The silence in the extraction hub was not peaceful. It was the calm eye of a hurricane.
Arden drifted in and out of consciousness. Her mind was a fractured landscape, littered with the debris of the Symphony she had just conducted. She felt heavy. Empty. Like a radio tuned to a dead channel.
"She's stabilizing," Kael's voice floated through the haze. It was tight, strained. "But her neural pathways are fried. She pushed too hard."
"She had to," Olli's voice responded, tinny and distant. "The fleet… they're not retreating. They're regrouping. The Scout Ship was just the first listener. Now the whole audience is here."
Arden opened her eyes. The red emergency lights of the hub were gone, replaced by the harsh, sterile white of the med-bay in The Iron Hold. How had she gotten here? She remembered falling. She remembered the music.
She sat up. The world spun, then settled.
"Easy," Kael was there instantly, his hand on her shoulder. "You've been out for three hours."
