A Stategy to survived

Voss didn't move. Didn't blink.

His chest heaved once, but his tone was steady, unyielding. "You've had your turn. Now—" his silver eyes burned, "—I need to make a plan."

Leah's body was wrecked. Her muscles twitched from the aftershock of the exchange, the bond still raw and untested inside her. But Voss—he was alive. Focused. Ruthless.

She wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, smearing it against her skin, and let out a slow breath.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Voss's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then start talking."

Leah forced herself to stand, bracing against the cold edge of the console. Her breath was rough, but her voice wasn't shaking.

"You want everything? Fine. You'll get it." She met his gaze. "But let's start with the part that kills you."

His silver gaze—unblinking, relentless.

"Go."

Her voice sharpened, the old edges of survival cutting through.

"The Ark launches. One through ten? You never make it."

Voss's expression didn't flicker. "I never even bother to try."

Leah's lips pressed tight. "No. You don't."

She swallowed. "Ark 1—" her voice was cold, tight, "—is gone before it clears orbit. Sabotage. Internal went boom was on the news."

Voss's eyes glinted, cold and calculating. "Motive?"

Her voice, bitter: "Same as always. Power. Someone trims the competition early."

His voice stayed cold. "The rest?"

She exhaled through her nose. "Ark 2 makes it. Ark 4 makes it. But they're locked. Private factions. If you're not one of them—" she looked at him sharply, "—you don't get in."

Voss's voice, soft and lethal: "And Ark 3?"

Leah's fingers curled against the console. "Ark 3 was supposed to survive. But the Alphas—" she stopped, her throat tight, "—they died. Before Year Three started."

Voss's voice was ice, but the fire underneath was blistering. "Why?"

Her breath came shallow. "Gene instability. Their mods turned on them. No treatment, no warning—" her throat worked, "—they burned out."

His silver gaze didn't move.

"You're lying. There was no instability in the Alpha trials."

Leah's gaze didn't waver.

"Then they lied to you."

The air cracked with it—raw and sharp.

She pressed on. "The survivors on Ark 3 tore each other apart. By Year 8—" her voice was stripped raw, "—the food was gone. The guards hoarded what was left. The rest of us—" her voice cracked briefly, "—starved."

Her hand pressed against her ribs—phantom pain. "I died in the riots."

The cold rolling off Voss was absolute. "And then?"

Leah's chest heaved once, her eyes burning with something raw.

"Then—" she swallowed. "I woke up. Here."

"Thirty days before the world ends."

The silence hung—thick, weighted, full of raw edges.

Then—Voss's voice, clipped, precise: "How long until Ark 1 fails?"

Her answer—immediate, cold, and burning with certainty: "Seventeen days."

His silver eyes—calculating fury. "The auction for Ark 0?"

"Four days."

His voice, cutting: "And the trigger event?"

Leah's throat worked, her voice flat and bitter: "The Tectonic Stabilizer. It fails in twenty-three days. The world starts breaking apart. By Day 30—"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her voice—soft, final, and cold: "Nothing's left."

The console's hum seemed too loud in the razor-wire silence.

Voss's eyes—cold silver, burning beneath the ice—fixed her. His voice, clipped and surgical: "Casualties?"

Leah's voice—stripped bare:

"Ninety Five percent."

His body—still. But the tension fractured the air.

Then—his voice, soft, precise, and cutting through the bone: "Survivors."

Her eyes burned.

"Less than five percent—on the ships. And maybe—" her lips, thin, "—a few rats. But Earth's gone."

The air compressed, sharp and lethal, and his voice—low, flat, absolute:

"No. Not yet."

His jaw—tight, his breath—even, but cold and burning.

"We need Ark 0."

Leah's lips pressed. "Exactly."

Voss's silver razors cut through her.

"And you're sure it's real."

Her voice, sharp, iron-edged: "It's real. It's the only one with a full biosphere. Independent systems. Small crew. And—" her voice clipped, "—it launches first."

A flicker of something cold and sharp passed through his eyes. "So that's why you came to me."

Her voice stayed flat and iron-edged: "You're the only one who can win it."

A beat. And then—

Voss's voice—soft and cutting: "And what about your buddy?"

Leah froze.

The air—thin, her chest—tight.

"What." Her voice was flat.

Voss's eyes narrowed, sharp and knowing:

"The one who opened the door for you. Who cracked into Phoenix Tower's security—" his voice dropped slightly, dangerous, "—who's been in your ear this whole time."

His voice—soft, but laced with iron: "Tell me about your friend."

Leah's pulse hit hard.

Her throat worked once, but her eyes—steeled.

Her voice—tight and sharp: "Her name's Ava Lyn."

Voss's eyes flickered. "Background?"

Leah's chin lifted slightly, her voice even:

"She's a Beta. Tech genius. Hacker. Systems expert. And—" her voice dropped, "—she's the reason I'm standing here."

Voss's head tilted slightly, his eyes searching, cold and calculating.

"And what's her play?"

Leah's lips pressed. "Her play—" she said, her voice low and edged, "—is getting us on that ship."

Voss's eyes stayed sharp, dissecting.

"Loyal?"

Her voice, flat and cold: "To me."

A pulse of silence—

And then—

Voss's lips, a cold line, his voice—soft, lethal:

"Then bring her in."

Leah didn't blink. "You want to meet her?"

His voice—smooth as a blade: "No."

"I want to see if she can keep up."

Leah crossed her arms, her pulse still hammering against her ribs, her body still raw from the exchange. He wasn't done with her.

She could see it in the way his silver eyes pinned her, sharp and calculating.

Voss exhaled through his nose, slow and even, before he spoke again.

"You chose this path." His voice was measured, not quite a question, but not yet an accusation. "And you chose me."

Leah held his gaze. "I did."

A slow, sharp incline of his head. "Why?"

She could have given him a thousand reasons. Because I knew you'd survive. Because you're the only one ruthless enough to win. Because I saw you die, and now I need you to live.

Instead, she told him the truth.

"Because you don't lose."

His eyes flashed.

Not with pride. Not with arrogance.

With recognition.

Because he didn't.

And now he knew she didn't either.

Unregistered

Voss leaned forward slightly, bracing his palms against the console.

"You're an Omega."

Leah's spine stiffened. The way he said it. Not a label. A fact.

He tilted his head slightly, silver gaze razor-sharp. "And yet—" his voice cooled, calculating, "—you're not registered."

Leah forced her body to stay still.

"No."

Voss's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Interesting."

Leah's voice stayed flat. "Not really."

"It is."

The weight of his gaze settled over her like a cage, pressing against something old and unspoken.

"Do you know what that means?"

Leah exhaled through her nose. "It means I pass as Beta."

His voice dropped. "Unless you're tested in a full lab."

Her jaw locked.

He wasn't wrong. The quick medical tests—the ones run in basic facilities, off-world clearances, the kind used for ship rosters—they wouldn't pick it up.

To them, she'd scan as Beta.

A little too strong, a little too sharp—but normal.

She didn't answer.