The Horizon Talon came into the harbor under light sail, cutting a slow path across the harbor that didn’t stir a single flag on the half-built watchtowers. Their only greeting was the long line of cranes held at half-rise, the long arms frozen over shattered piers and gutted warehouses like the bones of something caught mid-reach. The fog had lifted in patches, retreating enough to show the wreckage of the city for what it was, a monument to a world no longer there.

  The site of the Tidebound Front docks and fortifications came into view in the form of steel laid over stone, barricades fused from hull plates and salvaged armor, a dozen last-minute fortifications that had the shape of desperation more than design.

  Kade stood at the fore rail, silent as the deck crew moved around her. She could hear Bishop issuing course corrections near the helm, voice low but steady. The crew didn’t need volume anymore. They had learned to listen the first time.

  Lines were already being thrown ashore by the time the first of the dockhands appeared, two figures in mismatched gear and patched coats who didn’t so much as glance toward the ship as they secured the mooring. One of them looked barely old enough to serve as a cabin boy. The other had a splinted wrist and the slumped posture of someone too tired to fake alertness.

  It wasn’t that they didn’t recognize the Talon. There was a general undertone of tension in everyone on the dock.

  Behind Kade, the deck shifted as the last of the guns retracted into their housing. One marine cracked a joke about salt rot and storm pay, but no one laughed. The joke didn’t land as the crew started to pick up on the awkwardness being shown by the dockworkers.

  There’d been no hail. No signal from the port authority. And no sign of the three faction leaders who’d been so eager to send them into the dungeon just days ago.

  Not a good start.

  She turned her head slightly as Bishop approached. He didn’t speak until he was standing beside her, shoulders squared, one hand resting just above his belt where a sidearm now sat holstered beneath the coat.

  "There were no signals on approach," he said.

  "Not looking good for the home team."

  "No, no, it's not. Something is up. You can see it on their faces." His eyes tracked across the dockworkers, the silence, the spaces people weren’t standing. "My money says Levi’s name will be circling this place before you’ve got both boots off the ship once they figure out he's dead."

  "Then let’s not waste time pretending otherwise."

  The gangplank struck home with a dull rattle of chain and timber. Two marines moved forward without waiting for orders. Stone at the lead, Briggs at the rear, and between them hung the weighted shape of the body bag.

  They didn’t try to obscure the weight or length. Levi had died underground, making a grab for something he hadn’t been offered, and had paid the price.

  Robin and Colt were already gone.

  Robin had dropped down from the side of the ship, not waiting for the gangplank. Robin had said nothing, but the way she carried herself said it all. She had failed to do what she had been sent to do and now had to report her failure. It was also the look of someone already planning their next move.

  Colt had vanished the moment the gangplank had touched the dock, shouldering past everyone else and stalking off into the smoke with his hands clenched and his eyes locked straight ahead.

  Kade didn’t bother trying to stop either of them. She stayed with the body.

  Three steps behind the bag, just close enough to be part of the silence that followed it, she walked down the gangplank without ceremony, her boots meeting the wooden planks with the solid, unhurried cadence of someone who knew the real battle hadn’t started yet. Given the tension in the air, it was clear that things weren't going well. Having retrieved the artifact was going to be like throwing gasoline on a burning fire.

  Movement at the dock head caught her attention. Eight uniforms in Tidebound colors, shoulders marked with the faction symbol moved toward the Horizon Talon. Most carried crossbows, but none had them raised.

  Their leader stepped forward. A woman with a buzzed scalp and a scar bisecting her collarbone, the rest of her frame hidden behind the flak vest and the stance of someone ready to defend themselves at the slightest provocation.

  "Lieutenant Kade," she said. "You’re requested at the summit. They’re waiting."

  Requested. That may have been the word used, but it came with an escort, and not a single face among the group looked curious enough to ask what had happened at the dungeon.

  Kade gave the dock a long sweep of her eyes. There were workers on the scaffolds, soldiers on the nearby pallisades, a runner ducking through crates with messages in hand. None of them looked toward her.

  Bishop moved to her side, voice pitched low.

  "I’ll stay with the Talon," he said. "Crew needs eyes on. You’ll have a report within the hour."

  "Post a watch. Full perimeter. Don't have the Marines stand down until I’m back."

  His nod was already halfway there.

  Kade turned without another word and stepped into motion.

  The Tidebound didn’t box her in or pace too close. They didn’t need to. The message wasn’t in their weapons or formation. It was in the path itself, which had been cleared of civilians and obstructions, as if Portland had already drawn a line and was waiting to see if she’d cross it.

  They passed the quartermaster’s depot, where men and women in armor with two-day stubble and bandaged hands stared down at their boots like the sight of a body bag might somehow make their own wounds worse. A dock vendor near the seawall folded his stand without bothering to close the lockbox. Everyone was going out of their way to avoid drawing attention.

  This isn’t just about Levi. Levi was the excuse. Not the cause.

  Even for a council envoy, the level of tension didn’t make sense. The air had the edge of something else. Plans unraveling, positions hardening, the sharp prelude to a power grab.

  The building the summit was being held in rose ahead of them, its bulk turned squat and angular by retrofit. The original concrete base had been reinforced with steel and welded struts, half a bunker and half a fortress now, with a burned-out awning still hanging above the side entrance and a pair of mounted lanterns mounted to either side of the entrance.

  Kade didn’t slow.

  No need to ask what waited on the other side of the door.

  Kade stepped through without hesitation, crossing into the summit chamber with the steady weight of someone who didn’t intend to ask for permission. The door closed behind her with a metallic catch, sealing off the street noise and leaving only the burn of old lanterns against poured concrete walls.

  The table in the center of the room wasn’t ornamental. It was industrial, reinforced steel with burn marks near the edges and bolted legs that looked salvaged from a dock crane. Around it sat the leaders of the three factions, arranged in mock symmetry but with chairs angled like they expected to be stabbed in the back by their neighbor. None stood. No one offered greeting.

  Captain Voss was at the far end, coat neatly folded over the back of the chair, collar open, boots polished to a matte finish that caught just enough light to remind people he hadn’t lost the habit of command. He gave a brief nod. He was an anchor in a room already dragging itself apart.

  Burrell Haskett of the Tidebound Front lounged with an almost choreographed impatience, elbow braced on the table, fingers tapping once every few seconds as if to remind the room that time wasn’t free. He had fresh burn scars across his knuckles. He watched her with the narrow focus of someone who had already decided where the line was drawn.

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  Councilor Ryan Callan sat perfectly straight, back not touching the chair, Restoration Council pin polished to a mirror shine on the lapel of his tailored coat. His expression held the studied disappointment of a man who believed decorum outranked survival. He didn’t so much as blink as she entered.

  And at the edge of the light, arms crossed and a floating glass orb spinning lazy circles near her shoulder, stood Mireya. She wasn't wearing armor or weapons, just a deep violet sash over pale field gear and the unmistakable detachment of someone already cataloging something for later study. Her eyes didn’t wander. They locked onto Kade and stayed there.

  Kade didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked to the table, reached into the satchel at her side, and placed the artifact in front of them with a sound like a gong as the table rang from the impact.

  "This is what we recovered," Kade said without preamble. "It is the second half of the safe zone artifact. My assumption is that when combined with the other half, it will be ready for use with an existing safe zone."

  No one spoke.

  She let the silence stretch just long enough to draw out the awkwardness, then continued.

  "Dungeon was under hostile control by undead elements that appeared tied to the ongoing world event. The lighthouse system was tied to the dungeon’s completion status. We reset it. Visibility is restored between Portland and the island."

  Still no reaction, no questions, no hints of anything whatsoever.

  Kade rested her hands on the table, not leaning in, not yielding.

  "Once a safe zone is established, it is my recommendation that parties be sent to the dungeon. The site, while dangerous, will be a long-term asset. Magical gear, ship upgrades, skill items, and other upgrades were all available as loot."

  She turned her eyes across the table, not stopping until she landed on each of them once.

  "I have a full after-action report available with the Captain's permission."

  Callan spoke first. Of course he did.

  "A council representative is dead."

  Kade didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. He wasn’t asking.

  Callan’s voice tightened, a thread of performance stitched into every word.

  "Mr. Lennox died under your command. The Restoration Council expects to be informed how a diplomatic observer ends up in a body bag on your watch."

  "Levi Lennox entered the dungeon against my recommendation," Kade said.

  She didn’t stop with that one statement as she started to build up a head of steam.

  "He attempted to secure the artifact while the boss fight was still ongoing. He ignored orders. He compromised the mission on several occasions and placed others in direct harm. He died trying to steal what none of you had claim to."

  Callan’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of guilt fighting for space behind the practiced look of outrage.

  "Outrageous! That is an unsubstantiated accusation!"

  Kade turned slightly toward Mireya.

  "He wasn’t the only one. Colt made his play after the boss was down. Robin didn’t move on the artifact directly, but based on posturing and several comments she made during the dungeon run, I’d say she had similar orders."

  "Preposterous," Mireya said sharply. The orb at her shoulder flared once, a soft flicker of magic lacing the edge of her voice. "The Ebonwake Conclave does not engage in theft. We are scientists, not political schemers. You’ve made a baseless attack against a faction that has done nothing but provide support during these dangerous times…"

  "You want to talk stability?" Haskett snapped, rising halfway from his seat. "Because from where I’m sitting, your so-called observers are the ones stirring the damn pot. Every time one of your people shows up, something breaks loose."

  Callan stood next.

  "This is a Restoration matter. A Restoration death. I demand that Lieutenant Kade answer for the death of Levi Lennox. Not whatever backroom militia politics you’re…"

  "We don’t answer to anyone who hid in a vault while the world burned," Haskett said, full voice now. "You want to wave the old flag, go ahead. But don’t pretend your boy didn’t go down there with orders in his pocket to screw over the working class yet again."

  Voices rose. Chairs scraped. Mireya’s orb floated higher, casting a sharp silver glow that threw their shadows twice their height against the back wall. Callan stepped into the light as if he thought volume could carry authority. Haskett rounded the table with the look of someone deciding who deserved to be punched first.

  Kade didn’t move.

  She didn’t need to. The moment was already breaking.

  Only Captain Voss hadn’t spoken.

  He rose slowly, one hand pressed flat against the tabletop, the other resting loosely at his side. His voice wasn’t loud, but the room listened.

  "That’s enough."

  The arguing didn’t stop immediately. But it slowed. Turned inward. And began to collapse under its own weight.

  "This summit was convened to figure out a path forward for all the survivors of Portland. Not to settle scores." His tone never changed. "We’ve lost ground. We’ve lost people. The enemy isn’t in this room."

  He looked at each of them, not blinking as he stared them down.

  "We reconvene at 0800. In a public forum. If there is to be a power struggle, you’ll do it in front of your constituents."

  Callan looked ready to protest. Mireya muttered something under her breath. Haskett rolled his eyes and shoved his chair back into place without gentleness.

  But no one argued.

  One by one, they filed out. Mireya vanished first, her face scrunched up in the best rendition of a cat's butt that Kade had seen in a while. Callan stalked after her, expression set in stone. Haskett lingered at the threshold, watching Kade with something that might have been respect. Or a warning.

  Then he left.

  Only Voss remained.

  "Lieutenant," he said. "Stay."

  And she did.

  Captain Voss waited for the door to finish closing before he sat back down. Despite his age, he carried himself with the look of authority earned by someone who had carried a dozen kinds of command into a hundred different missions.

  Kade didn’t sit.

  "I assume you want the rest of the report."

  "I'll read it later," Voss said. "And the artifact speaks for itself."

  A pause followed. Kade could tell that the Captain wasn't completely happy with her or the situation.

  "You shouldn’t have said what you said in there."

  Kade didn’t flinch. "I told the truth, sir."

  "And the truth," he said, calm as ever, "doesn’t always do what we need it to."

  He wasn’t angry. That was the worst part. There was no fire in his voice, but rather the tone of a man trying to keep the walls upright while everyone inside kept looking for matches.

  "You didn’t just light the powder keg, Kade. You rolled it into the middle of the damn table and pulled the pin with both hands."

  She folded her arms, feeling a little defensive given everything she had endured over the last several days.

  "They were going to fracture anyway."

  "They were," Voss agreed. "But there’s a difference between letting something crack under its own strain so they can figure out they're going to compromise and hitting it with a sledgehammer mid-negotiation."

  He leaned back slightly in his chair.

  "I’m giving you an order."

  Kade waited.

  "From this point forward, the Horizon Talon maintains strict neutrality. That includes you. No faction provocations, direct accusations, or unilateral actions regarding safe zone preparation or resource defense. If the factions want to jockey for territory, let them. We stay out of it."

  "And if one of them sends a kill team after the other?" she asked.

  "Then we'll deal with it when it happens," Voss said. "Not before."

  He exhaled once through his nose, just enough to shift the tone.

  "There are still two sites required for the safe zone they haven’t touched. They’ll all want to send their own people now, maybe even simultaneously. That means interference, chaos, and more risk for our crew. But if we let ourselves get dragged into their games, we stop being a stabilizing force. We become part of the problem."

  "You think they’ll play fair."

  "I think they’ll do what they always do," Voss said. "Try to win. That’s why we don’t. That’s why we are the voice of reason."

  Kade nodded slowly. "Understood."

  Her jaw ached. She hadn’t realized she’d been grinding her teeth through the entire conversation.

  She turned slightly, as if to leave, then stopped.

  "Permission to speak freely."

  Voss gestured once with an open hand.

  Kade stepped forward, arms crossed, expression flat.

  "None of them care about Portland. Not the city, or the people. They’re after control. The Restoration Council wants to plant a flag. The Front wants to call dibs. And Ebonwake is taking notes like this is all a case study in collapse theory."

  Voss didn’t interrupt.

  "I understand the order. I understand the doctrine. But doctrine doesn’t plug hull breaches or stop backroom deals. And it doesn’t save civilians when the factions start gunning for each other and pretend it’s for the greater good."

  Voss nodded once. "And you think we should choose a side."

  "I think," she said, "if we keep pretending we can fix this by standing in the middle, we’re going to get our people killed between two groups who don’t care if we bleed."

  That hung for a beat between the two of them. Between friends and mentors. Captain and second in command.

  "That’s not our mandate. The Talon wasn’t built to pick kings. We’re protectors. Stabilizers. Not a shadow council." Voss replied.

  "And what happens when the protectors have no one left to protect?"

  His gaze didn’t shift. "Then we hold fast anyway. Because the oath isn’t about being right. It’s about being steady when the rest of the world starts to spin."

  Kade said nothing. Not right away. Just met his eyes and held them.

  Eventually, Voss stood. Not as a dismissal, but as punctuation.

  "I need you to carry this weight without tilting the ship."

  Kade snapped off a perfect salute. "Aye, Captain."

  He gave a small nod as he returned her salute. "You’re dismissed."

  She turned without further words as she left the room.

  Outwardly, she accepted the order. Inwardly, the pivot had already happened.

  Neutrality was no longer protective.

  She would follow orders until the day those orders endangered her people or delayed what hope for survival still remained.

  And when that day came, she would not hesitate.