Spin after spin went by, just standing there, unable to move, but fully conscious. It was so clean, sterile, antiseptic—like a sickbay stripped of life. Sometimes you just stood in an endless white open; other times they made a room, an office, a lab. It felt real, yet it wasn’t. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Cha Dzeeny said. “I understand why your tutor would rather face the Dark AI than spend one more spin trapped like that.”

Linuka clenched her fist. “The Assembly won’t act. My marines are buying weapons in back alleys. And you tell me it’s not enough?” Tswa sni sni’s bluish avatar flickered. “Correct. You bring desperation, not certainty. If survival depends on finding the last diin, then your resources fall short.”

Pirates lurk in the darkstrings, convoys shift under Assembly orders, and the freighter Hikshuur races toward danger. Among marines restless for a mission, Linuka must find her voice. What begins as a memory of her mother’s last speech turns into a rallying cry of her own, igniting warriors who refuse to run or hide. Together, they will strike fast, strike final, and strike fatal.