19.The Gameboard is Set

The room was silent.

Not empty.

Not still.

But charged—a hum of tension curling beneath the surface, thick as smoke before a fire erupts.

Jace leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching. Leah stood with her weight shifted slightly, arms folded, her gaze locked onto Voss like a blade waiting to cut.

Voss didn't sit.

Didn't pause.

Didn't waste a single second.

He turned, sweeping toward the holotable as schematics and data streams flared to life—a battlefield, laid in light and shadow.

His voice—clipped, precise, commanding:

"Ravenna expects us to break her front."

The screen shifted—supply chains, shell corporations—pressure points.

His silver eyes burned, cold and calculating:

"So we take her spine."

Data flickered across the table—company ledgers, contract histories, deep-rooted financial webs stretching across the system.

"We flood her assets with phantom contracts." Voss's voice was low, even, merciless. "Drive her into the ground—"

His gaze sharpened.

"And when she's choking—"

A pause.

"—we cut the line."

Jace exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Hell of a way to kill your own sister, Voss."

Voss didn't look at him. "She's not my sister right now."

Leah's voice cut through the hum of the holotable, sharp as a blade:

"You're missing it."

Voss's silver eyes snapped to her, burning with impatience and focus.

"Missing what?"

Leah's gaze was hard, certain, absolute.

"You're targeting her money, but that's not what's going to win this."

Voss's voice—low, clipped, razor-edged: "Then tell me."

Leah stepped closer to the table, her fingers tapping once against the projection.

"The fuel. The food."

She pointed sharply at the projection of the Ark supply routes.

"That's what really keeps her on top."

Voss's gaze flicked, sharp and calculating.

"Logistics."

His voice dropped lower. Colder.

"Without it—"

Leah's voice—soft, lethal, and absolute:

"She has no leverage."

Jace let out a low, sharp breath.

"Shit."

Voss's jaw worked, his mind already moving, turning the angles.

"She's controlling Ark allocations, isn't she?"

His silver eyes cut through the schematics.

"Fuel lines, hydrofarms, and cold storage hubs—"

Leah nodded, eyes burning.

"She's bought them out. It's her real chokehold. Not just for her bid—" her gaze flicked up, sharp and sure, "—but for every Ark."

Voss's silver eyes darkened. His voice was cold as death.

"So anyone who crosses her—"

Leah's voice, flat and unforgiving:

"Starves."

Voss's fists curled.

His voice—rough and gravel-edged:

"That's why she's untouchable."

His silver eyes flashed, sharp and deadly:

"She doesn't own the board—"

His voice, low and cutting:

"She owns the lifeline."

The air thickened, the gravity of it coiling around them.

Leah exhaled, slow, measured.

"If we hit her—"

Her eyes burned.

"—she will fight. Hard. And dirty."

Voss's gaze, cold and calculating:

"So we make sure she loses more than we do."

His silver eyes, burning and absolute:

"Where's the pressure point?"

Leah's voice—low, deadly, certain:

"The fuel depot."

Her eyes flicked to a glowing mark on the projection—an orbital distribution hub, nestled under a private military shell.

"If you control that—"

Her voice, cold and unshaken:

"You control who makes it to Mars."

A silence stretched between them.

A pause filled with something thick, heavy, unspoken.

Then—Voss exhaled, slow and measured, rolling his shoulders back.

"Then Jace and I will take care of it."

Leah stilled.

Voss's tone was final. No argument. No opening. No room to push.

Her brows furrowed. "What—"

"Our deal is done, Leah." His voice was calm, absolute. "You need sleep."

Leah's mouth opened, but Voss was already turning away, fingers tapping against the holotable to shut it down, the schematics vanishing into darkness.

Jace, who had been watching quietly, arms crossed, suddenly went still.

Not from the plan. Not from the mission.

But from something else entirely.

His gaze sharpened, flicking between Voss and Leah.

Something about the way Voss said her name.

The way his body language shifted.

The way his tone lowered just slightly, like an Alpha directing a mate to rest—not a partner, not a bond, but something deeper.

Jace blinked.

Slow.

Measured.

Then—his eyes narrowed.

"Is there something I should know?"

Voss didn't look at Jace.

Didn't acknowledge the question.

Didn't even blink.

Instead, his voice was even, clipped, absolute:

"Ark Regulation Code 17-4A: All high-risk operations require a minimum of two Alphas in command."

Jace's brow ticked. "That's not what I—"

"Corporate Override 22-B: Bonded personnel may not be separated in off-world assignments unless explicitly stated in contract terms."

Jace's lips parted slightly, irritation flashing across his face.

"Voss—"

"Genetic Probability Index states that direct Alpha-to-Omega compatibility exceeding 90% increases stability in high-stress environments by—"

Leah cut in, flat, unbothered:

"He's my bond."

Jace's eyes snapped to her.

Leah met his stare without flinching.

"Ninety-five percent compatibility."

Silence.

Jace's expression didn't change, but Leah saw the shift.

The way his jaw flexed slightly.

The way his fingers curled against his bicep, the calculation behind his eyes shifting, adjusting, slotting in a new variable he hadn't accounted for.

A long pause.

Then—

"Well." Jace exhaled, shaking his head.

"That explains a lot."

Jace leaned back slightly, arms still crossed, gaze flicking between them like he was putting together a puzzle that should have been obvious from the start.

By Alpha terms—by their terms—Voss wasn't just bonded to Leah.

He was mated.

No legal ceremony. No formal contract.

Just biology and instinct and an unbreakable claim.

Jace exhaled through his nose.

"When was the ceremony?"

Leah didn't blink.

Didn't hesitate.

"There wasn't one."

Jace's expression froze.

Voss finally looked at him, silver eyes calm and unreadable.

"It wasn't necessary."

Jace let out a low, sharp laugh, shaking his head.

"That's funny, Voss. Because I'm pretty sure it is."

Voss didn't react.

Didn't flinch.

Just tilted his head slightly, voice smooth, absolute, immovable.

"By Omega legalities, a ceremony is required."

A slow inhale.

"By Alpha law—"

A deliberate pause.

"—it's already done."

Jace stared at him.

Then at Leah.

Then back at Voss.

His jaw ticked once, but his voice stayed flat, edged with something almost amused.

"You're telling me you skipped the vows and went straight to the endgame."

Leah's lips curled slightly.

"Efficient, right?"

Jace sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Voss, however, didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't give an inch.

Instead, his silver eyes locked onto Jace, voice smooth, clipped, and absolute:

"She's not registered."

Jace stilled.

His entire demeanor shifted, amusement vanishing in an instant.

"What?"

Voss exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back.

"Leah is unregistered. No formal documentation. No legal claim." His gaze didn't flicker. "And that is not public knowledge."

Jace's stare flicked to Leah, his mind already turning through the implications.

An unregistered Omega.

By all technicalities, Leah didn't exist.

"That's not possible." Jace's voice was low, edged with something unreadable. "You're telling me no one—no government, no corporation, no security division—knows?"

Leah tilted her head slightly.

"You think I'd still be breathing if they did?"

Jace didn't argue.

Didn't laugh.

Didn't even blink.

Because she was right.

An Omega like Leah? Unclaimed? Off the system?

She should have been hunted down years ago.

Voss leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something low, cold, absolute.

"Which is why this stays between us."

Jace exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, muttering a colorful curse.