Rakkh’s jaw tightens. “With whom?”
I look at the walls. At the glow. At the grown metal that doesn’t belong to Tajss—or any world I know.
“I don’t think it knows the war ended,” I whisper.
A tremor runs through the hull. Not an impact this time. Something internal shifting. Systems rerouting. The glow surges along the floor, flowing deeper into the ship—down a corridor that slopes away from us. An invitation or a directive.
Travnyk watches it, thoughtful.
“It opens paths for you,” Travnyk says.
“For me,” I agree quietly.
Rakkh steps closer, his presence a solid weight at my side. “Then you do not go alone.”
I look up at him. His eyes burn in the dim light, fierce and unyielding—and afraid, though he would never admit it.
“I won’t,” I say.
Outside, something scrapes against the hull again—frustrated, searching—but the sound is distant, muted by layers of metal and sand.
Ahead, the ship waits, and I know—with a certainty that settles deep in my chest—that whatever answers we’re looking for… they’re not behind us anymore. They’re ahead. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hold it. When I exhale, it feels like the corridor does too.
Not with an exhale of air, but with a presence. A subtle change in pressure that makes the fine hairs along my arms lift. The violet glow deepens, flowing forward in a slow, deliberate pulse, illuminating a passage that curves gently downward.
The ship isn’t rushing us, but it is guiding us. I take a step, slow and uncertain. All of this is too strange to truly contemplate. Rakkh’s hand tightens on my wrist—not stopping me, just anchoring me. A reminder that I’m still here. Still flesh. Still human.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure who I’m reassuring.
“I know,” he says. “That is why I hold you.”
My throat tightens. He doesn’t loosen his grip, but moves with me as I step forward, our shoulders nearly touching. His cool presence is a constant, a grounding, a counterpoint to the strange warmth of the metal beneath my boots.
The passage widens and opens into another chamber—smaller than the last. It has a lower ceiling with curved walls that feel… intentional. It’s designed to stop you. A waiting area. Travnyk enters last, scanning the space with measured calm. His tusks catch the violet light as he lowers his head slightly, studying the seams in the walls.
“This area is not transit,” he says. “It is… a hold. Or a buffer.”
“A safe room?” Tomas asks weakly.
Travnyk considers. “Once. Perhaps.”
Perhaps. Thanks, Travnyk. Not helping.
Another deep vibration rolls through the hull—not violent, not abrupt, not like something hitting the hull. This is more like a system settling into place, and then the ship hums louder. Only for a moment before softening again, as if it’s satisfied.
I exhale slowly, roll my neck and shoulders, and then look at Rakkh.
“It’s stabilizing,” I say.
Rakkh looks down at me sharply. “You are certain?”
“As certain as I can be when standing inside an alien vessel that seems to be reacting to… well… me,” I say.
My attempt at humor falls flat, witnessed by no one laughing. Not even Rakkh gives me a sympathy chuckle.
The glow shifts, concentrating along a single wall. Thin lines brighten, tracing a shape—an outline I recognize before I fully understand it’s a panel. It’s not exactly a door—more like a membrane, grown thinner than the surrounding hull. My pulse spikes.
“No,” Rakkh says instantly. “You do not approach that.”
