The corridor stretched endlessly as I made my way to the mess hall, my boots echoing faintly against the metal floor. The faint hum of the Jericho vibrated beneath me, steady and constant. It wasn’t comforting—it was too large, too encompassing—but it was a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone, even if it felt like it most of the time.


    I paused briefly at one of the narrow portholes, its small frame offering a glimpse into the void beyond. The galaxy spread out in all directions, infinite and consuming, but today it wasn’t empty. A blazing star grew larger as we approached, its golden light casting faint reflections against the polished metal walls of the corridor. It looked like a memory of home, an echo of the sun I was named after, but its light was harsher, unyielding—a reminder that even beauty in space was dangerous.


    With a sharp breath, I pushed away from the porthole and continued toward the mess hall. Today wasn’t just any day; it was my first real mission since waking up. The kind of day that could prove whether I was worth the risk they had taken. I could feel it. The knot of tension in my chest tightened with every step. The others would be waiting, and I already knew what that meant—judgment, barely veiled skepticism, and the weight of their expectations pressing down on me.


    They didn’t see me; they saw my father’s shadow. They expected a prodigy because I had grown up in his lab, surrounded by everything he’d created. "The Princess of Humanity," Garin had called me, dripping with sarcasm, like my upbringing made me entitled rather than capable. Reid, on the other hand, liked to use it more playfully, a half-smile on his face whenever he said it—like he actually believed in me, like it was just a matter of time before I’d prove them all right.


    Even with all that knowledge, with all the simulations and training with my father, I still didn’t know if I could live up to what they imagined. But I wanted to try. For Reid, for the ones who believed in me... and even for those, like Garin, who didn’t.


    The mess hall door slid open with a soft hiss, and the sterile blue lighting greeted me like an unwelcome spotlight. Team Two was already gathered around the central table. The air inside was heavy with unspoken tension, thicker than usual. As I stepped inside, every set of eyes turned to me.


    Reid acknowledged me first, his voice breaking the silence with an easy tone that didn’t quite match the unease in his eyes. His messy blond hair stuck out at odd angles, a testament to his habit of running his hands through it whenever he was deep in thought. “Morning, Sol. Ready for some fun?” He offered me a small grin, an attempt to lighten the mood.


    “Morning,” I replied quietly, forcing a faint smile. My voice felt thin, almost lost in the room’s hum. I pulled at the hem of my oversized T-shirt, trying to hide the way the pressure suit clung too tightly to my frame. It was a small gesture, but it made me feel a little less exposed.


    Jimmy stood off to the side, taking a sip of his coffee. His messy man bun and faint circles under his eyes gave him a perpetually tired look, but his gaze was sharp, flitting between Garin and me like he was waiting for a cue, seeking approval. Ashly lingered by the wall, her hands tugging at her sleeves, her gaze fixed on the floor like she wanted to disappear entirely. Her dark hair, pulled into a loose ponytail, fell over her face, almost as if she was trying to use it as a shield. Her nervousness seemed to seep into me, and I felt my stomach twist in response, the tension growing heavier with each moment that passed.


    Then there was Garin.


    He didn’t bother hiding his disdain. His eyes, cold and calculating behind thin-framed glasses, locked onto me, sharp and dismissive, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his voice dripping with derision. “We’re really doing this? Putting her on this mission?”


    Reid glanced up, his easy smile fading slightly. “Garin, cut her some slack, all right?” His tone was still casual, but there was an edge of warning beneath it. The silence in the room stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.


    Garin took a step closer, his arms crossed. “What? She’s not her father—let’s not kid ourselves. Julian Voss was a genius. He built this ship, these systems, all of it. And her?” He gestured toward me like I was a bad joke. “She’s just a kid who happened to be in the right place at the right time.”


    Reid’s expression tightened, his gaze narrowing as he watched Garin. “That’s enough, Garin,” he said, his voice still steady but losing its patience.


    Jimmy chuckled nervously, glancing at Garin like he was seeking approval. “I mean… he’s not wrong, is he?” He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but his voice wavered. “We’re about to skim hydrogen off a star. Do we really want to take chances here?”


    Reid turned his gaze sharply toward Jimmy, his tone dismissive. “Shut up, kid. Quit wagging your tail.” Jimmy flinched slightly, his nervous chuckle dying instantly as he shifted his gaze to the floor.


    Ashly glanced up briefly, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but Garin shot her a sharp look, and she immediately dropped her gaze again.


    "I’ve been studying the diagrams, and I’ve practiced this before..." I said, trying to keep my voice steady, feeling the weight of Garin''s stare. I could feel my defenses rising, even though my voice came out smaller than I wanted.


    “Oh, great, simulations," Garin scoffed, his sneer deepening. "Genius might be genetic, but your father’s kind of genius? That was a once-in-a-thousand-years fluke. You think just being around when this stuff was built makes you special? It doesn’t. Out here, you’re nothing but a liability, Princess. A dying Earth won''t give us another Julian Voss.”


    “I’m not going to tell you again, Garin!” Reid snapped, stepping forward, his relaxed demeanor gone, replaced by barely restrained anger. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “She’s here because she belongs here, Garin. We’re all running on borrowed time, and you know damn well we need every hand we’ve got—even if it’s not the one you wanted.”


    He glanced at me, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before turning back to Garin. “You can doubt her all you want, but if she wasn’t capable, the Captain wouldn’t have put her here. And last I checked, he’s the one calling the shots, not you.”


    Garin turned to Reid, his expression darkening. “Oh, I see what this is.” His voice dropped, colder now. “You’re defending her because you’ve got a thing for her, huh? Hoping she’ll notice? Maybe let you play hero for a bit?”


    Reid’s fists clenched, and he took a step closer, his body taut with barely restrained fury. “Say that again, Garin. I fucking dare you.”


    Before anything else could happen, a voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Enough.”


    Captain Warren stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room like a storm, drawing every eye toward him. His gaze fixed on Garin, cold and unyielding, his authority washing over the room like a tidal wave. “You will not question my decisions,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Sol is here because I trust her to do the job. If I trust her, then so will you. Is that clear?”


    Garin hesitated, his jaw working as if trying to hold back a retort. His glare flicked toward me for a fleeting moment before he straightened slightly and nodded, his voice clipped. “Yes, sir.”


    Warren’s gaze swept across the room, pausing on each of us as though daring anyone else to speak. “This isn’t a debate. It’s a mission. You all have roles to play, and I expect you to act like professionals. There will be no egos getting in the way. Is that understood?”


    Jimmy nodded almost immediately, his voice carrying a quick, “Yes, sir.” The nervous energy in his posture eased slightly, but his hands still fidgeted at his sides.


    Garin, slower and more reluctant, finally gave a curt nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Understood.”


    Warren’s eyes lingered on Garin for an extra beat before he turned toward the doorway, his voice steady. “Lieutenant Commander Vega, take over.”


    The air seemed to shift as Vega entered the room, her sharp, no-nonsense demeanor pulling every gaze toward her. Her short dark hair, streaked with gray, framed her stern face, and her hazel eyes held a focused intensity that brooked no argument. Without preamble, she tapped the control panel on the table, and the holographic interface sprang to life. A detailed schematic of the Jericho’s propulsion systems hovered above the surface, glowing softly in the dim light.


    “Team assignments are as follows,” Vega began, her voice brisk and efficient, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Team One will remain on the bridge. Captain Warren will pilot the ship during the hydrogen skimming process, and I will handle navigation to ensure a stable course and distance from the star’s surface. Holt will oversee plasma shield integrity, and Yates is on standby for medical support.”


    She gestured toward the rest of us, the rotating schematic casting pale blue light across her sharp features. “Team Two—Reid, Garin, Ashly, Jimmy, and Sol—you’ll be working in the propulsion bay. Reid will lead the team and manage intake flow and system diagnostics. Garin will oversee core stability and monitor output levels. Ashly, shield management is your responsibility. You will ensure the plasma fields surrounding the core remain stable during intake. Jimmy, you’ll assist with valve calibration.”


    Her gaze landed on me, unwavering. “Sol, you’ll be working directly under Ashly’s supervision. Your role is secondary. You’re here to observe, assist, and learn. While you have more experience with the core than most due to your father’s simulations, this is your first field mission. Follow protocol and listen to Ashly. Is that clear?”


    “Yes, ma’am,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even as I felt Garin’s glare burning into the side of my head.


    Vega’s sharp eyes shifted to Ashly, who nodded quickly, her shoulders hunched slightly as though trying to shrink out of sight. “Understood, ma’am,” Ashly said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Satisfied, Vega straightened. “This mission is straightforward but high-risk. We’re skimming hydrogen directly from a star’s corona to refuel the core. The plasma shields must remain stable at all times. A single miscalculation could result in catastrophic damage to the Jericho. Precision and teamwork are non-negotiable. There is no room for hesitation or error.”


    She paused, her gaze sweeping the room once more. “Any questions?”


    The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of the mission pressing down on all of us. Even Garin, whose jaw was tight with barely restrained frustration, remained silent.


    “Good,” Vega said curtly. “We leave in ten minutes. Gear up and report to your stations.”


    As the crew began to move, the tension in the room seemed to shift, no longer sharp and cutting but dense and oppressive. Jimmy nodded quickly and hurried out, while Garin lingered, his expression dark and brooding as he stalked toward the door. Reid approached me before I could follow, his expression softening slightly.


    “You’ll be fine, Sol,” Reid said quietly, his voice steady but low enough that only I could hear. “You know the system better than anyone here. Hell, maybe even better than me—you were there when it was built.” He gave me a quick wink, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just focus on the task and stick to what you know. Let Ashly take the lead when it’s her call, and back her up if she needs it.”


    I nodded, his words a small comfort. “Thanks,” I said, managing a faint smile.


    Ashly lingered nearby, her tablet clutched tightly in her hands. She glanced at me briefly, her expression unsure, before speaking in a tentative voice. “I... I just wanted to say... don’t worry about Garin. He’s like that with everyone.” Her voice softened further. “I know you’ll do fine.”


    I offered her a small, reassuring smile, hoping it would ease her nerves even as my own threatened to overwhelm me. “Thanks, Ashly. I’m glad we’re working together.”


    She nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly, and hurried out of the room without another word.


    As I gathered my gear, I couldn’t help but think back to the countless simulations I’d run with my father. I knew the core’s intricacies inside and out, had memorized its systems and flow dynamics, had even seen what could go wrong if something failed. But this wasn’t a simulation. There were no controlled variables here, no margin for error. This was real, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.


    I remembered the first time my father had shown me the black hole at the core—the point when he had captured reality itself, bent it to power this ship. The sight of it, contained and somehow still untamed, had left me speechless. The sheer audacity of it, the realization of what he had done, lingered even now—a reminder of both his genius and the danger inherent in all of this.


    Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the corridor. The faint hum of the Jericho’s systems vibrated through my boots, a steady reminder of the ship’s immense power and fragility. I tightened my grip on my datapad, Vega’s words ringing in my ears.


    This wasn’t about proving myself. It wasn’t about living up to my father’s legacy or silencing Garin’s doubts.


    It was about survival. And I couldn’t afford to fail.


    As I made my way to the propulsion bay with the rest of Team Two, the tension was palpable. The faint hum of the Jericho’s systems reverberated through the metal walls, a steady pulse that seemed to amplify the weight of what lay ahead. Reid led the group with his usual easy stride, but even his relaxed posture couldn’t hide the edge of seriousness in his eyes. Behind him, Jimmy adjusted his gloves with quick, precise movements, a determined look in his eyes as he focused on the task ahead. Garin walked with purposeful steps, his expression unreadable, but I could feel the sharp edges of his judgment without even looking at him. Ashly lagged slightly behind, her eyes fixed on the tablet clutched tightly to her chest, her movements stiff and mechanical.


    I brought up the rear, my datapad clutched so tightly my fingers ached. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the ship itself were pressing down on me, a silent reminder of the stakes. This wasn’t a simulation. This wasn’t the controlled environment of my father’s lab. One mistake here could mean catastrophe—not just for me, but for everyone on this ship.


    The propulsion bay doors slid open with a low hiss, revealing the cavernous chamber within. The ion engines loomed overhead, their pulsing energy casting faint, flickering shadows across the walls. The blue glow of the shield generators filled the space with an otherworldly light, cold and unyielding. It was beautiful in a way, but it wasn’t comforting. The sheer scale of it, the raw power contained within, was a stark reminder of how small we were in the face of the forces we were attempting to control.


    Reid moved to the central console with practiced ease, his fingers dancing over the controls as he brought up the system diagnostics. "All right, Team Two, let’s do this by the book," he said, his voice steady but firm. "Ashly, you’ve got shield management. Jimmy, get the valves calibrated. Garin, core stability. Sol, you’re monitoring the secondary flow levels and assisting Ashly if needed."


    Everyone moved to their stations without a word. I found my place beside Ashly, her trembling fingers tapping at the screen as she brought up the shield modulation settings. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. I’d done this before—at least, I’d done parts of it. The simulations had prepared me for the process, but they hadn’t prepared me for the oppressive heat, the electric tang of the air, or the subtle, almost imperceptible tremors that rippled through the ship as we edged closer to the star’s corona.


    “Jericho, initiate AI shutdown,” Reid called out.


    “Affirmative,” Jericho’s voice replied, calm and detached. “AI shutdown commencing in three… two… one.”


    “Team Two, this is Vega,” her voice came over the comms, brisk and unyielding. “T minus thirty seconds until impact zone. Prepare for hydrogen intake. No room for errors.”


    The hum of the ship shifted as all power diverted to the shields. Jericho’s presence went silent, replaced by an eerie emptiness that filled the air. The lights dimmed significantly, and the cold glow of the shield generators grew brighter, their flickering casting sharp, jagged shadows that danced across the walls. Without Jericho, the ship felt hollow—like a lifeless shell drifting in the void.


    “All right, Ashly, Sol,” Reid called out. “Keep those shield levels steady. No fluctuations.”


    Ashly nodded stiffly, her eyes glued to her screen. I focused on my own console, monitoring the flow levels as the intake valves began to open. Vega’s voice echoed in the background as she coordinated Team One on the bridge.


    “Approaching target. T minus ten seconds. Brace for turbulence.”


    My pulse quickened, matching the rhythmic pounding of the engines as I kept my gaze locked on the readouts in front of me. The screen numbers jittered, the flow of hydrogen unstable for a moment before finding balance. Everything else seemed to fade away—Garin’s glares, the oppressive presence of the others—all of it slipped into the background, leaving only me, my console, and the pulsing core.


    “Five seconds,” Vega’s voice crackled. “Four… Three… Two… One… Engaging intake.”


    The comms went dark.


    A beat of silence. Then the whole ship shuddered, the sudden, violent impact of entering the corona rippling through the hull like a shockwave. I gritted my teeth, my hands flying over the controls, my fingers tapping commands to maintain the shield modulation.


    The hum of the engines roared around us, filling the space with a low, bone-deep vibration that threatened to drown everything else out. Without Jericho and with the comms quiet, the only sound was the relentless thrumming of the ship, a reminder of how small we were against the fiery storm of the star’s corona.


    “Keep it steady,” Reid’s voice rang out, clear and steady, cutting through the overwhelming noise.


    Ashly’s gaze flickered toward me, her expression tight with concentration, and I gave her a nod, keeping my focus. The screen in front of me filled with readouts—pressure, temperature, shield strength—each one a crucial thread that kept us from being incinerated.


    <div>


    I zoned in, my world narrowing to the steady data flowing across my console. The heat was overwhelming, the air electric. Each movement of my hands was deliberate as I worked to stabilize the flow. There was no space for fear, no room for mistakes. Just the numbers, the readings, and the pulsing core that kept us alive.


    “Hold those levels, Sol,” Reid’s voice broke through, grounding me. I adjusted, fine-tuning the flow. The pressure spiked momentarily, and I forced myself to breathe, steadying my hands as I recalibrated.


    Seconds felt like hours as the ship bore through the corona, the shield generators glowing bright under the strain. My fingers moved instinctively, reacting to the subtle shifts in the readouts, adjusting and rebalancing. All I could hear was the hum of the engines and the rapid thudding of my heartbeat, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a physical force.


    I had to be enough. Right here, right now.


    For a while, it looked like we might make it. The shields held steady, the flow levels stayed within range, and the core intake remained stable under Garin’s watchful eye. The oppressive heat of the bay became manageable, replaced by the cold, clinical focus of the task at hand. I allowed myself a small breath of relief. Maybe—just maybe—we could pull this off.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Then everything went wrong.


    A flicker of movement caught my eye—a shape shifting in the shadows near the far end of the bay. My gaze darted toward it, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, there was nothing, just the play of flickering light from the shield generators.


    But then, there it was—two glowing yellow eyes staring at me from inside a nearby vent, unblinking and filled with malice. My heart skipped a beat, my pulse skyrocketing as fear clamped around my chest. It was the same eyes I had seen before—cold, watching, patient. The figure behind them was tall, thin, its limbs bent and unnatural as it hovered just beyond the grate.


    Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s not real. It’s not real. It can’t be real. The eyes were getting closer. Why are they getting closer?


    I tried to tear my gaze away, but I couldn’t. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, my hands frozen over the console. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. My skin prickled, and the eyes narrowed, filled with that same malice as they inched closer. I felt like I was drowning in it—in the dark, in those cold eyes.


    “Sol!” Ashly’s voice broke through, shaky but insistent. “Sol, focus! We need you! The pressure—it’s out of control!”


    Her words snapped through the haze of fear like a jolt of electricity. I forced myself to look away, my heart hammering in my chest as I dragged my gaze to the console, the screen flashing an angry red, pressure readings spiking well beyond the safe range.


    Focus. Focus. You can do this. Panic surged through me, my hands trembling as I fought to adjust the valves. It’s not real. The eyes aren’t real. Focus on the damn controls.


    “Sol, what the hell are you doing?!” Garin’s voice cut through the chaos, harsh and dripping with accusation. “You’re screwing it all up!”


    “Shut up and focus on that core, Garin!” Reid snapped, his voice filled with urgency. “Sol, come on, you have to move! I know you can!”


    My fingers trembled over the controls, the flashing red of the warning lights blinding in my peripheral vision. The pressure readings continued to spike, the values rising faster than I could keep up with. My heart pounded as I forced myself to breathe, to think, but the fear had sunk in deep, turning every movement sluggish, every thought muddled.


    It’s all falling apart. This is my fault.


    “I—I’m trying!” I shouted back, my voice cracking with desperation. My gaze darted across the console, searching for something—anything—that could help. The alarms blared again, almost drowning out Ashly’s voice.


    “Sol, you have to vent the pressure the same time I do!” Ashly’s voice was frantic, but there was an edge of determination in it. “Now!”


    Vent the pressure. My mind struggled to process her words, my thoughts slow, like they were moving through quicksand.


    “Sol, now!” Jimmy’s voice joined in, sharp and commanding. “We don’t have time for this!”


    Move. You have to move. I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat. I forced my trembling hands to steady, to find the controls I needed. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind, but I pushed it aside, focusing on Ashly and Reid’s words, on the task in front of me.


    The next few moments stretched into eternity. My fingers flew over the console, adjusting valves, rerouting power. The propulsion bay shuddered again, the shields surging, but this time I was ready. I forced myself to breathe, focusing on each movement of my hands. Slowly—painstakingly—the pressure readings began to stabilize, the alarms quieting, their shrill wail fading into a low hum.


    The tension in my chest eased, but just for an instant. The ship roared like a wounded beast, the core at the heart of Jericho throbbing like some monstrous, vengeful heart. The heat surged, suffocating and clawing at my skin. The propulsion bay tilted violently, as if struck by some colossal force from below.


    No, no, no! Relief shattered as I lost my footing, thrown across the metal floor like a ragdoll. My ankle twisted underneath me with a sickening crunch, and white-hot pain shot up my leg. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs as I crashed down, every bone in my body jarred by the force. I tried to cry out, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips, pain radiating through me in waves.


    Beside me, Ashly was thrown as well. She slammed into the bulkhead with a brutal thud, her head snapping back, eyes rolling as she crumpled to the floor, limp and unmoving. Her tablet skidded away, clattering against the metal before coming to rest near a wall. My chest tightened at the sight, a fresh surge of panic making my pulse pound even faster.


    But no one moved to help—everyone else was too focused, their hands flying over consoles to stabilize the core. It was up to me.


    Get up, Sol. I clutched my broken ankle with one hand, pain radiating through me, while my other hand reached desperately for the console, fingers stretching to regain control. You have to get up. They need you.


    “Damn it, Sol!” Garin barked, his voice filled with anger and disbelief. “Get it together!”


    Reid’s voice, urgent but softer, reached me. “Sol, you’re stronger than this. Come on.”


    They need me. The thought sliced through the fog of pain and fear. I forced myself to breathe, to block out Garin’s yelling, to focus on Reid’s voice. I couldn’t afford to fail—not now. Not like this.


    Biting down against the pain, I forced my body to move. My broken ankle screamed in protest, but I ignored it, dragging myself back to the console. My fingers found the controls again, shaking as I fought to adjust the pressure, to stabilize what was left.


    Pain flared—sharp, blinding, a searing agony that took my breath away. The core throbbed, its energy too much to contain—the plasma from the corona was flooding in, wild and untamed. I could feel the vibrations in my bones, my teeth rattling in my skull as the vessel struggled against the star''s fury.


    The familiar, sickening warmth of regeneration started in my ankle, the bone knitting itself back together with a heat that seared through my body. It was agony—each fragment of bone splintering, then painfully fusing, muscle and tissue pulling taut as the injury mended itself. I couldn’t hold back the scream this time—a raw, hoarse sound that tore its way out of my throat, my vision blurring with tears. As the bone finally fused, a deep pang of hunger shot through me, my body draining whatever fat reserves it had to fuel the rapid healing. The emptiness gnawed at my insides, a reminder of the cost of what I was—of how my own body betrayed me, demanding payment for each unnatural recovery.


    The ship jolted again, a shudder that rattled the bulkheads. The lights flickered, then dimmed, casting everything in a sickly half-glow that made the shadows dance across the bay like writhing specters. I forced myself to stay conscious, to push the pain to the back of my mind, even as nausea clawed at me. Through the haze, I saw Jimmy...


    Suddenly, without warning, Jimmy came barreling out of nowhere. Before I could react, he slammed into me, shoving me off the console with brutal force. “Move, bitch!” he snarled.


    The world flipped as I fell face-first to the floor, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. My hands barely caught me, but my broken ankle twisted beneath me, the unfinished healing snapping apart with a sickening crunch. White-hot pain shot through my leg, more intense this time, blinding me for a moment.


    “Fuck! Ashly’s down!” Jimmy shouted, his voice panicked, eyes wide as he glanced at her limp form.


    “Shut the fuck up and fix the goddamn problem, Jimmy!” Garin barked, not sparing a single look toward Ashly or me. His voice was dripping with contempt. “We’re about to fucking die, you idiot!”


    I tried to move, tried to get back up, but the pain radiating from my ankle was blinding, my body refusing to cooperate. All I could do was grit my teeth, fighting against the scream that threatened to tear from my throat. But in that moment, my eyes found the vent again—and those damn golden eyes were gone.


    The pressure readings began to stabilize, the blaring alarms finally fading into a lower, more manageable warning tone. But the damage had been done—acrid smoke filled the air, and scorch marks marred the consoles where they had overloaded, the stench of burnt circuitry sharp and biting.


    Garin’s eyes were on me, narrowed, suspicion etched into every line of his face. He glanced down at my leg—already healing far too quickly—then back at my face, something cold and calculating behind his gaze. He had seen the way my ankle had twisted, heard the crunch of bone, and now watched as the injury mended itself before his eyes. But he stayed silent, only letting his sneer deepen.


    Turning away, he spoke, his voice dripping with venom. “What did I say? Your highness is dead weight. Can’t even keep the valves steady. Daydreaming, almost gets us all killed.” His laugh was cruel, slicing through the air.


    Reid steadied himself, getting back to his feet, his gaze locking onto Garin. “Back off, Garin.”


    Garin wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You think just because your daddy built this ship, you’re part of the crew? You’re nothing. Worse than dead weight. A damn danger.”


    His words struck like a slap, digging deep. The regeneration had fixed my ankle, but it couldn’t touch the seething anger inside. My teeth clenched, and I forced myself to meet his stare. “Fuck you, Garin,” I muttered, the words weak but all I could manage. I couldn’t talk about the eyes I’d seen without sounding insane, so I swallowed my shame instead.


    Garin straightened, his sneer deepening. “You don’t belong here, Princess.”


    Before he could continue, Reid cut in, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Enough, Garin. You’re acting like it’s all on Sol, but it was your job to keep it steady. She shouldn’t have had to step in.”


    Garin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. The silence was heavy, filled only with the hum of the ship.


    Jimmy shifted, his voice laced with mockery. “Yeah, well, she wasn’t paying attention. Screaming like she was gonna die, grabbing her leg. And now? Fine, like nothing happened.”


    The taunt stung. They didn’t know, couldn’t know what had really happened. My body had healed itself, but I hadn’t told anyone. No one knew how it worked—how it left me hollow and hungry, as if the process stretched me too thin.


    Garin gave one last sneer, shaking his head. “Lab rat,” he spat.


    I stayed frozen, fists clenched at my sides, forcing down the rage that threatened to spill over. The ache in my leg was fading, but the tension in my chest only grew. I could feel their eyes on me—Jimmy’s, Reid’s, even Ashly’s—but I couldn’t look at them. Not yet.


    Garin turned to Reid, their eyes locking in a tense moment. For the first time, Reid pulled off his sunglasses, revealing intense green eyes beneath. There was a fire in them, a sharp intensity I hadn’t seen before. He took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re a fucking bully, Garin. And I’m done with your shit. You need to learn that sometimes your mouth writes checks the rest of you can''t cash." His fists clenched, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if Reid would take it further.


    The air seemed to thicken around them, Garin standing tall and lanky while Reid, shorter but twice as wide, radiated strength. Both men were imposing in their own way. Their bodies tensed, waiting for the other to make a move. All eyes shifted from me to the two men, the room holding its breath.


    The intercom crackled, breaking through the chaos. Vega''s voice was steady, almost a stark contrast to the mayhem in the bay. “AI coming back online—stabilizing critical systems. We’re exiting the corona! Team Two, report to the bridge immediately.”


    Ashly’s voice was small, almost hesitant. “Please stop, Reid... We should go.”


    Garin snapped his glare to Ashly, giving her a cold, withering look, but he didn’t say anything. Reid nodded slowly, his eyes still locked on Garin. “You got lucky this time. Let''s go, Sol."


    Garin grumbled something under his breath and stormed off, Jimmy following after him, their steps echoing down the corridor.


    “Thank you,” I whispered.


    Reid’s gaze softened as he looked at me, a mix of concern and frustration on his face. “Anytime, Princess. Always happy to be your knight in shining armor." He flashed me a small grin. "Now, let’s hurry."


    I nodded, swallowing the anger that threatened to spill over as I pushed myself to my feet. Reid’s hand appeared in front of me, steady and warm—an unspoken offer of help. I hesitated, my pride flaring, but finally, I took it, letting him pull me up. My body might’ve healed, but my pride hadn’t.


    As I stood, I wiped away a small tear that had escaped, trying to keep my composure. Reid gave me a soft, encouraging smile, but I quickly turned my face away, not wanting him—anyone—to see how shattered my pride was. It felt too raw, too exposed.


    Ashly struggled to her feet, Reid helping her up after me, her expression pale and shaken. She avoided Garin’s gaze, keeping her focus on Reid and me. Jimmy stood quietly near the console, his face flushed, his eyes darting between us like he wanted to disappear into the walls.


    “Come on, Ash. You okay to walk?” Reid’s voice was gentle, filled with concern.


    She nodded, though her eyes were wide and her hands still shook slightly. “I’m okay,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.


    We moved as a group, the propulsion bay oppressive as we left. My body ached, each step a reminder of the ordeal, but I kept my head up, determined to appear stronger than I felt. Garin’s words echoed like poison I couldn’t shake.


    Ahead, Jimmy carried Ashly, supporting her as Reid had instructed. Garin led, his boots echoing against the metal floor, disdain still radiating off him. He was waiting for me to fail again—to prove I didn’t belong. I swallowed, pushing the doubt down.


    The corridor seemed narrower as we headed to the bridge, the ship’s hum thrumming beneath our feet. Nanobots and repair drones were already at work, patching damaged panels, the burn marks and torn metal evidence of the earlier chaos. The Jericho was wounded but still holding, fighting alongside us.


    Reid stayed beside me, offering a nod when I glanced at him. I forced a grim smile, grateful for his support. Whatever lay ahead, I had to face it.


    The door to the bridge loomed ahead, heavy and foreboding. Anxiety twisted in my stomach, but I took a deep breath. Whatever Captain Warren had waiting for us, I was ready.


    The door slid open with a low hiss, spilling bright light into the corridor. Captain Warren stood at the center of the room, his eyes narrowing as he took us in—lingering on Ashly’s disheveled state, Jimmy’s downcast expression, and finally landing on me. His gaze was sharp, assessing, and the weight of it threatened to crush me. But I held it. Fists clenched. Heart pounding. I wouldn’t let fear take hold. Not now.


    “We’re here, Captain,” Reid said, his voice steady, though there was a defiant edge to it. “Team Two, reporting as ordered.”


    Warren’s expression remained unreadable. His eyes, sharp and calculating, moved over each of us in turn. There was no warmth there—no reassurance. Only expectation. And maybe that was enough.


    “Get in position,” he said, his voice like stone. “We’re not out of this yet.”


    We moved forward, taking our places. The bridge fell into a tense silence, broken only by the hum of the ship, as we braced for whatever came next. The vastness of space outside might be indifferent, the universe unforgiving, but it didn’t matter. We had a job to do, and we would do it.


    Slowly, the turbulence began to subside. The solar storm that had shaken the Jericho was fading, the erratic readings on the consoles smoothing out as the systems stabilized. The flashing warning lights on the screens blinked from red to green, one after another. Quietly, the crew fell back into their roles—operating as if we hadn’t just been a breath away from disaster.


    I glanced at the displays, watching as the nanobots got to work, repairing damage to the ship. They used minerals and resources from the cargo to patch ruptures and rebuild torn metal—silent and efficient.


    And it hit me: the Jericho and I were the same. Both of us were mending ourselves, using whatever we had left, no matter the cost. My body was drawing from its own reserves to heal, just like the ship was taking from its stores. Both of us trying to hold it together in the face of the void, each wound exacting a toll we could never fully repay.


    But I forced the thought aside. There wasn’t time for that. Not now. I had a job to do, and I couldn’t afford to let my own doubts hold me back.


    Captain Warren''s voice sliced through the tension, commanding and sharp. “Status report.” His gaze swept across the room, landing on each member of Team Two. “I want to know exactly what went wrong down there.”


    Reid stepped forward, his face flushed but resolute. “Captain, the pressure surge was unexpected. We managed to stabilize, but it was rougher than we anticipated.”


    Warren''s eyes flicked over to Garin. “Garin?”


    Garin straightened, his expression dark, a scowl settling on his face. “The problem wasn’t the surge, Captain. It was Sol,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “She froze up at the worst possible time—missed the adjustment window completely. If it weren’t for Jimmy, we would’ve been torn apart.”


    Jimmy looked at the ground, his eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn''t contradict Garin''s words—if anything, he seemed to quietly relish the praise, eager to stay in Garin''s good graces. Ashly, still pale from her fall, gave a slight nod, her gaze fixed on the console. She looked conflicted, clearly not wanting Sol in trouble, but unwilling to challenge Garin openly either.


    “Is that true, Sol?” Warren’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—sharp, demanding.


    I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to defend myself, to explain what I’d seen—the shadow, the eyes staring at me from the vent. But the words caught in my throat. No one would believe me, not after everything else. Not with Garin ready to tear into me again.


    “I—I hesitated,” I admitted, my voice small, barely above a whisper. “I was trying to stabilize the valve, but—”


    “She hesitated,” Garin cut in, his voice mocking, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Captain, we don’t have time for hesitation. Not out here. Not when we’re skimming a goddamn star. She’s a liability.”


    Reid shot Garin a glare, stepping closer to me. "She’s still learning, Garin. We all make mistakes. Besides, you slipped up on the core stability—don’t pretend you’re perfect."


    Garin scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "That''s what the help is for, Reid. Wilks never would have made that mistake, and you know it. We need someone else from cryo, not royalty."


    “Enough,” Warren’s voice cut through the room, cold and final. He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze steady, weighing me. I tried not to flinch under his scrutiny, tried to look stronger than I felt.


    He finally nodded, dismissing the rest of the team with a flick of his wrist. “Team Two, you’re dismissed. I expect a full written report by tomorrow.”


    Warren looked at Reid, his tone brisk. “Reid, help Yates get Ashly to the med bay, then get to repairs.”


    Reid gave a quick nod and moved to support Ashly as Yates was already by her side, her usual calm demeanor in place. “Let’s go, Ash. You’re gonna be all right,” she said, guiding her gently.


    As they left, Warren turned to Garin and Jimmy. “Garin, Jimmy—get to work with Jericho. Full diagnostics on all systems. I want to know if anything’s out of place after skimming that star.”


    “Yes, sir,” Garin muttered, and Jimmy added a quick, “Right away, Captain,” as they moved toward their stations, leaving just me and Warren on the bridge.


    Warren’s expression softened slightly as he gestured toward the door, turning his attention to me.


    “Walk with me, Sol,” he said.


    “Vega, Holt—take over piloting and begin warp prep once repairs are complete,” Captain Warren ordered, his voice calm but firm.


    As I hesitated before following him, I took in their reactions. Vega and Holt had watched the events unfold passively, their expressions unreadable as they nodded at the captain’s command. Yates had looked torn, her gaze had flickering between Warren and me, a flicker of concern lingering in her eyes. The others stayed focused on their tasks, acting as if the confrontation had never happened.


    I nodded at Warren, falling in step behind him as he led the way off the bridge. We walked in silence, the hum of the ship filling the emptiness between us, our footsteps echoing against the metal floor. My stomach twisted with unease, the weight of Garin’s words still pressing down on me.


    Captain Warren stopped at the mess hall, the door sliding open with a soft hiss. He stepped inside and gestured for me to follow. The room was empty, the lights dim, and the faint scent of recycled air hung in the space, mixed with a metallic tang that lingered.


    Warren walked over to the counter, opening a small cabinet and pulling out two glasses and a bottle. He poured a measure of dark amber liquid into each, then slid one across the table toward me. I stared at it for a moment, then looked up at him, confused.


    “Sit down, Sol,” he said, his voice losing some of its earlier edge. “You look like you could use a drink.”


    Slowly, I sat, my hands still trembling slightly as I picked up the glass. The liquid inside caught the light, shimmering faintly, and I hesitated before bringing it to my lips, the sharp bite of alcohol stinging my throat as I swallowed.


    Warren took a drink from his own glass, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Garin’s an ass,” he said after a moment, his voice almost conversational, like he was talking about the weather. “He’s smart, but he’s got no sense of restraint. He thinks the only way to get someone to improve is to tear them down first.”


    I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.


    Warren set his glass down, leaning forward slightly. “But I’m not interested in his opinion. I’m interested in yours. What happened back there?”


    I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I... I thought I saw something,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “In the vent. I—it was just for a second, but... it was enough to throw me off.”


    Warren’s gaze was steady, unreadable. He didn’t laugh, didn’t scoff. He just nodded, considering my words. “Something in the vent?”


    “Yes, sir,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. I hesitated, the fear of sounding delusional clawing at me. I chose my words carefully, keeping the details vague. “I’m not sure what it was... just movement. It could have been nothing.”


    He raised a hand, stopping me. “You’re not the first one to mention seeing strange things on this ship,” he said quietly. “But I’ve checked the systems, and everything’s clear. There’s no one else awake—only us.”


    He leaned back, taking another drink, his expression softening slightly. “It’s likely a side effect of cryo. A lot of people experience hallucinations and memory loss for a while after waking up. What I need to know, Sol, is whether you’re going to let this beat you. Garin’s wrong about you. You’ve got potential, but you’ve got to find your feet out here. Mistakes happen, but it’s how you deal with them that counts.”


    His words hung in the air between us, heavy and meaningful. I nodded, swallowing hard. “I won’t let it happen again,” I said, my voice firm, though my heart still pounded in my chest.


    Warren watched me for a long moment before he finally nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders. He gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Good. Because we need you, Sol. This ship needs you. Don’t forget that.”


    He finished his drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink before standing. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a new day, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”


    I almost asked him then—about Lab 3, about what had happened there, and the secrets buried beneath layers of silence. But as I watched him rise, already dismissing me, his mind moving on, I thought better of it. His earlier dismissal of the hallucinations made me hesitate, made me question if he’d take my concerns seriously or just see them as more evidence that I wasn’t ready.


    So instead, I just nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yes, sir." I watched as Warren left the mess hall, the door sliding shut behind him. I looked down at the glass in my hand, the last remnants of the amber liquid catching the dim light. Warren’s words echoed in my mind—both a challenge and a reassurance.


    I’m not my father, and I’m not perfect. But maybe, just maybe, I could be enough. For now, that’s all I can ask for.


    But even as I thought it, I couldn’t shake the image of the yellow eyes in the vent, the way they seemed to watch me—filled with a malice that sent chills down my spine. Was it real? Or am I just losing my grip, letting fear take over? Warren’s words were comforting, but they didn’t erase the doubt gnawing at me. What if it wasn’t just a side effect of cryo? What if something really is there, hiding in the shadows of this ship?


    Or what if I really am losing my mind?


    I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I tipped back the glass, draining it in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol warmed me, spreading through me in a brief buzz that offered a fleeting sense of calm. I took a deep breath, the tightness in my chest loosening—just a little. I still have a lot to prove—to the crew and to myself. But the certainty I’ve clung to is slipping. Garin’s sneering words won’t leave me alone, but what gnaws at me more is his silence about what he saw. My ankle snapped, and it healed right before his eyes. He mocked me, called me dead weight, but didn’t say a word about that. Why? What game is he playing?


    I can’t keep stumbling in the dark—not anymore. Whatever happened in Lab 3, whatever my father''s work did there—it holds the answers I need. I have to figure it out. I need the truth—about this ship, about my father’s work, about myself.


    With that thought lingering, the uncertainty clinging to me like a shadow, I stood up and set the empty glass down. As I rose, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt a warmth in my cheeks, a faint buzz that left me slightly unsteady on my feet. Drunk? I thought with surprise. It was a rare feeling—alcohol usually barely affected me. But then, I realized—it wasn''t just the drink. It was the hunger gnawing at my insides, a deep emptiness left over from healing. My body had drained whatever reserves it could find, and now it demanded more.


    I placed a hand against my stomach as it gave a low, insistent growl, reminding me of its needs. Food. I needed to eat—needed to replenish what I had lost. Even if the buzz from the alcohol was unfamiliar, I knew the hunger all too well.


    I walked out of the mess hall, slightly wobbly, determined—or maybe just desperate—to find something to eat, even if I didn’t have all the answers yet.


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