By afternoon, the rumor wasn't rumor anymore.
It was conversation.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just present.
Sponsor Liaison met with Dreyden.
Ownership clause offered.
Licensing under review.
The words weren't accurate—but they weren't wrong either.
That was enough.
Lucas leaned back in his chair in the low-output hall, watching mixed-rank rotations run cleanly for the fourth time that hour.
"No explosion," he muttered.
"No," Dreyden replied.
"No threat. No punishment."
"No."
Lucas narrowed his eyes.
"That's what bothers me."
Dreyden didn't look up from his interface.
"They don't escalate when absorption is cheaper."
Lucas exhaled slowly.
"Say it clean."
"They'll copy it."
"And call it innovation."
"Yes."
Lucas's fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the mat.
"So we're racing replication."
"Yes."
"And we don't even know the track."
Dreyden finally closed the interface.
"Then we make the track irrelevant."
Lucas blinked.
That tone again.
Not defiance.
