.
Not because he was rested.
Because he stopped trusting sleep several days ago.
The Medbay room remained dim behind him, soft amber lighting washing quietly across the walls while Kael slept beneath the blankets with one hand half-curled near his chest like his body still had not fully decided whether it was recovering or preparing for another fight.
Ryven stood beside the bed for several seconds without moving.
Watching.
Kael looked better than he did last night.
Color had returned faintly to his face, and the deep strain that had tightened around his breathing earlier seemed lighter now. The monitors beside the bed projected stable vitals in calm blue lines instead of angry warning colors.
Stable.
Finally.
Ryven adjusted the blanket slightly higher over Kael's shoulder before stepping back.
The movement earned him a faint sleepy noise from Kael that sounded suspiciously offended at losing body heat.
Ryven almost smiled.
Almost.
"You're impossible," he muttered quietly.
Kael did not wake up.
Good.
He needed the sleep.
After what his body endured in the Wrong Sky, unconsciousness honestly counted as medical maintenance at this point.
Ryven picked up the datapad from the nearby table and left the room.
The corridor outside Medbay carried the strange atmosphere of very early morning aboard a military station.
Quiet.
Not empty.
Systems hummed steadily through reinforced walls while distant footsteps echoed occasionally across polished flooring. Nurses exchanged low conversations near a supply station farther down the hall. Somewhere nearby, someone dropped metal equipment and immediately whispered several extremely creative curses afterward.
Normal.
That word still felt strange after the Wrong Sky.
Ryven walked through the corridor with controlled purpose, eyes focused ahead while the datapad rested beneath his arm.
The footage Kael identified last night replayed continuously in the back of his mind.
Containment ships.
Extraction positioning.
Waiting.
The attack had not been designed purely to destroy the convoy.
It had objectives.
Targets.
That changed everything.
Ryven rounded the next corridor toward the command section reserved for senior officers and immediately heard footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.
"You should be asleep."
Leona Voss appeared around the corner carrying a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the expression of a woman who had absolutely not slept enough herself.
Her eyes landed on Ryven once.
Then narrowed.
"You look terrible."
Ryven considered that assessment. "…thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I gathered that."
Leona stepped closer immediately, medical instincts taking over before motherly concern even fully finished arriving. Her gaze moved clinically across him—fatigue, posture stiffness, dehydration, residual stress tension.
Then something else caught her attention.
Her eyes narrowed further.
"…are you smiling?"
Ryven blinked once.
Leona gasped quietly like she had personally witnessed a classified military event.
"ARE YOU ACTUALLY SMILING?"
Her voice echoed through the corridor.
Doors opened.
Immediately.
Marcus Voss stepped out of his office first, composed as always despite clearly being awake already. Behind him, Leon emerged several seconds later carrying a datapad and looking only mildly surprised by whatever chaos his mother apparently discovered this early in the morning.
They all saw the same thing.
Ryven standing in the corridor.
Alive.
Exhausted.
And yes—
technically smiling.
Barely.
But enough.
Leon stopped mid-step. "…well that's horrifying."
Leona pointed dramatically. "Look at him!"
"I am looking," Leon answered. "That's the problem."
Marcus remained quieter.
Observing.
His gaze lingered on Ryven's expression for several seconds before understanding settled behind his eyes.
Kael woke up.
Of course.
Only one thing on this station could currently make Ryven look even remotely human before sunrise.
"He regained consciousness?" Marcus asked calmly.
Ryven nodded once. "Last night."
Leona visibly relaxed.
Not completely.
But enough that some of the tension left her shoulders.
"And?" she pressed immediately.
"He's stable." A pause. "Hungry." Another. "And already trying to work."
Leon groaned softly. "Of course he is."
"He requested Mei's combat data," Ryven added.
That earned him a look from all three of them.
Leona looked personally betrayed. "You gave it to him?"
"He was already analyzing the Wrong Sky before I could stop him."
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STOP HIM."
Ryven considered that statement carefully.
"…have you met him?"
Leon snorted.
Marcus hid amusement slightly better than the rest of them.
Leona pointed accusingly at Ryven again. "You are enabling him."
"He was going to analyze it anyway."
"That's not the point."
Ryven shifted the datapad slightly beneath his arm. "He found something."
That changed the atmosphere instantly.
Not dramatically.
But completely.
Marcus straightened slightly.
Leon's expression sharpened.
Leona stopped talking.
"What kind of something?" Marcus asked.
Ryven lifted the datapad. "We need a secure room."
Marcus turned immediately toward his office. "Inside."
The shift from family concern to military precision happened so naturally it barely required visible adjustment.
The office doors sealed behind them several seconds later.
The room itself remained understated despite belonging to Supreme Commander Marcus Voss—clean dark surfaces, layered tactical displays, minimal decoration beyond fleet insignia positioned along the far wall.
Efficient.
Focused.
Ryven moved directly toward the central display terminal and connected the datapad without wasting time.
The Wrong Sky appeared immediately across the projection.
Fire.
Broken formations.
Distorted stars.
Leona folded her arms tightly. "…I hate looking at this."
Ryven understood.
The footage carried a different kind of horror now that they knew how close the convoy came to disappearing completely.
"Kael identified an inconsistency," Ryven said.
Leon moved closer. "What kind?"
Ryven rewound the footage.
Slower.
Then slower again.
The room quieted except for the soft sound of playback controls and distant station systems humming behind reinforced walls.
"There."
He isolated a section.
The funnel pattern formed across the screen—enemy pressure collapsing inward from multiple vectors while convoy formations destabilized under relentless attack.
At first glance, everything still looked chaotic.
Then Ryven slowed the playback again.
Two ships appeared.
Small.
Black.
Unmarked.
Leona frowned immediately. "…why aren't they engaging?"
"That's what Kael noticed," Ryven answered quietly.
Leon stepped closer.
Marcus remained still behind them, gaze fixed sharply on the projection.
Ryven replayed the sequence once.
Twice.
Three times.
By the third playback, the movement pattern became impossible to ignore.
The ships weren't maneuvering for attack positions.
They were adjusting toward collection points.
Receiving points.
Containment lanes.
Leon's expression darkened immediately. "…those aren't combat vectors."
"No," Ryven agreed.
Leona's medical calm disappeared completely beneath something colder. "They were waiting."
Ryven nodded once. "Containment units."
Silence settled heavily across the room.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Marcus finally spoke.
"They intended extraction."
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Ryven replayed the footage one final time.
The ships shifted subtly again near the edge of the collapsing formation while combat pressure redirected targets inward.
Not random.
Deliberate.
"They weren't targeting the convoy itself," Ryven said quietly. "They were isolating individuals."
Leon crossed his arms slowly. "…the Elite."
Another silence followed.
Longer this time.
Leona leaned forward slightly toward the screen, eyes narrowing harder with every replay. "They ran out of time."
Or—
something interrupted the sequence before completion.
Ryven did not say it aloud.
None of them needed him to.
Kael.
Marcus's expression hardened visibly now, strategic calculations already moving behind his eyes.
"This does not leave this room," he said immediately.
Leona nodded once. "I'll handle Medbay masking."
Leon looked toward Ryven. "We should assume internal channels are compromised until proven otherwise."
Ryven agreed.
The fact that nobody questioned the possibility anymore said enough by itself.
Then Leona turned abruptly toward Ryven again.
And hit him directly in the shoulder.
Hard.
"OW."
"YOUR MATE ALMOST DIED," she snapped. "AND YOU LET HIM ANALYZE TRAUMA FOOTAGE BEFORE BREAKFAST."
Ryven rubbed his shoulder once. "He asked."
"That is not an acceptable defense."
Leon looked deeply entertained now. "She's right, you know."
"You are not helping."
Leona narrowed her eyes. "And another thing."
Ryven immediately distrusted that tone.
"You let him think Krysta was bullying you."
A pause.
Ryven looked away briefly.
Leon stared.
Marcus closed his eyes once very slowly like a man processing catastrophic disappointment.
"…you blamed the Benton girl?" Leon asked carefully.
"He was fussing over me."
Silence.
Then—
Leon physically turned away laughing.
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose.
Leona looked scandalized.
"That is manipulative."
Ryven remained completely serious. "It was effective."
"That's worse!"
Leon pointed accusingly while still laughing. "He's getting smarter."
"No," Marcus answered immediately. "He's getting attached."
That shut the room up briefly.
Because it was true.
Ryven did not deny it.
Did not argue.
Instead, he looked back toward the frozen Wrong Sky footage still hanging above the display.
Containment ships.
Extraction lanes.
Targets.
Then—
Kael's voice from last night replayed quietly in his memory.
They wanted the Elite.
No.
Ryven's expression sharpened slightly.
Not the Elite.
The pattern concentrated too heavily around one point.
One pilot.
One anomaly.
One impossible Omega who could read battlefields faster than most command systems.
Leon noticed the shift in his expression immediately. "What?"
Ryven answered quietly.
"They weren't hunting all of us equally."
The room stilled.
Marcus looked toward the projection again slowly.
Leona's face tightened.
Leon's amusement disappeared entirely.
Ryven replayed the footage one final time.
Now everyone saw it.
The pressure gradients.
The containment positioning.
The narrowing convergence toward Kael's sector.
Marcus exhaled once.
Cold.
Measured.
"…they were targeting him."
No one argued.
Because now—
they could see it too.
The office fell silent afterward.
Not uncertain.
Certain in the worst possible way.
Outside the reinforced windows, station dawn lighting finally began shifting gradually across the corridors beyond.
Morning arriving.
But the room no longer felt like morning.
It felt like the beginning of something much worse.
Several minutes later, Ryven left the office carrying the datapad again.
The corridor outside felt different now.
Sharper.
Every passing officer suddenly looked like a variable to evaluate.
Every system channel potentially compromised.
Kael had been right.
Again.
Ryven returned quietly toward Medbay.
The lights inside the room remained dim when he entered.
Kael was still asleep.
Barely.
His body had shifted slightly closer toward the side of the bed Ryven normally occupied like instinct had taken over even unconscious.
Ryven set the datapad carefully on the nearby table within easy reach.
Because hiding it would only annoy Kael later.
Then he sat beside the bed again.
Close enough for the bond to settle properly.
Close enough to feel the steady warmth of Kael's presence without needing confirmation from monitors.
Ryven reached over and adjusted the blanket slightly again.
"…you're going to ask for the footage the second you wake up," he muttered quietly.
Kael made another sleepy noise.
Possibly agreement.
Possibly complaint.
Hard to tell.
Ryven's gaze lingered on him several seconds longer.
Then softer—
"They weren't trying to destroy you."
A pause.
The words felt heavier spoken aloud.
"They were trying to take you."
Kael slept through the statement.
Probably for the best.
Because Ryven already knew something else now.
The Wrong Sky was not over.
It had only failed the first time.