Elias looked out at the stars, a faint smirk on his lips. "I didn't. But a good Admiral knows that sometimes, you have to let the universe take the wheel."
Elias didn't look at the holographic displays. He looked out the reinforced viewport at the swirling nebula, a graveyard of ships that had followed "standard procedure." admiral
"No," Elias chuckled, adjusting his cap. "It's because I'm the only one crazy enough to treat a starship like a sailboat. We aren't diving. We’re going to catch the solar tide." "Sir, the heat shields—" Elias looked out at the stars, a faint smirk on his lips
By the time the heat alarms stopped blaring, they were in the clear, the vast expanse of open space ahead of them. Elias finally sat back in his command chair, his hands—for the first time in hours—slightly shaking. He looked out the reinforced viewport at the
"Admiral, the Kaelian blockade is tightening," Commander Vane reported, her voice tight. "They’re expecting us to dive. Standard tactical procedure for a ship this size."
The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias Thorne cared for the sea. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic map of the Atlantic, he was the youngest man ever to be named , and the oldest to still insist on taking the helm during a gale.