The first sign that something was wrong was not the enemy.
It was the silence.
Ethan Warren stood on the Ark's command deck, hands clasped behind his back, watching the tactical display redraw itself for the third time in under a minute. The stars ahead burned cold and indifferent, a familiar scatter of light broken by the violent geometry of a fleet engagement already in progress.
Except it didn't feel like a battle.
Allied ships were present in force, frigates, carriers, escort wings, yet their formations looked… loose. Not broken. Not routed. Just off, like a well-rehearsed dance where one partner had started anticipating steps that hadn't been taught yet.
"Update," Ethan said, voice level.
