The conference room was dimly lit, a circular chamber with a large round table at its center. Krista sat beside Ironclaw, doing her best to project confidence and stoicism. Around the table sat three other captain-lieutenant pairs, each duo representing a different region of the Satellite.

To her left was Captain Seraphine, a statuesque woman with ebony skin and striking blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and she carried herself with an air of regal authority. Beside her sat Lieutenant Vega, a lean man with sandy blond hair and a perpetual smirk. His sharp features and relaxed posture hinted at a carefree demeanor, but his eyes held a calculating glint.

Across from Krista was Captain Zhao, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed goatee and eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His uniform was immaculate, not a thread out of place. His lieutenant, a stern-faced woman named Lin, had dark hair pulled back into a tight bun and wore a perpetual frown.

To the right sat Captain Morales, a burly man with a thick beard and a hearty laugh that seemed out of place in such a serious setting. His lieutenant, Diego, was a younger version of himself—broad-shouldered and exuding a quiet strength.

At the head of the table was the Commander. He was an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with a stern visage. His balding head was fringed with white hair, and a thick mustache adorned his upper lip. Deep-set eyes surveyed the room with a steely gaze that commanded respect.

Krista took a deep breath, steadying herself. Stay focused. Blend in.

The Commander cleared his throat, and the murmurs in the room subsided. "Let's commence," he began, his voice resonant and authoritative. "First, I'd like to acknowledge Lieutenant Graves for his exemplary work in apprehending the suspects responsible for the recent Peacekeeper murders."

All eyes turned to her. Krista inclined her head respectfully. "Thank you, sir. Just fulfilling my duties."

Ironclaw gave her a subtle nod of approval.

The Commander continued, "While these incidents are troubling, our primary concern remains the stability of the Satellite. Specifically, the activities of the Remnants."

Krista's curiosity piqued. "The Remnants?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Ironclaw closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression crossing his face. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Apologies, Commander," he said, shooting Krista a sidelong glance. "My lieutenant is still recovering from injuries sustained in the line of duty."

The Commander regarded them coolly. "I see. Ensure he receives the necessary medical attention, Captain."

"Of course, sir," Ironclaw replied. He turned to Krista, his tone pointed but tempered with concern. "We'll discuss this later."

Krista nodded sheepishly. "Understood."

The Commander cleared his throat, a sound like a distant storm, his voice reclaiming the room. "As a reminder," he began, "the Remnants are what is left of the Blighted King's group—the vestiges of a dying regime." He glanced around the room, his eyes boring into each of the captains present, "Their influence festers in the shadows, growing like a wound beneath a bandage, and we cannot afford another uprising like the one orchestrated by the Blighted King."

A flick of his wrist, and a series of images flashed onto the projection screen: grainy security footage, timestamped five years prior. The Commander's voice took on a hollow timbre, his gaze fixed on the chaos frozen in those images.

"We have it on record—clear as day. The moment the Blighted King breached the Wall, his group split. Not all of them followed him to the Mainland. Some stayed behind." His eyes narrowed, brow furrowed with the weight of his own thoughts. "The prevailing theory is that they were too injured to continue—wounded animals crawling back into the dark. And now they linger, scattered, fractured. Most of them are crippled, broken. A few able-bodied protectors are all that’s left to defend their hideouts, but even they—"

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His lips curved into something between a smirk and a grimace. "—they're not what they used to be. A low-to-mid-level threat, but a thorn in our side nonetheless."

A chuckle broke the tension—sharp, derisive. Peacekeeper Commander Zhao leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Recently," Zhao said, barely containing his glee, "we managed to capture one of them. A girl—young, foolish. Apparently betrayed by her lover—for a handful of cash." He laughed, a sound that was almost a bark. "Animals, the lot of them. They'll turn on each other for scraps."

A look from the Commander cut through the laughter, leaving silence in its wake. Zhao swallowed, the color draining slightly from his face. "Apologies, Commander," he muttered, inclining his head. "I meant no disrespect."

The Commander held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. His voice, when he spoke again, was tempered steel—hard, but not cruel. "The girl is under lock and key, awaiting transport. Preparations are already underway to move her to our main prison, along with the others currently held in detention." He straightened, setting down the dossier in his hand with a soft thud. "I expect each of you to keep up the good work, as always. The upcoming prison transport will require your utmost diligence."

A chorus of affirmations echoed around the table, the captains' voices rising in agreement—a note of pride in each one, as if the Commander's faith in them were a badge they wore across their chests.

"Moving on," the Commander said, flipping to the next page of his dossier, his tone brisk. "The next shipment of the Scarlet Bath is scheduled for departure in two months. We cannot afford any complications. I expect security protocols to be flawless. Each of you is responsible for ensuring that our cargo reaches the Mainland intact. Failure is not an option."

Krista's mind raced. Scarlet Bath? What's that? And why is it so important? She resisted the urge to ask more questions, aware of the scrutiny she was already under.

The meeting concluded with the customary formalities, and the attendees began to disperse. As they stood, Ironclaw placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "A word, Graves."

She braced herself. "Yes, Captain?"

He led her a few steps away from the others, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. "What was that in there?" he demanded in a hushed tone. "Forgetting about the Remnants? You're making me look bad!"

"I'm sorry," she replied earnestly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. My head's still a bit fuzzy."

He studied her for a moment before sighing. "Alright. Maybe you did take a harder hit than I thought. Just... get it together. And make sure you visit the medics. I need my lieutenant at full strength."

"Understood, sir."

He softened slightly. "Look, you're a good officer. One of the best. Don't let a minor injury set you back." He straightened, his professional demeanor returning. "I've got matters to attend to. Keep up the good work, Graves."

As Ironclaw departed, Krista watched him go, relieved that she hadn’t blown her covers yet.

"Lieutenant Graves?" a voice called from behind. It was so sudden that it almost made her jump.

She turned to see a young Peacekeeper approaching.

"Yes?"

"Sir, we're about to commence the interrogation of the Blighted you apprehended. Would you like to participate?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Ken. She nodded curtly. "I would. Lead the way."

The detention center had a night and day difference to the main headquarters. Cold, gray corridors stretched out like the veins of some great beast.

Cells lined the walls, their occupants pressing against the bars to catch a glimpse of her as she passed. Their eyes bore into her—a mixture of anger, fear, and resignation. She could feel their hatred, almost as if it were a physical force.

They arrived at a heavy metal door. The young Peacekeeper gestured. "He's inside, sir. Shall I accompany you?"

She shook her head. "No. I wish to speak with the Blighted scum alone."

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "As you wish. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

She entered the interrogation room, the door closing behind her with a resounding thud. The room was sparsely furnished—a single table bolted to the floor, two chairs, and a large mirror on one wall that she knew concealed observers.

Ken sat shackled to the table, his wrists bound by heavy cuffs. His black hair was disheveled, hanging over eyes that were a mixture of defiance and desperation. Bruises marred his face, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

The moment he saw her, his eyes blazed with fury.

"You!" he spat, struggling against his restraints. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Krista raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down leisurely.

"Good," she said in a low voice. "Keep that attitude. Makes it more believable."