"Say it again."
Kael's voice was calm, almost bored.
The analyst across from him—Joren—swallowed. "Argen defected three months ago. He surfaced in the eastern command tent less than twelve hours ago."
Lysa didn't react immediately. "And their response?"
"Predictable," Joren replied. "Suspicion, followed by acceptance once he confirmed their existing fears."
Kael nodded. "Good."
Michael, standing near the window, turned slowly. "You're not even pretending to be surprised."
"I don't reward surprises that arrive on schedule," Kael said.
Lysa frowned. "You let Argen go."
"I redirected him," Kael corrected. "Defectors are more useful when they defect loudly."
Michael folded his arms. "You fed them a traitor."
"I fed them a mirror," Kael replied. "They see what they already believe."
Joren hesitated. "They're planning a forced engagement. Traditional battlefield. They think it limits your advantages."
Kael allowed himself a small smile. "Of course they do."
Lysa leaned forward. "Talk to us. Not in riddles."
Kael tapped the table. A projection bloomed—multiple timelines branching and collapsing.
"Betrayal is not an event," he said. "It's a variable. Argen was flagged the moment he began questioning inevitability instead of efficiency."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "So you punished doubt?"
"No," Kael said. "I used it."
Joren glanced at the data. "You altered his access gradually. Gave him just enough incomplete truths to sound credible."
"Credibility," Kael said, "is consistency with expectation."
Lysa exhaled sharply. "You knew he'd tell them you'd strike confidence, not territory."
"And that," Kael said, "will make them overprotect the wrong assets."
Michael stepped closer. "You're shaping their paranoia."
"Yes."
"And when they realize?"
"They won't," Kael replied. "Realization requires time. I'm removing it."
Joren spoke again. "There's more. General Rethar suspects internal fracture. He's delaying orders, waiting for unanimity."
Kael's fingers paused mid-air. "Exactly as projected."
Lysa looked at him, eyes searching. "Kael… how far ahead are you?"
He met her gaze. "Far enough that betrayal no longer changes outcomes."
Silence settled.
Michael broke it. "This is the part where you tell me you've already chosen who dies."
Kael didn't deny it. "This is the part where I tell you they chose first—centuries ago—when they decided power should always be contested instead of concluded."
Michael shook his head slowly. "You sound like the stories about the first Kael now."
Kael's expression hardened for a fraction of a second.
"He walked away," Kael said. "I studied the aftermath."
Lysa spoke softly. "And what did it teach you?"
"That unfinished power doesn't disappear," Kael replied. "It just waits for someone less careful."
Joren checked a fresh update. "Enemy command is splitting. Two factions. One wants immediate strike. The other wants proof you'll hesitate."
Kael straightened. "Then we give them proof."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Proof of what?"
Kael tapped the console. Orders cascaded silently across the network.
"Proof," he said, "that hesitation is no longer an option."
Outside, units began to move—not toward the front, but sideways.
Toward supply lines.
Toward trust.
Toward the spaces betrayal always left unguarded.
Kael had planned for treachery before the first oath was ever broken.
Because conquest was never about loyalty.
It was about understanding exactly when it would fail—and being ready when it did.