Travnyk’s gaze sharpens. “Explain.”
“It’s not targeting Tomas,” I say. “I don’t think it seems him as a variable. Whatever’s affecting him is… waste. Residual output from systems that were never meant to run while buried.”
Tomas blinks slowly. “So I’m getting poisoned by accident.”
“Yes,” I say gently.
“That’s… great.”
Rakkh bares his teeth. “Then we stop the output.”
“I don’t think we can,” I say. “Not yet.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Why.”
I hesitate to say it, not because I think I’m wrong, but because the answer terrifies me.
“I don’t think the ship knows it’s hurting anyone,” I say quietly. “I think it assumes anyone inside is… compatible.”
Silence stretches. Travnyk exhales through his nose.
“Then this system predates modern human parameters.”
“Yes.”
“And possibly modern Zmaj ones as well,” he adds, glancing at Rakkh.
Rakkh’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
The corridor bends ahead, the walls darkening to that deep indigo shade. Fine white etchings trace along the metal now, faint and branching—like conduits, not decoration. The air feels denser here, colder, cleaner… and somehow harsher.
Tomas sways.
Travnyk catches him and hauls him upright with one arm, holding him against his side like he weighs nothing. Tomas doesn’t protest. He presses his forehead briefly to Travnyk’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.
“Okay,” he mutters. “Okay, that’s… yeah. That’s worse.”
“We need to move,” I say. “But not like this.”
The ship hums—low, steady. It’s not reacting; it’s listening.
I step away from the wall and into the center of the corridor.
Rakkh’s head snaps toward me. “Lia?—”
“I need to test something,” I say, heart pounding.
I don’t touch anything. I just breathe. Focus. The way I did earlier, when I tried to shape intent instead of panic. This place wasn’t built to hurt. It was built to preserve and sustain. To wait for… something or… someone.
“I know you don’t see him,” I whisper, not aloud, not exactly. “But he’s with me.”
The vibration under my boots shifts. It’s not stronger or weaker, but it is different. The light along the floor flickers, then steadies again, slightly dimmer.
Travnyk inhales sharply. “The density just dropped.”
Rakkh stiffens. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t give it a command,” I say, breath shaky. “I gave it context.”
