The briefing room lights were lowered to a strategic dim, allowing the holographic schematics to cast shifting blue patterns across the walls. A rotating wireframe of Voyager hovered above the table, its warp signature highlighted in orange. Another silhouette lingered behind it… faint, intermittent, almost parasitic in its proximity.

Chakotay stood with his arms loosely folded, posture controlled but unmistakably alert. The soft hum of the holo-projector filled the air like distant static. When the doors hissed open, he glanced up, expression composed, though the slight arch of his brow suggested both relief and urgency.

“Perfect timing,” he said, tapping a command into the console. The unidentified vessel’s outline sharpened slightly, though still marred by interference. “This contact has been shadowing us for the last twenty minutes. No transponder. No hail response. Not even a clear energy signature.”

He circled the table, the blue light catching the angles of his face. “Tuvok believes they’re masking their emissions deliberately. I’m inclined to agree… no ship drifts this close to a warp trail by accident.”

Another gesture, and a playback appeared: Voyager dropping to impulse, the contact dipping just out of sensor clarity, mirroring every movement with unnerving precision.

“Before we bring Janeway or the crew into this, I want a coherent strategy. If they reveal themselves as hostile, we need contingencies that minimise risk. If they’re something else…” He paused, letting the possibilities breathe. “…we need to determine intent before assumptions cost us lives.”

He motioned toward the nearest chair, tone as steady as ever. “Take a seat. Walk through this with me.”

A small, wry note entered his voice—barely there, but unmistakable. “It seems whoever they are… they’ve decided we’re worth following.”

He turned back to the projection, the calm before the possible storm. “Let’s figure out why.”