Travnyk nods slowly. “A system without updated environmental parameters will default to original assumptions.”
“In space,” Tomas says. His face pales as the implication settles. “So everything it’s been dumping out there?—”
“Isn’t poison to it,” I finish. “It’s waste. Excess. Normal operation in the wrong place.”
Rakkh’s claws curl faintly against the floor with a scraping sound.
“Then it is not cruel,” he says. “Only blind.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “And now it is waking up inside a world it does not recognize.”
The silence that follows is different from before. Heavier. Weighted with consequence instead of shock. I feel it then—subtle, but unmistakable—as Rakkh shifts toward me.
His shoulder brushes mine, just barely, and the contact sends a jolt straight through my chest. It’s not accidental. He’s aligning himself so that whatever comes next is something we’ll face side by side.
If it was not clear before, it is now. I am no longer only a duty to him. I’m a preference. He’s choosing me. The way he looks at me, I am not mistaking the weight in his eyes—or the way my body reacts to him. The way my heart skips.
“What does it want from you now?” Rakkh asks, his voice low.
I swallow, not looking at the panel. Instead of looking at the ship, I look at him.
“I think,” I say carefully, “it’s done explaining.”
His brow ridges lift slightly. “Then what remains?”
I tighten my grip on his hand without meaning to.
“Deciding,” I say. “And that’s the part I’m afraid of.”
No guiding lights or pressure behind my eyes. No shift in vibration herding me toward a conclusion. It simply waits.Systems steady. Environment balanced. As if the explanation was the final courtesy and now it expects action.
Like Maddy did.
I step back from the panel slowly, half expecting resistance, but there isn’t any. The surface cools beneath my palm, inert again, like a scar that’s already healed.
Behind me, Tomas lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest since the recording ended.
“So,” he says carefully, “we just found out humans were on Tajss before… everything. That one of them built a warship-slash-ark-slash-doomsday-machine, and now it’s more or less accidentally poisoning the planet because it thinks it is still in space.”
“Correct,” Travnyk says.
Tomas winces. “I hate it when you say things like that so calmly.”
Travnyk’s gaze drifts to the wall, then to me before answering.
“Because panic would improve our outcome?”
“No,” Tomas mutters. “But it would make me feel less insane.”
Rakkh hasn’t let go of my hand. I notice it again, not because he tightens his grip, but because he doesn’t loosen it when the moment passes. His thumb rests against my knuckles, unmoving. Present and intentional.
Choosing.
It makes my pulse jump—traitorous and fast.
“The ship believes its mission is still viable,” Travnyk continues. “Preservation. Continuity. Defense. It does not recognize that there has been a failure. Only an interruption.”
“Yes,” I say. “And the interruption wasn’t the Devastation.”
