The hangar bay was a cavern of noise and stale recycled air, a stark contrast to the organic quiet of the Drifting Leaf. The scent of engine fuel and ozone burned the throat. The Star-Jumper sat in its designated berth, a scarred and weathered vessel that looked more like a forgotten tool than a legendary ship.
Team Zero moved through the organized chaos with practiced ease, a tight formation with Lira and Midas sheltered in the middle. They were almost there.
Then, the space between them and their ship's ramp was filled.
Three figures stood waiting. They weren't dockworkers or security. They wore severe, high-collared grey uniforms, devoid of insignia except for a small, tasteful pin on their lapels: the interconnected rings of the Galactic Guild. The man at the front had a carefully neutral face and the calm posture of a lifelong bureaucrat. The two flanking him had the alert, still stance of professional bodyguards.
