Chapter 84 · You Will Not Impede My Schedule

Stent nodded once, already stepping toward the door with the controlled pace of someone who held rank high enough to dictate how time moved around him. Eli yanked the module free, slotting it into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket.
His pulse hammered so hard he felt it in his palms.

“I’ll act natural,” he muttered.

Stent replied, “Do not act. Simply walk.”

It should have sounded sarcastic. It wasn’t.

The doors slid open.

The two escorting officers straightened immediately, shoulders snapping into rigid alignment.

“Grand Admiral,” one said, voice overly tight, “is your inspection complete?”

Inspection. That was good. That implied legitimacy.

Stent gave a slight incline of his head. “Complete. Stand aside.”

They obeyed so quickly it was almost painful to watch.

Eli followed Stent into the corridor, willing his legs not to break into a sprint. Keep the pace. Keep breathing. Don’t look at the security cams.

Every meter they walked stretched into an eternity. Every officer they passed stared too long. Every footstep felt like a countdown.

Somewhere deep in the station, a soft alert chimed — nothing dramatic, just a shift in lighting tone, a ripple of yellow across the floor-strip indicators.

Eli’s throat closed.Stent didn’t react. He didn’t even blink.He simply kept walking, the white uniform drawing eyes and silencing breaths like a gravitational field.

That helped. A little.

They were almost to the final junction — one stretch of corridor away from the hangar — when an officer stepped into their path.

Not just an officer. A director — Klyssos’s commanding official, identifiable by the silver piping on his jacket and the self-importance in his posture.

“Grand Admiral!” he said, spreading his arms in a practiced gesture of respect. “What an unforeseen honor. If I had been informed—”

“You weren’t,” Stent said.

The director froze.

Stent didn’t stop walking. He simply slowed his pace, forcing the man to move beside him.

“I apologize, sir,” the director sputtered, scrambling to keep up. “Had I known you would be visiting Klyssos, I would have prepared a formal briefing. There are matters of… significance I’d be honored to discuss privately.”

Eli almost groaned. Of course. A sycophant looking to curry favor. The galaxy was full of them.

Stent didn’t even turn his head. “I have no interest in private discussions.”

The director blinked. “Sir, respectfully, this station holds data—”

“It holds nothing I did not already retrieve.”

Eli caught the flicker of confusion on the director’s face — followed instantly by ambition.

“Then perhaps,” he said carefully, “I could… accompany you for your debrief with His Majesty? Klyssos has much to offer in the restructuring of—”

Stent stopped walking. The director almost collided with him.

Stent turned his head just enough for the red of his eyes to catch the overhead lights. “The Emperor,” he said, voice soft as a blade’s whisper, “is expecting me on Coruscant.”

The director’s mouth fell open.

“The purpose of my mission is classified beyond your clearance level. You will not impede my schedule.” Stent continued, and the corridor seemed to constrict around them. Eli felt the hair on his arms rise.

The director swallowed hard. “Of—of course, Grand Admiral. Forgive the overstep.”

Stent resumed walking. The director flattened himself against the wall like someone avoiding a firing squad.

Eli hurried to keep pace, whispering under his breath: “You terrifying bastard.”

Stent did not acknowledge it, but the corner of his mouth threatened a microscopic lift.