The storm was perfect.
Too perfect.
The canopy writhed with wind-fed mist, flickering with occasional stabs of blue lightning from the disruptor spires. It was the kind of atmosphere even advanced sensors had trouble seeing through—and that's exactly what Toren needed.
He sat in the system control hollow, eyes locked on the topographic feed.
VX-99 ORBITAL PATH ENGAGED
Descent Arc: Confirmed
Scan Sweep Commencing
Everything else—breath, sound, heartbeat—fell away.
He could feel it, somehow.
Not through screens. Not even through the Force, exactly. But in the space where instinct became prediction. Like knowing the second before a trap snaps shut.
Mira crouched beside the generator relay. Chirrissk was curled under its tarp, barely moving. The villagers were hidden—silent in shelters, deep under camo drapes and heat-reflective mesh.
Kora's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Scan has reached critical resolution. Deception holding."
Seconds passed.
Then more.
The interface dimmed, as if holding its breath.
Probe: Slowing… hesitating… recalibrating scan vector…
And then—
VX-99 Ascending. No engagement. Orbit continuation confirmed.
Toren didn't relax. Not yet.
He waited.
Then came the final whisper:
"Partial telemetry transmitted. Destination: Unclear. No full confirmation. But… someone's listening."
He exhaled, one long, low breath that didn't ease the weight on his chest.
They'd survived the eye.
But the sky had seen something.