The silence in the Citadel's ready-room was heavy, broken only by the methodical clicks and hums of systems coming online. Lucian stood before the main console, his fingers flying across the holographic interface. Coordinates flashed, star charts expanded and collapsed, and sensor logs scrolled at a speed that would give a normal person a headache. His movements were sharp, jerky. A fine tremor ran through his hands.

"The residual energy has a quantum signature," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "If I can cross-reference it with known dimensional rift patterns, I can triangulate a probable exit point."

He input another command, his knuckles white. The console flickered, a warning glyph flashing yellow—system overload.

"Blast it," he hissed, slamming his palm on the console. The solid metal unit groaned in protest.

A small weight settled on his shoulder, accompanied by the smell of ozone and ash. "The machine is not your enemy, boy," Kaelis rumbled, his voice a low thrum. "Though you are doing your best to make it one."

"I don't have time for its sluggishness," Lucian snapped, not looking away from the screen. "Every second we waste, Lucy gets farther away."

"And every second you stand, you sway on your feet," the dragon replied flatly.

Lucian ignored him, pulling up another data stream. "Reia, I need you to run a spectral analysis on the energy decay. Silas, get to the hangar and prep the Star-Jumper. I want the engines hot and the nav-computer primed for immediate jump."

Reia, who was leaning against the wall trying to sip some water, lowered her canteen slowly. Silas, who had just managed to sit down without groaning in pain, looked up with wide eyes.

"Lucian," Reia started, her voice gentle but firm. "My hands are still shaking. I can barely hold this, let alone calibrate a spectrograph."

"And my ribs feel like they're full of broken glass," Silas added, his usual boisterous tone gone, replaced by a raw honesty. "I can't even lift a power coil right now."

"Then I'll do it myself," Lucian said, his voice tight. He went to take a step toward the hangar access and stumbled. It wasn't a big stumble, just a slight catch of his boot on the floor, but it was enough. For a man who could fold space, it was like a scream of exhaustion.

Kaelis dug his claws lightly into Lucian's jacket. "Enough."

"She is my sister," Lucian growled, turning his head to glare at the small dragon. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them dark with fatigue. "He took her from her sickbed. I am not sitting here while she's out there with… with whatever he is."

"And what will you do?" Kaelis asked, his golden eyes unblinking. "Will you fold space? Your control is frayed. I can feel it sputtering around you like a dying light. You will miss your mark. You will end up inside a star. Or will you fight? Your reflexes are slowed. Your mind is clouded. You would walk into a trap, and your sister would watch you die because you were too stubborn to sleep."

"I can handle it," Lucian insisted, but the words lacked their usual iron conviction.

Vyn, who had been silently observing from a shadowed corner, spoke up, her voice raspy. "He's right, Lucian. You're running on fumes. We all are." She gestured weakly at the room. "Reia can't grip her blades. Silas can't take a punch. My shadows can barely hold a spoon. And you… you just tripped over nothing. We're no good to Lucy like this."

"She might not have time!" Lucian's voice rose, cracking with a rare show of raw emotion. The spatial distortion in the room flickered violently, making the lights stutter. "He could be hurting her! She was sick, she's vulnerable—"

"And you collapsing from exhaustion the moment you find her helps no one," Kaelis interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You think this 'Ancient' left a trail by accident? A being of that power does not make mistakes. He wants to be found. But on his terms. When you are weak. Rushing now is playing his game."

Lucian wanted to argue. He wanted to shove the dragon off his shoulder and run to the hangar himself. But the truth was a lead weight in his gut. His body felt like it was made of stone. Every muscle ached with a deep, profound weariness that went beyond the fight with Marc. It was the cumulative cost of the rescue, the emotional shock of Eron's revelations, and now this new, terrifying void where his sister should be.

He looked at his team. Really looked at them. Reia's brave face couldn't hide the pallor of her skin or the way she favored her injured side. Silas was breathing carefully, shallowly, to avoid the sharp pain in his chest. Vyn looked translucent, her connection to the shadows stretched to its absolute limit.

They had followed him into hell. They had nearly died for him. And he was asking them to do it again, broken and bleeding.

The fight drained out of him all at once. His shoulders slumped. The frantic energy that had been holding him up evaporated, and he had to put a hand on the console to steady himself.

"He could be… he could be doing anything to her," Lucian whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Kaelis's voice softened a fraction. "If he wanted her dead, he would have left a corpse. He wants her alive. That gives us time. A small amount, but time nonetheless. Use it wisely."

Lucian closed his eyes. The console felt cool against his forehead. The image of Lucy's empty bed was burned onto the back of his eyelids.

"Twelve hours," he said, the words dragged out of him. "We rest for twelve hours. No more."

"A wise decision," Kaelis said, leaping from his shoulder to a nearby perch. "For a human."

Reia let out a slow breath of relief. "I'll get the med-kits. Proper patching up for everyone."

Silas managed a weak thumbs-up. "I'll… I'll just be here. Not moving. It's my new specialty."

Lucian didn't respond. He pushed himself away from the console and walked slowly, heavily, toward his quarters. The path felt infinitely long. Each step was a battle against the urge to turn around, to run, to do something.

He reached his room and the door slid shut behind him. In the privacy of the silence, the last of his composure cracked. He didn't cry, but his hands shook as he pulled off his scorched jacket. He sank onto his bunk, staring at the opposite wall without seeing it.

His mind was a storm of fear and guilt. He'd failed her. He'd left her behind, thinking she was safe, and he'd failed her.

As exhaustion finally, mercilessly, pulled him under, the last thing he was aware of was the faint, familiar weight of Kaelis settling on the foot of his bed, a silent, vigilant sentinel in the dark. The hunt would begin soon. But first, they had to heal.

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