I’m the first out. Rifle raised, eyes scanning. The interior is dark, lit by flickering emergency strips. The Seeker’s corridors are sleek, clinical, a far cry from the utilitarian bulkheads of our warships. It smells sterile. Dead.
“Clear,” I growl.
The rest of Korr Team files in behind me. We spread out. Graal updates on the command frequency—we’re hitting Engineering first. Take the drive or take it offline.
There’s something in the silence of this ship that crawls down my spine. I grip my weapon tighter.
My comms ping.
“Korr Team, secondary entry team reports irregular power surges in the central core. The singularity field isunstable.Proceed withextremecaution.”
No shit.
“Orders?” Graal asks.
“Unchanged,” Vurn replies. “Seize the core.”
I hiss between my teeth.
We’re marching straight into a black hole’s cradle. And all Vurn sees is glory.
My pulse slows to a crawl. I shift into predator mode—every sense sharpened, every step calculated. We move through the Seeker like ghosts, death cloaked in silence.
But in the back of my mind, I can’t shake it.
Something’s waiting.
And it’s not ready to die yet.
CHAPTER 5
ELLA
The lights go out at 03:17.
One second I’m running a diagnostic on a blown conduit, the next I’m slamming shoulder-first into the bulkhead as the artificial gravity hiccups like a drunk. Everything tilts. Sparks spit from the ceiling. Then the klaxons start. Shrieking like the ship itself is screaming.
“What the hell—” Marla’s voice cuts off as the floor kicks under us.
Boom. Boom.
Explosions, close and getting closer. The lights snap back on—emergency red, painting everything in pulsing horror.
“We’re under attack,” I whisper, my throat bone-dry.
“No shit,” Marla snaps, fumbling for the emergency locker. She tosses me a suit, halfway sealed herself already. “Come on!”
My fingers are shaking as I jam myself into the pressure harness. I don’t even bother with the comms link—I need to move. Fast. I sling my toolbelt around my waist and grab the only thing that might matter: my override spanner. It’s not a weapon, but it’s the closest thing I’ve got.
We bolt.
The corridor is bedlam. Smoke clogs the vents, making everything smell like burning plastic and ozone. I stumble over something soft and wet. I don’t look down.
Marla veers left. “Engineering’s this way!”
“I know!” I yell, coughing. The emergency air scrubbers are struggling. I taste ash and blood in the back of my throat.
The next blast hits so close the deck plates ripple. The ceiling groans. A pipe bursts, vomiting steam. We duck through it, squinting.
