I feel it before I see her. The bond doesn’t whisper. Itscreams.
Jalshagar.
The ancient tether between fated mates. Myth, they used to say. An ataxian trick, others claimed. But I feel it. Anchoring itself in the marrow of my bones. Vibrating through the steel beneath me.
She’s here.
And so am I.
We’re not dead.
I crawl through what used to be a corridor. The walls are unrecognizable. Melted. Fused into a jagged passage. Gravity is wonky here—pulling down at a weird angle, like the ship doesn’t know which way is down anymore.
Then I see her.
Her plate saysElla.
She’s crouched beside a ruptured console, pale and bleeding, her face streaked with soot. Her brown eyes are locked on mine the instant I turn the corner. No hesitation.
No scream.
Her chest rises, shaky. Her mouth parts. But she doesn’t run.
The moment stretches between us, taut and heavy.
I speak, voice gravel-thick.
“We’re not dead.”
She swallows. “Feels like hell.”
“It’s not.”
“How can you be sure?”
I look around. “Because hell would be cleaner.”
She huffs a breath that might be a laugh. Or a sob. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down. My leg’s still leaking sluggishly. “So are you.”
Her lip is split. There’s a gash above her brow. Her suit’s half torn, held together with a melted patch job.
But she’s alive.
That’s all that matters.
“We need to move,” I say, carefully stepping forward, keeping my voice low, slow. The way you’d approach something fragile. Or dangerous. “This structure’s not going to hold long. We’re caught in a debris field.”
“I figured,” she mutters. “Gravity’s all jacked up. And I keep hearing something... humming.”
“That’s the singularity.”
Her eyes go wide. “It’s stillactive?”
I nod. “Some fragment of the core must’ve stabilized just enough to survive. We’re orbiting it. A tight loop. One wrong move and we’re vapor.”
She looks around with dawning horror. “Then we’re stuck.”
