"I think I know where we are," I said.
Cullen leaned closer. "Where?"
"Msituni." I pulled up the planetary data, what little there was. "It's a jungle planet on the outer edge of Alliance space. Uninhabited. The Alliance established a research outpost here about fifty years ago—in the foothills of those mountains." I gestured toward the viewport, where distant peaks were barely visible through the canopy. "They were studying the vegetation and wildlife, trying to determine if the planet could be colonized."
"And?" Cullen asked. "Could it?"
I shook my head. "No. The ecosystem is too hostile. Too many predators. The plant life is toxic to most species. The research team recommended against settlement and abandoned the outpost after two years."
"So we're stranded on a planet that's actively trying to kill us. Great."
"Yes." I met his gaze. "But the outpost should still be there. And it would have communication equipment—long-range transmitters capable of reaching Alliance space. If we can get to it, we can call for help."
Cullen studied the data on the screen, his expression thoughtful. "How far?"
"Forty, maybe fifty kilometers through the jungle. Two days on foot if the terrain cooperates. Longer if it doesn't."
Cullen nodded slowly. "Then we head for the mountains."
"We head for the mountains," I agreed.
I looked out through the shattered viewport at the alien jungle beyond—the sickly green light, the dense vegetation, the sounds of things moving in the shadows. It was hostile. It was dangerous.
But I'd faced worse.
And this time, I wasn't facing it alone.
I glanced at Cullen, saw the determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. He was ready. He was with me.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
"Let's gather what we can carry," I said. "We leave in an hour."
Chapter 6
Cullen
The jungle wanted to kill us.
That became clear within the first hour of our trek. Every step was a battle—against the vegetation that grew so thick it formed walls, against the heat that pressed down like a physical weight, against the humidity that made every breath feel like drowning. Sweat soaked through my shirt within minutes and never stopped. My shoulders ached from swinging the crude machete I'd fashioned from a piece of the ship's hull plating.
It wasn't much—just a length of metal I'd bent and sharpened against stone until it had something resembling an edge—but it was enough to hack through the vines and branches that blocked our path. Serna had one too, and she wielded it with the effortlessness of someone who'd trained with bladed weapons her entire life. Every swing was precise, economical. No wasted movement.
I tried to match her pace, but Christ, it was hard. The terrain was uneven, roots and rocks hidden beneath layers of rotting vegetation. The air was thick with the smell of decay and growing things, and every surface was slick with moisture. Insects swarmed around us in clouds, biting any exposed skin they could find.
We'd loaded up with what we could carry from the ship—two blasters, a survival kit with water and rations for three days, a med kit, and a scanner Serna found that could test whetherlocal water and plant life were safe to consume. It wasn't much. It wasn't a vacation. But it was survivable.
That's what I kept telling myself.Survivable.
We moved in silence for the most part, saving our breath for the work of cutting through the jungle. But after a few hours, when we stopped to rest and drink from our dwindling water supply, I found myself watching her.
She sat on a fallen log, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her chest rising and falling with exertion. But her expression was distant, her gaze fixed on something I couldn't see. She'd been like that since we'd buried Kalipuk—present but not quite here, her mind somewhere else.
I knew that look. I'd worn it myself often enough.
"Serna," I said quietly.
She blinked and looked at me, and I saw her pull herself back to the present with visible effort.
