Twenty minutes later, he escorted her into the underground bunker, its damp air thick with rust and ozone. Two guards seized Sonya roughly, their grips bruising her arms. Westner paused, “Take her to Bannon. He’ll want words.”

One guard sneered, recognizing her. “Aye, sir. Clumsy little traitor.”

Westner loomed, his cybernetic frame casting a shadow. “We’re not the enemy. Treat her properly, or we’re no better than them. Understood?”

The guard nodded, chastened, and shoved her down the hall. As they moved, the cruel one muttered, “Admiral Seti wouldn’t be soft.”

“Man’s got a point,” the other said, conflicted. “Acting like them makes us no better.”

“She’s a traitor—vids proved it,” the first snapped.

“Commander’ll skin us if we mess with her,” the second replied, pushing Sonya forward.

Ten minutes later, Westner entered Bannon’s office, flickering lights casting jagged shadows. Sonya stood, hands bound, her skintight mesh suit hugging a taut, muscular frame. Her blonde ponytail hung askew, blue eyes blazing with pain and resolve despite the bruises. Bannon, gruff yet paternal, waved a hand. “Commander, you’ve crossed paths with Lieutenant Blade before—nice work snagging her.” His tone carried a faint, sardonic edge.

Westner nodded. “Crossed paths, yeah. She’s got a lot of fight in her.”

Bannon leaned forward, voice low. “She’s briefed me on Imperial activity—good intel, as usual. We’ve got 48 hours before they find us.”

Sonya’s breath caught, her gaze dropping. “If I’m not found with the others, they’ll assume I turned, and they’ll slaughter the civilians in retaliation—my parents are among them.” She let out a pained exhale. “The Empire doesn’t know that, because if they did, they’d hold them over me. It has to stay secret.” Her voice quivered with guilt but steadied as she faced Bannon. “I’ll give my life to protect them and the other civilians.”

Westner shook his head, voice solemn. “What if we chain you in one of the cells down below in the old cell block. Your wounds will sell it—we interrogated you, didn’t get anything, then left.” No more Carvers, he thought, the weight of past losses pressing down.

Bannon nodded. “That should work. We’ve got a lead on the civilian hostages. We’ll free them.”

“How do we get off-planet?” Westner pressed, eyes narrowing.

“Later,” Bannon said, firm but weary. “Take her to the cells, keep it quiet. Too many here want Wraith blood.”

Sonya straightened, a sharp intake marking the pain flaring in her thigh. “Sir,” she said to Bannon, discipline masking her dread. Minutes later Westner led her to a rusted cot in a cell. “Your quarters.”

“Not five-star,” she muttered, a bitter edge to her smirk. “Two stars at most.”  She looked at him, her eyes pleading,  “Greg. Just… please save my folks.”

“I’ll do everything I can to free those hostages, you have my word,” he replied, locking the cell, his tone steady with conviction.

Her nod was tight, trust flickering through her fear. For them, she vowed silently, the thought of her parents anchoring her defiance.