But knowing does not lessen the danger.
The ship pulses again—gentler—and the grooves around the chamber converge toward the center platform. A circular seam appears beneath our feet, faint at first, then clearer as the metal grows thinner. Something beneath it shifts like it is waiting. I lash my tail, slapping the wall.
“What is this place?” I demand.
Travnyk studies the seams. “I think it is either a relay chamber or a staging node.”
“For what purpose?”
Travnyk glances at Lia. “For someone authorized to access deeper systems,” he says.
The word tastes bitter. Authorized. Lia swallows.
“I feel like… it wants to show me something.”
I move to stand directly in front of her, blocking her view of the platform.
“No.”
The hum tightens again—not angry, not hostile—but firm. Insistent. The light brightens around Lia’s feet, not touching mine. She does not push past me. She does not reach for the platform. Instead, she places her palm flat against my chest.
Not the ship. Me.
The contact is soft. Her human hand so small. Delicate. But so steady.
“I won’t go without you,” she says quietly. “I promise.”
The ship hesitates, seeming to understand. I feel it—an almost imperceptible delay in the hum, a recalculation that ripples through the chamber. Travnyk’s brows lift slightly.
“Interesting.”
“What?” Tomas snaps.
“It appears to accept conditional parameters,” Travnyk says. “I think she is rewriting its expectations.”
I look down at Lia, my voice low. “You should not have to negotiate with a machine to stay alive.”
Her lips curve in something that is not quite a smile. “I’ve negotiated worse odds.”
The platform pulses again—stronger this time. The seam beneath our feet becomes more defined. The ship is ready.
I tighten my stance, wings flexing, every instinct screaming to tear the metal apart before it takes another step toward claiming her, but Lia’s hand remains on my chest. Grounding and commanding at the same time, somehow.
And I realize with a cold clarity that frightens me more than the ship ever could—whatever this vessel was built to do… it will not move forward unless she allows it.
And whatever lies beneath this platform will change everything about the war this ship believes it is fighting. Including who it decides to protect and who it decides must be removed.
The platform beneath our feet shifts, unlocking. Not opening—yielding.
The metal thins in a perfect circle, its seams dissolving into a recessed ring that sinks a handspan lower with a muted, fluid sound. The hum drops again, no longer searching or testing. Now it feels… satisfied.
I hate that sensation more than the alarms.
Lia’s hand tightens against my chest, fingers curling against my scales as the floor settles. She feels it too—the moment where the ship’s attention sharpens from curiosity into intent.
“Rakkh,” she whispers. “It’s not?—”
“I know,” I say, even though I do not. “Stay behind me.”
