And suddenly—I know.
She’s here.
I move like smoke through the ruined halls, drawn forward by something I don’t understand but can’t ignore. It tugs at mymarrow, an invisible tether threaded through every instinct I’ve ever relied on.
She’s close.
She.I don’t know how I know that—but I do. Her presence sears the inside of my chest, louder than any scream, brighter than any blade. I’ve felt heat from explosions, rage from betrayal, but this? This is something older. Deeper.
Thejalshagar.
I should be afraid of what it means. Instead, I feel ravenous.
I pass the bodies of the crew—some stunned, some dead. I don’t remember cutting them down, but the wet sheen on my wrist spurs tells me I did. A slash across the stomach, another across the throat. Quick, silent, done.
No sport in it.
They weren’t her.
Her scent is all over this corridor now—delicate but wild, like heat-soaked silk and ozone. Not perfume. Nothing artificial. This is skin and breath and raw, desperate defiance.
The kind of scent you don’t just smell—youfeelit punch behind your ribs and stir every primal instinct you’ve ever buried.
I follow it like a wolf.
My boot steps are silent. No need for thunder when the storm has already passed. The others are still sweeping the lower decks, echoing laughter and dragging chain-binders through ruined lounges. They haven’t found her.
Good.
I need to see her first.
Another turn. The walls here are higher. This is command. The scent sharpens. My nostrils flare—yes,yes.She’s here. She was here.Still is.
The bridge doors are open.
Strange.
I duck low and slide in, blades drawn.
Empty.
No—not quite.
At the far end, hunched over the main control panel, is a figure. Small. Female. Blonde hair escaping from a messy braid. She’s breathing hard, slapping at the console with both hands like it might bite her.
The SOS beacon blinks.
Too late.
She turns just as I take another step forward.
Her eyes find mine.
The world stops.
Not slows.
Stops.
