“I’m not—” I stop myself, then sigh. “Okay. I am. But slowly.”
He exhales through his teeth, clearly restraining the urge to physically pick me up and move me elsewhere. Travnyk steps closer to the panel, careful and respectful. He does not touch it—only studies it.
“This section carries internal data pathways,” he says.
“You’re sure?” Tomas asks.
Travnyk tilts his head slightly, considering. “No.”
Nice, Travnyk. You’re just the master of comforting statements.
The panel hums again, and there’s no doubt in my mind it’s reacting to me. The glow brightens when I step closer, and it dims when I step back. I raise my hand, stopping just short of the surface.
“Last time it reacted when I touched it,” I say quietly. “I think… I think it’s waiting for confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?” Tomas whispers.
I swallow. “Of me. Of who I am.”
Rakkh and I stare at one another, tension rising hard and fast.
14
LIA
Rakkh’s hand slides from my wrist to my lower back—firm and unmistakable. A silent promise that if this goes wrong, he’ll pull me away—or tear the ship apart trying.
“Do it,” he says quietly. “But… be careful.”
I nod and press my palm against the panel.
The response is immediate.
The hum deepens, resonating in my bones. The violet glow floods outward, racing along the walls, the floor, the ceiling—then collapses inward, focusing entirely where my hand meets the metal.
Heat blooms beneath my palm. It’s not burning or painful. It seems to recognize me.
My breath catches as something brushes the edge of my awareness—not a voice, not words, but impressions instead.
Starlight. Cold vacuum. A launch—violent, hurried, unfinished.
A woman’s presence—sharp, brilliant, furious with purpose. I don’t see a face, and it’s not a memory I can watch unfold—more like the echo of her intent.
Hold the line. Protect what comes next.
Tears sting my eyes before I realize I’m crying. Rakkh’s hand presses on the small of my back, and he moves closer.
“Lia.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though my voice trembles. “It’s not… taking anything. It’s giving.”
The panel retracts—not sliding, but unfolding.
The metal softens, drawing back into the wall like a living thing, yielding space. Behind it, the chamber deepens, revealing a narrow alcove lined with unfamiliar structures: smooth surfaces etched with faint symbols that pulse gently in time with the ship’s hum.
Travnyk exhales slowly. “It accepts her.”
Tomas lets out a shaky laugh that borders on hysteria. “Of course it does.”
