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"Kira, this is Control. We show you powering weapons. That sector is for salvage, not combat," the handler’s voice crackled.

"Give me the path to the core anyway."

The next sixty seconds were pure instinct. She flew through the broken hull of a frigate, scraping paint off the wings, then kicked afterburners straight into the carrier’s open bay. An explosion rocked her from behind—two mines detonated against a bulkhead instead of her hull. She had threaded the needle.

They came from everywhere—Lokhul fighters, automated turrets still loyal to a dead AI, and the relentless homing mines she hated most. Kira’s fingers flew. Boost, weave, charge the laser, release. The Stormcrow danced like a leaf in a hurricane, its shield sparking under every grazing hit.

"Magnet lock failure!" Sparks shouted. "We’re trapped."

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