The word is cold, clinical, and very accurate. Reacting. Not panicking, not afraid, not injured.
I shift my weight, suddenly hyperaware of my own body. My pulse is steady. My head is clear. My lungs feel full when I breathe. Whatever is affecting Tomas isn’t touching me.
That should be reassuring, but it isn’t. Not in the slightest. It only means that if it’s environmental, it’s hitting him first—not that I’m immune. And all the while the ship remains quiet.
Not inactive, but settled into a low, constant presence that hums just beneath the edge of my hearing. I feel it most in my feet, a faint vibration through the soles of my boots, like standing near heavy machinery that’s running smoothly somewhere far below.Rakkh crouches in front of Tomas, close enough to loom without meaning it.
“Describe it,” he orders.
Tomas swallows. “Pressure. Behind my eyes. And my mouth tastes… weird. Like metal.”
That sends a chill through me, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. I glance at the walls, at the faint etching beneath the surface. Nothing changes. No light responds. No warning flares. The ship doesn’t care. Or worse—it doesn’t notice.
“May I?” Travnyk asks, shifting closer to Tomas and extending one finger to hover just short of his wrist.
Tomas nods. Travnyk presses two fingers lightly to his pulse. Waits. Frowns.
“Elevated,” he murmurs. “But not irregular.”
“That’s good, right?” Tomas asks.
“It is… neutral.”
Rakkh bares his teeth. “Speak plainly.”
Travnyk straightens. “This is not fear response. Nor is it injury. Something external is influencing his physiology.”
“External how?” I ask, hugging my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the steady temperature.
Travnyk’s gaze flicks—not to the walls, not to the ceiling—but to the floor.
“It is proximity,” he says.
The word echoes uncomfortably in my head. The ship still doesn’t react. Tomas drags a hand down his face.
“Okay. Cool. So the alien murder ship is making me sick now.”
“No,” I say quickly, even though I don’t know why I’m so certain. “If it were trying to hurt you, it wouldn’t be this… sloppy.”
Rakkh looks at me sharply. “Explain.”
I hesitate, searching for the right words.
“Everything it’s done so far has been precise. Controlled. This—” I gesture at Tomas “—feels incidental.”
Like standing too close to a generator. Or… a leak.
The moment the word leaves my mouth, something tightens behind my eyes, and suspicion comes fast. Suspicion comes fast, along with the flicker of a memory that isn’t quite memory.
Heat. Containment. Systems never meant to run at full capacity for this long.
I suck in a breath, steadying myself.
“You feel something,” Travnyk says, watching me closely.
“Not exactly,” I say slowly. “It’s more like… a bad feeling. The kind you get when you realize something important is running, and no one’s been watching it.”
Tomas groans softly and leans his head back against the wall. “I vote we leave.”
