She steps closer, eyes flicking toward the screens. “That’s them, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Are they looking for me?”
I glance down at her. Her expression is a mix of fear and fury, like she’s daring me to tell her the truth.
“They’re looking foreverything,” I say. “You’re part of that now.”
Her lips press together. “You don’t think they’ll leave?”
“No one leaves the Hulk unless it lets them.”
That shuts her up.
She stares at the screen, and for a second, all the bravado drains away. The influencer mask—the confident, loud, perfect veneer—cracks. Underneath is a young woman who’s realizing how small she really is in the void.
I hate seeing that look. I’ve seen it before—soldiers, civilians, enemies. The look people get when they realize hope is a finite resource.
“Hey,” I say, rougher than I mean to. “You’re not dead yet.”
She blinks, startled. “That’s… encouraging. I think.”
“Stay here. Stay quiet. Don’t make me regret saving you.”
She grins, faint but real. “Too late.”
Then she laughs again, light and easy, and something inside me twists. I don’t remember the last time I heard laughter that wasn’t cruel or manic or dying.
The sound fills the room. Bounces off the walls. Echoes down into the metal bones of the Hulk, and for a heartbeat, it’s almost beautiful. Almost human.
And that’s the problem.
Because the more I listen, the more Ifeel.
And feeling, in a place like this, gets you killed.
I turn away from her, focusing on the monitors again. The screens jitter, showing the crew splitting into two groups. Meyer and Lor head toward the reactor bay. Snarl and Bokis toward the main storage decks.
They’re spreading thin. Searching for something they’ll never understand.
But they’re getting closer to my section.
Too close.
The Hulk’s power grid hums again, faint pulses running through the walls like veins filling with blood. It’s awake now, fully. It knows there are intruders. It’s…angry.
I can feel the static charge rise through my claws. The old systems want to fight, to protect. But they’re wild, half-feral things. They could kill her as easily as the rest.
I mutter, half to the ship, half to myself. “Not her.”
The lights flicker in response. Like it’s listening.
When I glance back, she’s still watching me. Her head tilted, eyes curious but not afraid. Always curious, this one. Like she can’t stop herself from looking even when it might kill her.
“You talk to the ship?” she asks softly.
“I lived here longer than anyone,” I say. “It listens.”
