Val Orris was charming.
That was the worst part.
She didn't bark orders, didn't loom. She strolled through Aurex with a smile and a loose gait, asking innocent questions with surgical precision. Where did the storm rigs pull from? Who handled security? What was that structure in the center?
She complimented Grum's hammer work. Thanked Linae for the stew. Even praised Mira's relay coordination.
Most people liked her by day two.
Toren didn't.
He watched her movements from the Core's upper walkway, tracking the way she touched objects—not like she was curious, but like she was measuring.
Chirrissk refused to go near her.
That sealed it.
By the third night, Val found Toren alone at the uplink array.
She didn't sneak.
Didn't announce herself either.
Just stood at the base of the tower and said, "You've built something interesting, Vale."
He turned slowly.
"How do you know my name?"
She smiled. Not kindly.
"I know a lot of things. Like how your village echoes on the wrong frequencies. Or that you've hidden a power source even the Trade Federation doesn't understand. Or that your 'storm' isn't weather—it's camouflage."
Toren said nothing.
Val's eyes narrowed.
"You're not just clever. You're guided."
A flicker.
A pulse.
He felt it—not the Force itself, but something pressing against him through it. A presence, weighty and wrong.
Val stepped forward.
"I've seen empires built on less. But they always fall the same way—too much faith, too little fire."
She drew back her hood.
Eyes like rusted steel.
"Do you have fire, Vale?"