Countess Helena Voss did not look away from the viewscreen.

  Whisper’s Edge hung broken against the void. Three upper rings severed and drifting, the remaining structure dark and limping. The station’s elite now shared oxygen with the vermin they once levitated above.

  She approved.

  “Would Mistress Voss care for refreshment?” one of the crime lords had asked, voice trembling beneath synthetic bravado.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Fear was currency. She spent it as needed.

  Before departing, she had reviewed every surveillance feed twice. Once by location. Once by anomaly. Thermal spikes. Gate resonance distortions. Unregistered hull signatures.

  The same vessel appeared at both sites.

  The same harmonic disturbance.

  “Two catastrophic incidents. Two systems.” She exhaled slowly. “Not coincidence.”

  Her quarry had vanished.

  Temporarily.

  Patterns did not disappear. They escalated.

  If necessary, she would supply the escalation herself.