CHAPTER 1
AYLA
Iswirl the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light refract through the crystal stemware. Every detail of this room is a love letter to indulgence—curved lounges upholstered in deep violet velvet, softly pulsing floor lights timed to some ambient tempo, and the low murmur of wealth too comfortable to care who’s listening.
Outside the glass, the Kepler Rose Nebula unfurls like a living dream. Pink and violet tendrils ripple across the void, vivid and slow-moving, like silk underwater. It glows so softly it almost seems to breathe. I lean forward, hand pressed to the cool curve of the viewport. The glass is so clean it disappears beneath my fingers. If I close my eyes, I swear I'm floating.
Freedom.
Real, honest-to-stars freedom.
But it doesn’t taste the way I thought it would. Not yet.
I sink back into the plush recliner, tucking one bare foot beneath me and sipping from my drink again. Sweet, floral, sharp at the end. Expensive. I don’t recognize the brand, which means it’s rare. It should feel decadent. Transgressive, even.
But it doesn’t.
All I feel is… suspended. Like the part of me that was supposed to light up in rebellion missed the memo.
A soft chime sounds from the ceiling. “Grand Lady will initiate orbital drift within the hour. Observation decks will remain open for the duration. For your safety, please remain within shielded lounges when possible. We hope you enjoy the celestial ballet of the Kepler Rose.”
The voice is smooth. Too smooth. It doesn’t sound like anyone. Just another artfully synthesized illusion.
I’m good at illusions. Been surviving on them my whole life.
I leave the lounge behind. The starlight trails behind me as the sliding door seals with a gentle sigh, and I wander the corridor barefoot, glass in hand. Not a soul around. That’s the thing about luxury—everyone retreats into their own tailored fantasies. Whatever they paid for, they’re in it now. Or neck-deep in someone else’s.
I pass by a decorative wall panel—marble inlay, real Terran stone, probably chiseled from some mountain range I’ve never been allowed to hike—and glance at my reflection. Tousled hair, oversized silk robe knotted tight at the waist, bare collarbones like ghosts beneath the low light.
I look like someone on the run.
Because I am.
The moment the estate guards lost my biosignature, Mother probably fainted and Father definitely called in a bounty hunter. I almost hope it’s one I know. Wouldn’t mind the chance to knock Jonas Krieg’s teeth out if he dares drag me back by the ankle.
“Excuse me, miss.”
I start. Turn. A Helios officer—young, maybe thirty, crisp lines to his uniform and a charming dent in his chin. His gaze flicks to my glass, then to my bare feet, and he smiles like he thinks this is foreplay.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your stroll,” he says. “But you shouldn’t be in this corridor without shoes. Deck Four sometimes runs warm—furnace stabilizers.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He chuckles, leaning casually against the curved wall. “Traveling alone?”
“Does it matter?”
“Only if you’re looking for company.”
I raise my glass. “I already have some.”
He nods at the nebula, visible through the narrow porthole down the hall. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Makes you feel small in the best kind of way.”
“I don’t need space for that. My family managed it just fine.”
His smile falters. Just a beat. Then recovers.
“Alright,” he says with a slight laugh, “I get it. You're not in the market. But if you change your mind... Deck Six, Starboard Wing. Officer’s Lounge. Ask for Rane.”
