“I think it must be the… memory. Where the command logic it operates on is, and therefore the fail safes.”
Lia inhales quickly but quietly. I feel it like a knife between my ribs. The quickening of her heart, the subtle scent of her sweat. The increase in her pulse.
The floor trembles—barely—but enough that Tomas stumbles again. I catch him by the collar before he falls, shoving him upright with more force than necessary, than I intend.
“Stay on your feet,” I growl. “If you fall, the ship will correct you again.”
His eyes widen. He nods quickly, lips pressed white.
The light ahead brightens as we approach a junction. Three branching corridors, each marked by faint lines in the metal floor. Only one glows. The others remain dark. Dormant, dead, or simply not meant for us.
The hum deepens as we reach the threshold. The vibration runs through my claws, up my legs, settling behind my sternum in a way that makes my scales prickle.
The ship pauses—actually pauses. The light dims to an almost dark, then pulses once. Twice. Then it shifts—splitting. One narrow band continues forward. Another branches sharply to the right. Lia stops short behind me.
“It… changed,” she says, with a tone of wonder in her voice.
I turn my head slightly. “It is testing.”
Travnyk steps up beside Tomas, eyes narrowed. “No, I think it is optimizing.”
“For what?” Tomas croaks.
Travnyk looks around, studying the walls, the ceiling, then at last the floor. Finally he shrugs as he shakes his head.
“For separation.”
Before I can respond, the light along the right-hand corridor brightens—warmer, more saturated. Violet without the blue-white edge. The hum subtly retunes, matching Lia’s pulse again, louder than before.
The ship wants her there—and if Travnyk is right, it wants her alone.
My body reacts before my thoughts catch up. I step sideways, blocking the branching corridor completely, wings flaring just enough to fill the space.
“No,” I say.
The hum spikes, but it is not an alarm—this is more… disagreement.
The light flicker intensifies. Pressure builds against my chest, not enough to force me back—but enough to test whether it can. Lia’s hand presses between my shoulder blades, firm.
“Rakkh.”
“Stay behind me,” I snap, not looking at her.
“I am behind you,” she says—and there is no fear in her voice. Only certainty. “That is why I am asking you to listen.”
I grit my teeth. The ship pulses again, the right-hand path glowing brighter, the forward path dimming. A choice. A forced one. Anger is a rumbling sandstorm in my belly. My hands clench into fists as muscles tense.
Travnyk steps closer, cautiously. He looks around me, still studying, still trying to understand.
“It is attempting to isolate its priority asset,” he says.
Asset. I bare my teeth as my tail twitches.
“She is not an object,” I say, voice low.
“No,” Travnyk agrees. “She is a condition.”
The pressure increases—still subtle, still controlled. The ship is not trying to crush me. It is trying to convince me. I turn my head just enough to look at Lia.
