Admiral Now

"Admiral," Vane said, looking at the sensor readouts in disbelief. "We’re through. How did you know the tide would hold?"

As the Invictus drifted toward the searing corona of the nearby star, the crew held their breath. The ship groaned, metal expanding in the intense heat. On the scanners, the Kaelian fleet moved to intercept their projected dive path, leaving their rear exposed.

By the time the heat alarms stopped blaring, they were in the clear, the vast expanse of open space ahead of them. Elias finally sat back in his command chair, his hands—for the first time in hours—slightly shaking. admiral

The Invictus didn't just move; it screamed across the vacuum, a streak of white fire. They tore through the Kaelian line before the enemy could even rotate their turrets.

His flagship, the OSS Invictus , was a leviathan of steel and silicon, humming with the power of a captured star. But today, the hum was a frantic vibration. "Admiral," Vane said, looking at the sensor readouts

The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias Thorne cared for the sea. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic map of the Atlantic, he was the youngest man ever to be named , and the oldest to still insist on taking the helm during a gale.

At the precise moment the ship reached the apex of the gravity well, Elias slammed his fist onto the thruster engagement. "Now! Give me everything!" The ship groaned, metal expanding in the intense heat

"Will hold just long enough to slingshot us behind their line," he finished. "Kill the engines. We’re going silent. Let the sun do the work."