He sat down in the command chair, suddenly feeling every one of his fifty years.
“God help us for what comes next.”
Thorne didn’t flinch. He had memorized the brief: Three billion human lives lost in the first hour. Another two billion displaced. Ninety-seven percent of military assets vaporized. The numbers had lost their meaning somewhere between the fall of the Atlantic Wall and the surrender of the Pacific Fleet. Conquest Earth
Thorne had seen alien armadas, supernovas, the death of stars. But that look—not fear, not surrender, but a quiet, burning promise—chilled him more than any weapon. He sat down in the command chair, suddenly