Skyla swallowed. "Because the last three candidates resigned under mysterious circumstances, ma'am."
The silver-haired woman nodded, as if she had known all along. Director Halix produced a stylus. Captain Vellen smiled for the first time—a thin, predatory expression.
Director Halix, from Corporate Oversight, whose smile never reached his collar. skyla novea - the promotion
Skyla did. The click of the latch sounded like a verdict. "The Fleet Coordinator position," Vellen continued, gesturing to the empty chairs. "It's been vacant for six months. You know why?"
"So here's my condition: effective immediately, we re-route five percent of every black-market shipment to a discretionary fund. That fund goes to the families of the previous three Fleet Coordinators. And if anyone tries to trigger my implant, every file I've ever touched—every hidden manifest, every ghost route, every single name—gets broadcast to every authority in the sector." Skyla swallowed
No signature. No department code. Just the cold, elegant font of the upper decks—the kind of font people used when they wanted to remind you that you were not one of them yet.
Captain Vellen laughed—a short, ugly sound. "Tell them what? That you were hallucinating from sleep deprivation? That you came to this meeting and heard nothing? We have three witnesses, Novea. You have a jumpsuit with grease stains and a reputation for being 'intense.' Who do you think they'll believe?" Silence stretched like a wire. Captain Vellen smiled for the first time—a thin,
Captain Vellen folded her arms. "Because the job isn't about spreadsheets and inventory anymore, Novea. The Fleet Coordinator sees everything. The secret routes. The unregistered shipments. The cargo that doesn't officially exist. You'll know where the Arcadia goes when it disappears from the log for three days every quarter. You'll know whose names are on the hidden manifests."