The council chamber had never felt smaller.
Wess leaned forward, brow furrowed. "So we're being watched. That's not paranoia anymore—it's a probe. Imperial-class."
Mira stood by the window, arms folded tight. "Then we assume war is coming. We prepare—double patrols, lock down tech reveals, arm the pulse cannons."
Tarn, seated at the end, didn't speak for a moment.
Then: "Or we prepare to leave."
That made the air go still.
Grum shifted uncomfortably. Jakel raised his eyebrows.
"We run?" Jakel said, voice low. "After everything we built?"
"Not run," Tarn answered. "Evacuate. Scatter. Preserve what can't be replaced. If the Empire comes, they won't talk. They'll erase."
Linae chimed in, calm as always. "Or worse. They'll dissect."
Jakel's voice sharpened. "No. I say we strike first. We have ion skiffs in orbit. We can tag their scouts, trace them to the node, erase the path."
"That's exactly how we lose the element of doubt," Mira snapped. "The second we act, they'll know we're more than they expected."
Toren sat silent at the center of it all, the storm orbiting him.
"Enough," he said finally.
The room paused.
He looked around the table.
"We won't strike first. Not yet. We won't scatter. And we won't ignore it."
He rose.
"We prepare to hold."
No one argued.
But the silence that followed said enough.
They weren't unified anymore.
They were choosing different fires to brace for.