Naomi's quiet mutter was all it took. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to her.
"A picket ship," Baroque began, leaning toward her, "is basically advance recon. It scouts the enemy's position, surveys terrain, prevents—"
"Hold it, Baroque."
Anne cut him off sharply. Her tone softened when she turned to Naomi. "Naomi, something on your mind? Don't hold back. Even if it sounds foolish, say it."
Naomi swallowed and nodded. "Yes. It's just... I don't understand why they'd send a picket ship at all."
Girard narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? Pickets are procedure. A fleet doesn't move blind. Without recon, you blunder into ambushes."
Naomi shook her head. "No, I mean... if what you said earlier is true—if they captured the Angersia and got their hands on the Luminous Chart—then why waste time? They should launch a full assault immediately. Sending out recon only warns us. It's like saying, 'We're coming, better run.' It doesn't make sense."
She knew she sounded naïve. She was new here, a civilian-turned-captain fumbling through pirate councils. But she couldn't keep the thought to herself.
Girard slammed a hand on the table and half rose. "So you're saying my intel is wrong? Watch your tongue, girl. When the Imperials come crashing down on us, will you take the blame?"
"Sit down, Girard."
Jenga's gravelly voice broke the tension. "She didn't say your information's bad. She's pointing out there might be more going on. That's worth listening to."
Reluctantly, Girard eased back into his chair, though the glare he shot Naomi could have cut steel.
Anne leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "All right, Naomi. If not an error, then what? We can't afford optimism here. We plan for the worst, or we die."
Naomi inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Then two possibilities. First: the Imperials did capture the Angersia, but couldn't extract the chart. They only know the rough region. In that case, the picket ship's mapping routes, trying to pin down the exact location. The flaw? It gives us time to scatter. They risk wasting resources."
She paused. The silence in the room pressed against her. Naomi glanced around—no one interrupted, no one mocked. They were listening. She pushed on.
"Second: they do have the chart. But there's something stopping them from charging in. Maybe hitting us here is disadvantageous. Maybe they think we'll slip away too easily. So instead, they want us to abandon this place. Drive us out, funnel us into a spot they've chosen, and spring the trap there. Lure us into one decisive ambush."
When she finished, the air went heavy. No one spoke. No one even shifted. Each captain stared down at their hands or the table's edge, as if silence itself weighed them down.
Naomi's heartbeat thundered in her ears. Did I go too far? Did I just make myself look like an idiot? The quiet felt like the void of space pressing in, vast and merciless.
At last, Carcylis broke it with a low chuckle. "Hah. Damn rookie. Makes sense, though. No wonder you had the guts to pick a fight with the Deathcallion."
"Mm." Jenga stroked his beard, eyes glinting with amusement. "Might be this old dog should think about retirement, if the pup's sharper than we are. But still... how exactly would they herd us? That's the question."
Naomi glanced around the table. "...If this hideout's compromised, you must have a fallback, right? Another bolt-hole?"
Roland, the dark-skinned man with the fisherman's face, nodded. "Of course. Not much of one—no proper resupply. But serviceable. An abandoned outpost in the Asteroid Belt. That's what Girard was talking about earlier. You're suggesting the Empire might already be there, waiting."
The council digested this in grim silence. In the end, they reached consensus: someone had to check the outpost before moving the fleet.
The job fell to Girard, who had raised the alarm, and Naomi, who had dared suggest the Imperials might be waiting.
Baroque opened his mouth to volunteer, but Naomi stopped him cold. "No. Not with Serena aboard the Abyss. If it's a trap, bringing her into it would be insane."
Reluctantly, Baroque backed down.
The expedition was scheduled for three days later—enough time to restock supplies and finish the Grim Reaper's repairs.
Back at the temporary dock, Naomi was already venting to Serena and Osaka.
"Ughhh. Why me? I'm the one who said it might be a trap, so naturally I'm the idiot who has to go check it out. How is that fair?"
Osaka's voice hummed from the ship's systems, droll as ever. "Ain't no way we drag the princess herself into a hornet's nest, and we can't pawn her off on strangers either. Sure, we could shuffle Serena onto the Grim Reaper and send Baroque, but that'd stink of cowardice."
"I'm sorry, Naomi," Serena said softly. "If I thought I'd be useful, I'd insist on going. But I'd only slow you down. If I were captured again, I'd put you all in even greater danger ~desuwa."
Naomi shook her head firmly. "Serena, stop. Protecting you is our job. Mine and Baroque's both. You don't get to apologize for that. ...Still, damn it. I can't shake the feeling this is going to go horribly wrong."
With no choice, she threw herself into the work. For three straight days, Naomi and the Abyss crew labored side by side, pushing the Grim Reaper through grueling repairs until she gleamed again—ready for whatever lay ahead.