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I blew out a breath. “If the ship thinks they’re still here, she could be looking for them.”

“She was informed of their deaths.”

“By you?”

“No, but it’s in her logs. She knows what happened. And there are protocols for dealing with crew deaths.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that protocol sat right with her.” I shrugged. “Rennick, you own shit. Not until this lady decides you get to be her captain. The Hollow Chorus isn’t done with her old crew.”

“Why? She knows they’re dead. And she wasn’t unhappy when I made the purchase and flew her out of her auction dock.”

“She was probably relieved to be out of storage and off the auction block. That doesn’t give you a green card to do what you like with her.” I looked around the room. “The voices we heard, and those weird handprints in the other room, could be the ship replaying her dead crew.”

“It’s... possible. Neural residue not deposited in memoriam may leave traces. But nothing as extreme as what we’ve all experienced.”

“Haunted traces. But you’re right. The ship should be able to tell the difference between a recording and a living bond still active. I know how smart your ships are.” I turned in a circle. “Something got dug in deep and won’t let go. That’s what’s screwing with you.”

He crossed to the nearest alcove and put his hand against the rim. “I need someone who’ll stay long enough to fix her. Can you do that?”

The vulnerable note in his voice made me pause. “I’m not sure we should. You shouldn’t have concealed a dead crew.”

“I held back information I didn’t think was important.” The way he ducked his head suggested he knew how bad his own bullshit tasted.

I traced a channel with my fingertip. The groove was warm with a pulse, steady, old, and tired. “What happened to the crew?”

“It was an accident off ship, according to the auction file. Twelve dead in under a minute.”

“Hell of an accident.”

“There was an explosion on an off-world mining colony during a recon mission. An unstable underground seam triggered in the base they were staying in. It ignited the area’s fuel supply and set off a chain reaction of explosions.”

“Fuck. That’s nasty. Did you know any of them?”

He shook his head.

I leaned against the wall. “Sorry to hear you lost your crew, angel. You must be confused.”

Cold touched the back of my neck. A deliberate touch of pressure, like fingertips, tracing the skin just below my hairline.

I went still, and my hand closed on the scanner at my hip. “Rennick, something is on me. Check the back of my neck.”

He strode over and walked around me. “There’s nothing there.”

“There fucking is.” The touch moved down the side of my throat, light and precise, following the line of a tendon. It was exploring me.

“Cass, I see nothing! What can I do to help?” Rennick was a wall of clenched muscle and concern.

“Ouch! Okay. Not cool.” My hair got yanked, and I turned fast, my hand up. Damn! There was nothing behind me, but the air was colder than the rest of the room, a pocket of chill shaped like a body. “Hurt me again, and you’re dead. Well, deader than you already are.”

Rennick put himself between me and the cold spot and swung. His fist went through empty air, and the momentum carried him forward, three hundred pounds of protective instinct with nothing to connect to. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall.

“Um... did you just try to punch something invisible?” I arched an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

He straightened, looking at his fist. “I hit freezing air!”

“Yeah, I felt it, too. I still do.” I turned back to the cold spot. It was hovering, the temperature difference precise enough that I could map its edges with my hand. “Err... hi, ghost alien. We’ve established that the big guy can’t hurt you with his dumb fists, and he’s sorry about the attempted assault, aren’t you, Rennick?”

“I’m not sorry! Whatever it is, it touched you without your permission.”