RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAK.
The hull parts.
Not like a hatch opening.
Like a wound tearing.
A vortex of light and distortion blooms in front of us. Not light like we know it—this stuff doesn’t glow. It... absorbs. Twists.
“Is that safe?” I whisper.
Meyer steps forward. “Define safe.”
“Wow, you are bad at comfort.”
“We’re going in,” he says.
And we do.
The Scallywag glides forward under Lor’s direction, slipping through the breach like a coin through silk. And then...boom.
The hull seals behind us.
No mechanical whir. No hiss. No warning.
Just—snap.
The outside world vanishes.
Gone.
The breach closes like it was never there.
Panic claws at my chest, hot and sharp. My breath comes fast and shallow. I yank at my collar, like I can suck more air from the recycled atmosphere.
“Reflector?” I rasp.
He’s still filming. Still floating. But he’s jittering now. Twitching from side to side like a panicked housefly.
“We are... inside,” he reports. “The Hulk is... self-contained. No comms. No external signals. No escape vector currently available.”
I swallow.
“You’re saying we’re sealed in.”
“I am saying,” Reflector hums, “that I have a ninety-seven percent certainty this vessel is now our entire universe.”
My knees almost give.
This isn’t a set.
This isn’t a stunt.
This is me. On the Hulk. Locked in.
“Smile, darling,” Meyer says. He steps close. Too close. His face has dropped the charm entirely. No more easy grins. No more smooth banter. Just cold ambition.
“We’re not leaving,” he says, “until I get what I came for.”
