Cassian's sharp eyes flicked between the streams of information. "Prioritize emissions consistent with stealth tech. They'll be masking their presence, but they can't hide everything."
"Understood," Olsen said, activating deeper spectral scans. The command deck grew quieter as the crew concentrated, the tension thick enough to feel. Cassian remained still, his posture like a coiled spring ready to strike. His mind raced through possibilities, calculating the intruders' tactics. This wasn't just a lucky maneuver—they were playing him, and he hated being on the defensive.
"If they're smart," he muttered, almost to himself, "they'll stay hidden as long as possible. But every moment they wait, they're running out of time."
"This person is good," he muttered under his breath. "They've managed to outmaneuver me twice."
The Falcon's Reach docked, and Sylvie led her team into the Krasnikov. The corridors were eerily silent, the polished metal walls reflecting their movements as they advanced. Every step was calculated, every turn precise. The team moved like shadows, their training evident in their fluid motions.
But just as they approached the artifact's containment chamber, an alarm blared, shattering the quiet. Sylvie froze, her mind racing. The shrill sound echoed through the halls, a piercing reminder that their window of stealth had slammed shut.
"Move!" she barked, her team springing into action. They surged forward, their weapons drawn and eyes scanning every angle. The containment chamber was just ahead, its reinforced door glowing with the faint blue of an active shield.
Back on the command deck, Cassian watched the breach alert with grim satisfaction. His sharp mind pieced together the puzzle with chilling efficiency.
"There you are," he said softly. "Prepare to intercept. I want them alive."
Sylvie reached the containment chamber and immediately set to work on bypassing the security protocols. Her fingers flew over the control panel, each keystroke a battle against the clock. The rest of the team formed a defensive perimeter, their weapons trained on the corridor behind them.
Jaroslav glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. "How much longer?"
"Almost there," Sylvie replied, her voice tight with concentration. "Keep them off me."
The sound of boots echoed down the corridor, followed by the sharp crack of energy weapons. The first wave of soldiers had arrived. Sylvie's team opened fire, the corridor erupting into chaos. Energy bolts ricocheted off the walls, and the acrid smell of ozone filled the air.
"We're outnumbered!" one of the team members shouted, his voice strained as he returned fire.
"Hold the line!" Sylvie snapped, her focus never wavering from the control panel. The shield flickered, then dissipated with a faint hum. "Got it!"
She yanked the artifact free from its containment pedestal, its surface glowing with an otherworldly light. The artifact was smaller than she expected, fitting easily into her hands, but its weight felt monumental.
Yet, as she held it, her instincts screamed that something was wrong. She scanned its surface closely, her mind racing. The glow was artificial, too uniform, and the intricate etchings looked more like reproductions than genuine marks of age. Even with their advanced sensor arrays and scanning devices from the Codex Chrysallis, which should have detected any ruse, she realized this was no true artifact.
"It's a fake," she muttered under her breath, anger flaring in her chest. The implications hit her immediately. Marek, acting under Cassian's orders, had deliberately placed this decoy here.
"Fall back!" Sylvie ordered, her voice sharp and commanding. Her team began a fighting retreat, their movements coordinated despite the chaos erupting around them. The artifact—or rather, the decoy—was still their priority, its retrieval likely the only way to escape the Krasnikov alive.
Even so, Sylvie couldn't shake the feeling of being toyed with, a pawn in a larger game she hadn't yet fully understood. As the alarms blared and Cassian's soldiers closed in, her determination solidified. They might have been fooled this time, but she would ensure this would not be the end of their fight.
Cassian, watching from the command deck, felt a surge of admiration for the intruders. They were disciplined, resourceful, and undeniably skilled. But admiration wouldn't save them.
"Seal off the lower decks," he commanded. "Force them toward the hangar bay."
As Sylvie's team raced back toward the Falcon's Reach, the ship's automated systems detected their approach and began the docking sequence. The halls of the Krasnikov seemed to close in around them, each turn revealing more soldiers, more obstacles.
"They're funneling us!" Jaroslav shouted, firing at a squad of soldiers blocking their path.
Sylvie gritted her teeth. "Then we break through."
The team pushed forward, their determination outweighing their dwindling numbers. When they finally reached the hangar bay, the sight of the Falcon's Reach waiting for them felt like a beacon of hope. But the bay was crawling with soldiers, their guns pointing at them.
"We're not getting out of here without a fight," Jaroslav said grimly.
"Then we fight," Sylvie replied. She raised her weapon, her eyes blazing with defiance.
The aftermath was chaos. Smoke filled the hangar bay, and laser blasts flashed everywhere, but Sylvie's team worked together, each move pushing them closer to freedom. The Falcon's Reach was just ahead, its engines rumbling loudly as if calling them to hurry.
But the soldiers were relentless. For every one they took down, another seemed to emerge, cutting off escape routes and forcing Sylvie's team into tighter formations. Jaroslav fell back to cover her as she sprinted toward the ship, her instincts screaming that something was wrong.
And then it happened. A bright flash, a sharp pain, and the whole world seemed to spin. Sylvie fell to the ground with a heavy thud, her vision blurring. She could hear shouting all around her, but none of it made sense.
Her last coherent thought was a curse—one aimed at herself for underestimating her enemies.
When consciousness returned, it was slow and disorienting. Sylvie's body ached, her wrists bound by restraints. The room was sterile and cold, illuminated by dim lights that made her feel like a specimen on display.
The faint sound of the door hissing open drew her attention. Footsteps echoed against the chamber walls, measured and deliberate. When Cassian stepped into view, Sylvie straightened, masking her unease with practiced calm.
The holding chamber was silent save for the faint hum of the ship's engines. Sylvie stood in the center, bound but unbroken, her sharp gaze locked on Cassian as he entered with measured steps. His eyes flicked to her restraints, then back to her face. He exuded an air of calm control, a man unruffled by chaos, his movements deliberate as if the very space bowed to his presence.
"You planned this, you wanted to be here, didn't you?" he said without wasting time, his voice calm but carrying a sharp edge. "Even if you failed, you set things up to make yourself impossible to replace."
Sylvie raised an eyebrow, her voice calm and steady. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Cassian smirked faintly, stepping closer. The soft glow of the chamber's lights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. "You knew the odds of success were slim. So, you prepared a fallback—a way to trade your life for something I value even more: information. The Codex Chrysalis, the shadow Faction manipulating your Council. That's what this is really about, isn't it?"