My mind refused to complete the thought because hoping was more dangerous than any power conduit I'd crawled through tonight.
I should report this. Should take my findings to Captain Tor'van immediately, request official investigation, do everything by the book because that's what responsible crew members did.
But my fingers hovered over the comm controls without pressing anything.
What if it was nothing? What if I'd spent three months building an illegal scanning program for a false positive? What if I dragged the Captain and a team into contested space for wreckage that contained only ghosts?
What if there were survivors and I'd waited three months to find them? What if people had been drifting in that debris field, trapped in failing life support, while I'd been eating in Mothership's dining hall and pretending I had the right to be happy?
The guilt was familiar, comfortable in its way. I'd worn it for so long it felt like part of my personality now with the weight of surviving when others didn't, of building a new life while people I'd worked beside might still be dying in the dark.
I stared at the coordinates. The energy signature pulsed weakly on my display, a heartbeat from across the void.
I needed to see it first. Needed to verify what was there before bringing others into it. Needed to know if anyone else made it out, if I wasn't the only failure from Section Seven.
The thought crystallized into a decision. I'd gather more data over the next few days. Run deeper scans. Build an irrefutable case for investigation. Then I'd present everything to Captain Tor'van and deal with the consequences of my illegal sensor modifications.
But first, I needed to know. I needed to see for myself what remained of Liberty. I needed to face whatever answers waited in that debris field, even if those answers broke what little was left of me.
I saved the coordinates to an encrypted file, locked my terminal, and finally collapsed into bed.
Sleep came eventually, bringing dreams of wreckage and guilt and Will Peters's voice saying the last words I'd heard from him before the pod sealed: "Elena, go. That's an order."
I'd followed orders that day. Survived when maybe I shouldn't have. And now, a year later, I was still following orders with Vaxon's order to sleep, Captain Tor'van's order to work, Bea's unspoken order to stay functional despite slowly destroying myself from the inside out.
But the coordinates burned in my mind, a secret I couldn't share, a hope I couldn't admit, a mission I couldn't abandon.
I need to know if anyone else made it. If I'm not the only failure.
The thought followed me down into restless sleep, where alarms screamed and Will pushed me toward safety and I survived while others didn't, again and again and again.
Chapter
Two
Vaxon
I slammed Er'dox against the sparring mat hard enough to hear his breath expel in a controlled grunt. He rolled, came up defensive, staff raised in that precise engineering way he had, everything calculated, nothing wasted. We'd been at this for forty minutes, and my shoulders burned with the kind of pain that kept thoughts from spiraling into places they shouldn't go.
Places like watching Elena Vasquez crawl into power conduits at 0200 hours because sleep apparently offended her on some fundamental level.
Er'dox struck high. I blocked, countered low, forced him to retreat three steps before he found his center again. The crack of practice staves echoed off the walls, the only sound besides our breathing and the hum of Mothership's ever-present systems.
"You're distracted," Er'dox observed, circling left. His ice-blue eyes tracked my stance with the same attention he gavestructural integrity reports. "Your defense has gaps I could drive a cargo transport through."
"I'm fine."
"You're thinking about the electrical engineer."
I nearly dropped my guard. Er'dox didn't miss it, swept my legs, had me on my back in two seconds flat. His staff stopped an inch from my throat.
"Point proven," he said, offering a hand.
I took it, let him pull me up. My spine protested the impact with the mat, but the discomfort was clarifying. "How long have you known?"
"That you watch her like she's a tactical problem requiring constant surveillance? Months." Er'dox moved to the weapons rack, selecting a heavier staff. "That you care about her specifically rather than just as crew? Since approximately three weeks ago when you personally inspected every piece of safety equipment in the electrical systems bay. Twice."
The observation was accurate enough to be annoying. I'd convinced myself I was being thorough. Professional. Ensuring proper protocols for all engineering staff, not just the one human who treated live electrical current like a personal challenge.
