15.Voss - The Art of War
The private suite loomed ahead—glass, steel, and power built into every sharp angle. The kind of place where deals were sealed with smiles and daggers.
Kael stepped inside first, stride calm, unhurried, but every inch of him screamed controlled force.
Because Ravenna would smell hesitation before he even breathed it.
No guards.
No witnesses.
Just one table.
And her.
Ravenna Voss sat like she owned the room—because she did.
Sleek black dress, dark hair sharp against her skin, amber-shot eyes watching him with lazy amusement.
A glass of red wine in her hand—untouched.
A smile, slow and sharp.
"Brother."
Kael's silver eyes didn't flicker.
"Ravenna."
He didn't sit.
Not yet.
The air between them tensed—an invisible blade balanced on a wire.
Her gaze flicked past him, landing on the documents in his hand.
For just a second—a flicker.
Of something.
Knowing. Calculating.
Then—
A slow inhale. A tilt of her head.
And a smirk.
"You came armed. How quaint."
Kael lowered into the chair across from her, fingers tapping once against the wood grain.
"We need to talk."
Ravenna took a slow sip, watching him over the rim.
"Do we?"
Kael's voice—cold, precise.
"You're blocking my Ark bid."
Ravenna set the glass down with a soft click.
"Because it amuses me."
Kael's silver eyes flashed.
"Drop the proxies."
She leaned back, crossing her legs, expression all smooth indifference.
"And why would I do that?"
Kael didn't blink.
Didn't move.
His voice, low, lethal:
"Because you don't need Ark 0."
"Because you don't need Ark 0."
Ravenna's smirk didn't falter, but her fingers—elegant, deadly—tapped once against the glass of untouched wine. A subtle, measured beat.
He'd hit something.
Not a weakness.
But a truth.
She leaned back, crossing her legs, watching him like a cat watching a bird decide if it could fly. Amused. Patient. Knowing.
"And?" she prompted, tilting her head.
Kael didn't give her the satisfaction of pausing.
"You're not bidding for the ship." He let the words settle, sharp and certain. "You're bidding for Mars."
A slow inhale.
A flicker of something in her gaze.
Then—
Laughter.
Soft at first.
Then rich, low, edged with something almost delighted.
"Oh, Kael."
She sighed, swirling the wine, not drinking it.
"It's almost adorable how much you think you know."
His silver eyes didn't flicker.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Her lips curled.
"You're not wrong."
She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand.
"But you're not completely right either."
His jaw ticked.
"Mars isn't built yet," he pressed. "Not really. The colony's years behind schedule. Terraforming's slow. Infrastructure's weak."
Her gaze gleamed.
"And?"
"And you don't care about Ark 0." His voice was smooth, absolute. "You care about controlling the supply lines after we land."
A slow, pleased smile.
"See?" she murmured. "You do have a pretty mind."
She lifted the glass to her lips—paused—then set it down again.
"But that still leaves us with a problem."
Kael leaned back, fingers tapping once against the table.
"Which is?"
Ravenna exhaled through her nose, studying him.
"You think I want to block you, little brother."
"You are blocking me."
"No, Kael." She smiled, slow and razor-edged. "I'm playing my hand."
A beat.
Then she lifted a single brow, voice smooth as silk.
"So if you have more?"
A pause.
A deliberate shift.
Then—
"Outbid me."
A Fair Fight
Silence.
Not long.
Not awkward.
But weighted.
Kael studied her, gaze unreadable.
Ravenna didn't blink.
She let the words hang between them, the offer both a challenge and a dismissal.
You want the ship?
Then prove you deserve it.
Finally—
Kael exhaled, slow and measured.
"You're serious."
"Oh, very." She stretched her fingers against the table, lazy and elegant. "Let's see what your empire is actually worth."
His silver eyes burned.
"You don't think I can win."
Her lips curled.
"I think if you could crush me, you already would have."
She wasn't wrong.
And that was the most irritating part.
Ravenna picked up her wine again, gaze glinting over the rim.
"Besides," she murmured, "where's the fun if I just let you have it?"
Kael rolled his shoulders back, inhaling slow.
Fine.
If she wanted a war, he'd give her one.
He pushed up from the chair, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from his cuffs.
"Then I'll see you at the auction."
Ravenna's smile widened, slow and wicked.
"I'll be waiting."
Voss didn't linger.
He turned, his stride sharp and measured, already calculating his next move.
Ravenna wasn't blocking him—she was forcing his hand.
Which meant he had one play.
Win.
Outbid her. Crush her completely.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting his cuffs, rolling his shoulders—
And then he heard them as hestepped out of the suite.
The Betas.
They were waiting just outside the hall like a pack of stray dogs.
And the moment he stepped into view—
They pounced.
"Sir—"
"Voss—"
"This shift in resource allocation—"
"The financial markets will need stabilization—"
"We need to discuss projections—"
Voss did not stop walking.
Didn't slow.
Didn't acknowledge the voices snapping at his heels like gnats.
The Beta executives had spent too long behind desks and holograms, thinking their positions came with power instead of privilege.
They forgot what real power looked like.
What it felt like.
Voss was about to remind them.
He cut a sharp turn down the corridor. The glass-lined hallways of the upper levels stretched ahead—gleaming, immaculate, silent. He could hear the Betas scrambling to keep up, the slap of polished shoes on cold tile.
"Sir, the Board will need a formal proposal—"
"With all due respect, this level of maneuvering could create—"
Voss stopped.
One moment, he was striding forward.
The next—stillness.
And in that fraction of a second, the air in the hallway changed.
The Betas stilled.
Not all of them were stupid.
Some of them had instincts left.
The one who had spoken—one of the financial officers, Reinhardt, mid-forties, soft jaw, too much faith in risk assessments, not enough in survival instincts—took half a step back.
Too late.
Voss turned. Slow. Deliberate.
His silver eyes cut into Reinhardt like a blade pressing just under the skin.
"A formal proposal?" Voss echoed, voice soft.
Too soft.
Reinhardt swallowed.
"Sir, I only meant that the Board—"
"The Board." Voss let the words settle. Then: "Tell me, Reinhardt—do you think the Board makes decisions?"
Silence.
Reinhardt's throat bobbed.
"They approve policy—"
"They approve what I tell them to approve."
A flicker of fear in Reinhardt's eyes.
Good.
"And you?" Voss continued, stepping forward—forcing space, forcing submission. "Do you think your job is to tell me what I can and can't do?"
The man's jaw clenched.
Voss waited.
Let the weight of the moment sink into the soft Beta's spine, let it coil at the base of his gut like an unspoken truth.
Then, finally—
"No, sir."
Voss smiled.
Not a kind smile.
"Then don't waste my time."
He turned without another word, the conversation already dead.
The Betas—every single one of them—moved aside.
Good.
Because right now, he had bigger priorities.
Leah.
She needed to meet Jace.
And that?
That would change everything.