“I wasn’t,” I lie.
The floor shudders again—harder this time, as something outside slams into the hull. The impact reverberates through the corridor, rattling my teeth.
“That thing is going to tear its way in!” Tomas yelps.
Rakkh stops. Just stops, right there in the passage, forcing all of us to halt. He plants his feet, spreads his wings until theybrush the walls on either side. His presence fills the corridor, dominating it.
“No,” he says. “It will not.”
Another impact, and this one feels closer. The ship answers.
The violet glow flares—still not bright, not violent—but the metal beneath our feet hums louder, deeper. The sound crawls up my bones, setting my teeth on edge.
Then the corridor tightens.
Not so much visibly or dramatically. It’s the air pressure that shifts, increasing. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. The walls vibrate, almost imperceptibly, and somewhere behind us there’s a grinding sound—metal sliding against metal.
A seal.
“Did it just… close?” I ask, my breath stuttering.
Travnyk nods slowly. “Partial lockdown.”
“For us?” Tomas squeaks.
“For them,” Rakkh says.
Outside, the impacts stop, and I don’t for a second believe it’s because the burrowers have gone. I think they’ve lost purchase. The realization hits me like a cold wave.
“It’s defending itself,” I whisper. “Not us. The ship.”
“And by extension,” Travnyk adds softly, “you.”
The corridor bends again, opening into a wider chamber that’s not really a room, more like a junction. The ceiling arches overhead, ribbed with supports that look disturbinglybiological. The violet glow pools here, stronger, brighter, but still restrained. Controlled.
I step forward despite myself. Rakkh’s hand snaps out, catching my wrist.
“Do not wander,” he says sharply.
“I’m not wandering,” I whisper back. “I’m… listening.”
The words feel strange as soon as they leave my mouth. But they’re true. The hum isn’t random—it’s patterned. It rises and falls in patterns I can almost anticipate. The glow brightens when I focus on it. Dims when I look away.
It’s not speaking. It’s reacting to me. I close my eyes and the sensation deepens.
It’s pressure behind my eyes. A flicker of something—images, maybe, or impressions. Metal. Stars. A sense of waiting. Of holding position. Of watching the sky for something that never came.
My breath catches painfully. Rakkh’s grip tightens.
“Lia.”
I open my eyes. The glow recedes slightly, as if chastened.
“I think…” My voice shakes. I clear my throat. “I think it’s damaged. Confused.”
Tomas lets out a shaky laugh. “You don’t say.”
“No,” I insist. “It’s reacting to threats like they’re still… current. Like it’s still at war.”
