Nobody spoke after Garrick said it.
The second attempt.
The words settled into Tactical Room Three like pressure sealing every exit shut.
Above them, the old recording still hovered in silence.
Young Serena Benton knelt on the floor holding a bleeding seven-year-old Kael against her chest while emergency lights painted the room in broken pulses of red. The image flickered occasionally from age and damage, but somehow that only made it worse.
Because this wasn't polished military footage.
It was real.
Raw.
Terrified.
The cadets stared upward without moving.
Without blinking.
Without breathing properly.
Hana felt something cold settle beneath her ribs as she looked at the image again.
Kael had always felt impossible.
Too fearless. Too adaptable. Too willing to throw himself into danger before anyone else could process it.
But suddenly—
that fearlessness looked different.
Not recklessness.
Experience.
The projection shifted again.
A younger Ryven appeared near the edge of the recording, standing protectively in front of two smaller children despite the fact that he himself could not have been older than seven.
Even then—
he positioned himself between danger and everyone else.
Torres appeared next.
Smaller.
Wild-eyed.
Still clutching a datapad while trying very hard not to cry.
And somehow—
that hurt almost as much as seeing Kael bleeding.
Because Torres joking through everything had become so normal that seeing him genuinely afraid felt unnatural.
The room remained completely still.
Then Ethan Walsh finally whispered the thing sitting inside everyone's head.
"…they were kids."
Nobody answered him.
Because there was nothing to say.
Of course they were.
That was the worst part.
The recording continued briefly.
A distorted voice shouted somewhere off-screen.
Metal slammed against metal.
Then the feed glitched violently before stabilizing long enough to capture one final image—
young Kael standing shakily in front of Serena despite blood running heavily down his back.
Protecting her.
Protecting everyone.
At seven.
The projection froze there.
And the silence inside the tactical room became unbearable.
Lila looked furious.
Not loud furious.
The dangerous kind.
Her jaw tightened while her fingers curled hard enough against her sleeves that Hana genuinely thought the fabric might tear.
"That should've never happened."
Garrick's eyes remained fixed on the frozen projection.
"No."
Quiet.
Controlled.
"But it did."
A sharp breath escaped from somewhere behind the Sprouts.
Valerie Walsh looked pale now, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap while her eyes stayed locked on the image of Serena holding Kael.
"…they almost died."
Rho answered her softly.
"Yes."
No softening.
No reassurance.
Just truth.
Because these cadets deserved the truth now.
After the Wrong Sky—
lies had become dangerous.
Hale slowly dimmed the projection brightness slightly before stepping forward beside Garrick.
"What you are seeing was buried."
The room shifted toward him immediately.
"Officially," Hale continued calmly, "the incident was classified as a failed extremist kidnapping attempt neutralized by Federation rapid-response forces."
A pause.
"That statement was incomplete."
Several cadets exchanged looks immediately.
Octavian's eyes narrowed sharply.
"Incomplete how?"
Hale glanced toward him.
"The attackers were never identified."
Another pause.
"No official organization claimed responsibility."
"And the facility they were taken to," Garrick added quietly, "was erased."
That landed hard.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
Camille finally spoke from beside Hana.
"…someone covered it up."
Rho answered immediately.
"Yes."
No hesitation whatsoever.
The room darkened emotionally after that.
Because coverups meant authority.
Resources.
Power.
This was no longer a story about random violence.
This was systemic.
Deliberate.
The Miller twins exchanged a look before one of them raised her hand slightly.
Not out of classroom politeness.
Out of habit.
"If they survived the first attempt…"
The second twin finished quietly.
"…why try again now?"
Hale's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Because now they matter."
That sentence settled like impact.
The tactical room went silent again.
Because everyone understood exactly what he meant.
Kael and Ryven were no longer just Great House children.
They were becoming symbols.
Weapons.
Leaders.
Possibilities.
And possibilities frightened powerful people.
Garrick finally stepped fully into the center of the room.
Then he looked directly at the cadets.
Every single one of them.
"You need to understand something clearly."
His voice carried differently now.
Not instructional.
Foundational.
"The Federation is changing."
No dramatic music.
No speeches.
Just reality.
"And whether the Senate accepts it or not…"
A slight pause.
"…you are standing in the middle of that change."
Nobody moved.
Nobody interrupted.
Because suddenly—
they all felt it too.
The academy. The instructors. The tactical meetings. The Wrong Sky.
Everything felt like it was leaning toward something larger than Helius Prime itself.
Garrick looked toward the frozen image of young Kael one final time.
Then shut the projection off completely.
Darkness swept across the room for a brief second before the tactical lighting returned.
But now—
the cadets looked different.
More awake.
More aware.
More dangerous.
Hale folded his hands behind his back.
"The instructors have already made their decision."
That drew immediate attention.
Volkov and Solis entered the tactical room quietly from the side entrance almost on cue, followed by Mercer.
Apparently they had been listening outside the entire time.
Which honestly felt very Helius.
Mercer looked exhausted.
Volkov looked ready to punch the Federation itself.
Solis simply looked sad.
And somehow—
that was the hardest expression to see.
"We are restructuring training immediately," Garrick said.
No hesitation.
"No more isolated specialization tracks."
Several cadets straightened immediately.
"Cross-training becomes mandatory."
Another pause.
"Combat. Medical. Communications. Systems. Logistics."
His eyes moved across the room.
"You survive together or you die separately."
That sentence landed like a law.
Because after watching the Wrong Sky—
nobody could argue against it anymore.
Octavian slowly crossed his arms.
"…this isn't just academy reform."
Garrick met his gaze directly.
"No."
A pause.
"It isn't."
The room understood before he even finished speaking.
This was bigger than Helius.
Bigger than training.
Bigger than cadets.
Hana noticed the exact moment realization spread across the room.
Not fear.
Purpose.
The Cracks reacted first.
Of course they did.
Cadets like Jack Mito and Rita Brown understood survival instincts better than most polished academy elites ever would.
Then the Sprouts.
Then the Torch.
Different groups.
Different personalities.
But suddenly—
they all leaned in the same direction.
Toward something.
Toward each other.
Little Bean raised his hand abruptly.
Everyone looked at him.
Including Garrick.
The boy swallowed hard once before speaking.
"…if they come again…"
His voice shook slightly.
But he kept going anyway.
"…then we fight too, right?"
The tactical room fell silent.
Not because it was a childish question.
Because it wasn't.
Garrick looked at him carefully for several long seconds.
Then answered honestly.
"Yes."
No speeches.
No comforting lies.
Just yes.
Little Bean nodded once slowly.
Like he had expected that answer already.
Then lowered his hand.
Hana watched the room carefully after that.
Nobody looked frightened anymore.
Not really.
Serious.
Focused.
Determined.
But not afraid.
And somehow—
that realization unsettled her more than panic would have.
Because fear could be controlled.
Purpose?
Purpose changed people.
Garrick exhaled slowly before speaking one final time.
"You will be the last generation trained under the old system."
That sentence hit every cadet in the room differently.
Some looked confused.
Others looked startled.
But Hana—
Hana understood immediately.
Because this entire meeting had not been a warning.
It had been preparation.
Garrick's eyes sharpened slightly.
"What comes next…"
A pause.
"…we build together."
And for the first time since entering Tactical Room Three—
the cadets of Helius Prime no longer felt like students listening to instructors.
They felt like the beginning of something.