A royal Elven ship did not leave home without guards.
A princess did not drift into neutral space without watchers.
And yet here she was, far from the Empire's hand, running toward a backwater system full of strange readings.
Someone had made this possible.
Someone had planned well.
But not well enough.
Varric had not caught her yet, but he had pushed her where she did not want to go. That still counted.
He studied the tactical display without blinking. Every adjustment the Verdant Star made was measured.
Every change in heading came only after careful calculation. Whoever commanded that ship refused to panic.
That alone was worth respecting.
Many captains collapsed the moment the pursuit exceeded expectations. They burned too much power too early, changed course too often, or made desperate attacks that achieved nothing except revealing weakness.
The Verdant Star had done none of those things.
It was still thinking.
Still adapting.
