The column of light collapses inward, shrinking back into the recessed ring. The platform seals halfway—not fully closing, but no longer opening further.
The ship hums—uneasy.
“It is… conflicted,” Travnyk says, lowering his head slightly.
“That’s comforting,” Tomas mutters weakly.
“No,” Travnyk says. “It is dangerous.”
I do not take my eyes off the platform.
“This thing was built for war,” I say slowly. “And it still believes it is in one.”
Lia swallows. “Then it’s scared.”
The ship hums sharply at that. Not denial. Reaction.
I glance down at her. “You believe it feels fear?”
“I think,” she says carefully, “it doesn’t know how not to.”
The light steadies—dimmer now, less aggressive. The pressure in the chamber eases a fraction, as if the ship is… listening again. But I feel it, coiled beneath the calm. The potential for violence has not gone away. It has only been postponed.
I rest my hand over Lia’s, pinning it gently against my chest.
“Then hear me,” I say, not to her—but to the ship. “She is not alone.”
The hum shifts. The grooves pulse once—uncertain.
“She chooses me,” I continue, voice low and absolute. “And anything that harms me harms her.”
Lia’s breath catches.
The ship hesitates.
Then—slowly—the recessed platform seals completely, smoothing back into unbroken metal. The column of light fades. The chamber settles into a low, steady glow.
I do not know that it is acceptance, but it is a ceasefire. For the moment.
Travnyk exhales slowly. Tomas sags against the wall, shaking. Lia leans into me, forehead brushing my chest.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I did.”
Because the ship has now learned something critical.
It cannot reach her without going through me.
And if it ever decides I am an enemy… then this vessel will learn exactly what kind of war it has awakened.
18
LIA
The ship doesn’t relax; it settles.
The moment the platform seals beneath our feet, the pressure in the chamber evens out—not easing, but redistributing. Like a weight shifted from my chest to my spine. The hum drops into a lower register, steady and patient—no longer testing us, but no longer waiting either.
