Blades clashed—white-hot plasma against burning steel.


    Wolf moved first, breaking our stalemate. A blur of motion, faster than human eyes could track.


    My thrusters flared, launching me back just in time. His dagger slashed through empty air where my throat had been.


    I countered immediately. A hard spin, claws carving through the space between us.


    He ducked low, sidestepped—


    Too predictable.


    Then came the second strike.


    My plasma shield flared to life just as his blade came down.


    The collision sent a shockwave through my armor, triggering a pulse of warning through my HUD.


    "Shields at 82%," Valicar reported.


    Too close.


    I launched forward, thrusters roaring, twisting through the air to close the gap before he could reset.


    A split-second decision—I fired my grappling hook, aiming for his chest. Wolf’s blade flashed, slicing through the cable before it could latch, severing it in a single effortless motion. He didn’t falter.


    Shit. I thought bitterly. That won''t work on him.


    Wolf was massive-twice my height, four times my weight, yet he moved like a ghost, impossibly nimble for something so big. His reach with those daggers was absurd, faster than I could keep up with even with my claws. Every strike came down like a hammer, precise, relentless.


    I should''ve made a plasma sword.


    The thought burned through my mind as I barely twisted out of the way of another swipe, the air hissing with the heat of his blade.


    Giving up on the grappling hook— for now-I shifted my focus. I''d have to fight up close.


    My claws lashed out, aiming for his side. Fast. Aggressive. Not testing, not probing—striking.


    This time, I hit.


    Or at least, I should have.


    His shields surged, absorbing the impact.


    Wolf didn’t hesitate. Didn’t react. His counterattack was instant.


    I barely dodged the first swipe. The second nearly took my head off.


    The third?


    "Deploying secondary shield!"


    The barrier flared as his blade struck, the impact ripping through my suit''s defenses and sent me flying.


    I corrected mid-air, thrusters firing, pushing myself upright—


    And then, Wolf disappeared.


    Cloaking.


    I gritted my teeth. Not good.


    "Shields at 48%," Valicar warned. "Current recharge rate: insufficient."


    Too soon. Too much damage.


    I pivoted fast, scanning, tracking—


    A flicker of movement.


    I whipped around just as Wolf reappeared, his dagger streaking toward my stomach.


    I twisted, barely shifting out of the way—


    But not fast enough.


    The dagger carved through my side, a searing, white-hot line of pain.


    My shields flickered, too slow to block the strike.


    "Warning: Critical damage sustained."


    I snarled, driving my knee up toward his ribs.


    He blocked effortlessly, grabbed my leg—


    And sliced it clean off.


    A flash of burning pain. My balance vanished.


    I crashed to the ground, gasping.


    Wolf exhaled, tilting his head. "Fast," he admitted. "But not fast enough."


    No time to think. No time to panic.


    My hair snapped forward, strands moving with precise, unnatural intent-nanites woven through each filament, acting as an extension of my will. They coiled around my severed leg, dragging it back into alignment, holding it steady as the virus surged through my cells, forcing regeneration at an agonizing pace. I felt every nerve reknit, every muscle thread itself back together, the jagged edges of bone grinding as they fused. My flesh burned, ice and fire colliding beneath my skin, while the suit''s repair systems worked in tandem-nanites sealing breaches, reconnecting severed plating, reattaching servos to living tissue. The process wasn''t seamless. It wasn''t clean. But within seconds, I was whole again-flesh and steel, body and armor, bound together as one.


    Whole again.


    "Structural integrity restored. Suit functions nominal. Recommending immediate counterattack."


    I flexed my foot.


    Good as new.


    Wolf watched, cold calculation behind his visor. "Impressive."


    I launched forward before he could react.


    My claws slashed toward his chest—


    His shield flared, deflecting the blow.


    I growled in frustration.


    Then—pain.


    White-hot, searing, spreading through my entire torso.


    His dagger buried itself deep between my ribs, the plasma blade humming as it pierced flesh and muscle, searing everything in its path.


    My lungs locked up instantly. The heat radiated outward, a slow, agonizing burn cooking me from the inside.


    I couldn’t breathe.


    The smell of burning meat—my meat—filled my helmet.


    Wolf leaned in slightly, his voice calm. "Hard to kill," he murmured, "but easy to incapacitate."


    I choked, vision swimming, body convulsing, every nerve screaming. My lungs shriveled, boiled, no longer functioning—oxygen cut off, the pain sharp and endless.


    "Warning: Oxygen deprivation detected. Immediate counterattack required."


    Fuck, Move. Move. FUCKING MOVE.


    The whispers laughed, slithering through my mind like smoke.


    Show him, little Phoenix. For you are not fireproof—but you will always rise again from the ashes.


    My free hand lashed out, fingers curled into a tight spear. All five points struck as one—pure, concentrated force, biological strength fused with mechanical precision. My bones cracked under the pressure, muscles tearing, servos groaning as Valicar pushed them past their limits—120 percent output.


    For a fraction of a second, Wolf’s shield held.


    Then—a tiny rupture.


    A hole, no larger than a fist, but enough.


    Through that opening, I let hell loose.


    My wrist mounted flamethrower roared to life, a torrent of white-hot fire bursting through the breach, slipping past the shield’s failing integrity and searing into the silver armor beneath.


    Wolf jerked back, his stance shifting just slightly as the flames licked across his plating, yanking his dagger free from my ribs as he moved.


    I sucked in a breath, my body already healing, organs knitting themselves back together as I stared at the damage.


    It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t kill him.


    But for the first time, his armor wasn’t untouched.


    The silver plating darkened, scorched, marred by something other than a Royal Guard’s blade.


    Barely anything. A scratch.


    But a scratch was more than anyone had ever left on him before.


    Wolf went still. His red visor flickered slightly, processing. Considering.


    Then, slowly—he chuckled.


    "Well," he murmured, rolling his shoulders, the burn marks catching the dim light. "That’s new."


    His stance shifted, subtle but telling. Less relaxed. More deliberate. Like he’d finally decided to take this seriously.


    Good. I thought.


    I didn’t let up.


    No hesitation. No room to breathe. Just relentless, unyielding aggression.


    I launched forward, thrusters roaring, plasma claws carving through the air in a flurry of strikes. I was adapting—faster, sharper. My body was syncing with the suit, learning its weight, its speed, the way Valicar adjusted with me.


    Wolf met me strike for strike, blade to blade as we parried and dodged, daggers flashing in brutal counterattacks. But this time, I wasn’t just reacting. I was reading him.


    He struck low—I jumped, twisting mid-air, jet boots firing just enough to alter my trajectory.


    He came from the side—I spun, letting the momentum carry me into a counterstrike that forced him to deflect.


    For the first time, he had to step back.


    I felt the shift.


    I had him.


    The hunger coiled deep in my gut, hot and sharp, fueling my every movement. It roared in my veins, a firestorm demanding more—more speed, more strength, more. My vision narrowed, the edges of the world sharpening to a single, undeniable truth: I could win.


    I lunged, plasma claws humming as I aimed for the gap under his arm—the opening in his defenses. Now that I knew my claws could pierce his shield—


    And then—


    He vanished.


    Fucking cloaking.


    I was too slow.


    Before I could react, three drones dropped from the ceiling, plasma rifles whining to full charge.


    Half a second to brace—


    THWOMP!


    A concussive blast slammed into my chest, knocking me backward. The second shot tore through my shields, static filling my HUD. The third—


    I hit the ground, armor screeching against steel.


    "Shields at 12%," Valicar warned.


    Not good.


    I ripped my plasma pistol free and fired-three perfect shots, each one finding its mark with Valicar guiding my hand.


    The first drone exploded in a shower of metal and fire. The second crumpled, its core blown clean through. The third managed to fire-too slow. My shot tore off its head before it could lock on.


    Training drones. No shields. I was lucky or maybe not.


    The echoes of the blasts faded.


    But I wasn’t alone. A shadow flickered above me.


    Too late.


    My legs were swept out from under me.


    I crashed onto my back just as Wolf’s dagger came down—straight for my face.


    No time. No options.


    "Shields recharged to 18%," Valicar reported.


    Enough.


    I didn’t think—I reacted.


    I fired my back-mounted missile launcher. Point-blank.


    BOOM!!!


    The explosion swallowed us both as my shields took the brunt of it, dropping from 18% to 4%. The shockwave sent me skidding across the training room, armor screeching against steel, warning lights flashing across my HUD. Fire and smoke rolled through the space, heat bleeding through the plating, my body aching from the impact. I forced myself up fast, unsteady for half a second before locking my stance, claws still humming, ready for whatever came next.


    I was still standing. Ready for his next attack.


    But it never came.


    Through the haze, Wolf emerged, his silver armor streaked with soot, the burn marks from my earlier attack still visible. His posture was loose, casual, like he hadn’t just been caught in a goddamn explosion. He rolled his shoulders, shaking out the tension, before a deep, amused chuckle rumbled through his helmet’s speakers.


    "You really are something else," he chuckled, red visor gleaming through the smoke. "That was reckless. Stupid. And completely insane."


    I exhaled sharply, forcing my breath to steady. My fingers flexed, ready for another round, my heart still hammering against my ribs. Was he still testing me?


    Then he tilted his head slightly. Considered me.


    "You win."


    I blinked. "What?"


    He chuckled again, sheathing his daggers with a smooth, effortless motion. "I could keep going. Could drag this fight out until you can’t move anymore. But you fought like one of us. Like a Royal Guard. And that? That’s a victory worth acknowledging."


    I was still catching my breath, body screaming, suit flickering between stability and shutdown. But I grinned, teeth bared, adrenaline still thick in my veins.


    "I’ll take it."


    Wolf stepped closer, rolling his neck like he hadn’t just survived a point-blank missile to the chest.


    "Keep training," he said. "One day, you might actually beat me—especially if you laid off the booze."


    Then, his tone shifted—lighter, almost amused. "But before you go thinking you’re hot shit, just remember…"


    He tapped a finger against my scorched chestplate.


    "You better kick Hyena’s ass before anyone else does."


    I huffed out a laugh, still coming down from the sheer insanity of that last exchange. Hyena. Of course.


    "Deal."


    And with that—the fight was over.


    The days after blurred into a routine of work, drinking, and food-most of it still fresh and bloody. But mostly, it was just work.


    I refined my suit, tweaking and modifying every system that had failed in combat. The energy distribution needed adjustment—plasma shielding had drained too quickly, and the servos needed faster reaction times to keep up with my speed. My grappling hook got an upgrade, reinforced with a secondary cable to prevent an easy slice-through. The missile launcher had been effective, but Valicar optimized its auto-targeting for better close-range detonation.


    Every change was a lesson from the fight with Wolf. Every adjustment made sure I’d be faster, stronger—better.


    I wasn’t just repairing it. I was evolving.


    The hunger never fully faded, even after I had consumed protein bars and cloned animals alike. The training and battle had taken a toll on my body—I was down to 200 pounds, having lost nearly half my biomass. But still, the hunger simmered in the back of my mind, gnawing at the edges of my focus.


    The only thing that kept it at bay was work. Work—and just enough booze to dull the edges.


    I had avoided Garin as best I could. After what he and Knight had done to me, I wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out. Every time I saw him, the hunger flared hot, sharp, my mind flashing back to the cold, clinical cruelty of their experiments—how they stripped me down to nothing but data points, dissecting me piece by piece while I screamed.


    If I looked at him too long, my teeth ached, my instincts screaming to end him.


    So I stayed away.


    But Garin was always there. In the cafeteria, running his mouth. In the training bay, sparring with Holt, throwing cheap shots, always talking shit. I ignored him. I tried to ignore him.


    It wasn’t enough.


    The lab doors slid open, and I didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.


    Oil, alcohol, and metal. The acrid scent of overworked servos and sweat clung to him—someone who thought manual labor was beneath him but had been stuck doing it anyway.


    And, of course, resentment.


    I kept my focus on the diagnostics screen, adjusting the plasma distribution in my right gauntlet. Let me guess, I drawled, you’re here to congratulate me?


    Garin let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, absolutely. I came to personally thank you for turning the training bay into a fucking war zone. Again."


    I turned just enough to flash him an infuriating grin. "You’re welcome."


    His eye twitched. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to fix that mess? The nanites don’t just conjure materials out of thin air, Sol. Every chunk of metal you waste patching up your damage could’ve been used for something useful—like reinforcing our battle drones for the next time we face the Rue."


    I shrugged. "That’s the thing about demotions, Garin. You don’t get to pick your assignments anymore." I leaned back in my chair, stretching. "And—" my smirk sharpened, "not my problem."


    His scoff was sharp, venomous. "No, but everything else seems to be."


    His cybernetic eye flickered, scanning me like I was some kind of error in the system, some piece of corrupted code he couldn’t delete. "Reid’s still in a fucking coma because of you getting him mixed up with Lion, so guess who gets to do his job instead of my own?"


    The whisper stirred in the back of my head.


    He speaks as if he’s worthy of taking Reid’s place.


    I ignored it, ignoring him, keeping my expression bored. "Must be tough."


    His jaw flexed, anger bleeding through. "I helped build this damn ship. Designed half the systems keeping it running. I was lead scientist for fifty years." He let out a sharp breath, fists clenching at his sides. "And now? Now I’m just another grunt, stuck running maintenance, cleaning up your mess, fixing the wreckage you leave behind—while you sit here, playing with your fucking toys, all because Knight rode in on your daddy’s lap and took my job."


    I tilted my head, smirk widening. "Sounds like a you problem."


    His fists clenched, his cybernetic eye twitching. "Do you even realize how much you take? Unlimited rations, unlimited resources, all the materials you could ever want to tweak your little projects, while the rest of us fight for scraps just to keep this ship running. You eat through rations like a fucking black hole. Half our cloned livestock is gone because of you. We used to get real meat sometimes, but now? Now it all goes straight to you."


    He let out a sharp breath, his voice sharp with resentment.


    "And don''t get me started on your drinking. I still get some— but barely. Just a few sips here and there, because the captains are cutting back to make sure you stay drunk and complacent. Wouldn''t want their little monster getting ideas, right?" His smirk twisted, fists clenching. "I built half this damn ship, and now I''m stuck leeching off my own assistant’s rations like some pathetic parasite."


    His lip curled. "And no one says a damn thing to you—because your daddy is the ship."


    He was right. But I couldn’t let him know that.


    So I stretched lazily, making a show of it, letting my arms drape over the chair like I didn’t have a care in the world. My voice was sickly sweet, dripping with mockery.


    "Perks of being humanity’s princess."


    His jaw cracked with how hard he clenched it.


    "You hate that, don’t you?" I mused. "That I can do whatever the fuck I want, while you—" I waved vaguely at him. "You’re stuck running diagnostics like an intern."


    His breathing sharpened. "I should be in your seat. Not you. You didn’t earn this. You didn’t even want it. You’re just a fucking accident with the right DNA."


    I smirked, but it was razor-thin now. "And yet, here we are."


    The whisper purred.


    Break him.


    Garin exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You maybe the reason the captains are still in control, or so you claim. But we all know who’s really running the show."


    His eyes narrowed. "Your father. Knight. Whatever the hell they’re doing in Lab 3."


    I kept the smirk up, but my fingers dug into the armrest of my chair.


    "Once we find a way to bypass your father’s living code?" His voice was ice now. "You’re done. No more Voss dynasty. No more bloodline bullshit. No more you."


    I held his glare, but my vision narrowed. "Yeah? And until that day comes, you get to keep fixing my training room and running my diagnostics while I do whatever the fuck I want."


    His eye flickered, scanning me. Calculating.


    Then, his gaze dragged lower.


    Slow. Assessing.


    And when he looked back up, his smirk was cruel.


    "Well," he mused, voice lowering. "I guess you’re good for one thing at least." His eyes dragged over me again, the implication curling in his words. "Eye candy."


    The whisper curled around my mind like smoke, slithering through the cracks.


    He underestimates you.


    Something in me snapped.


    Garin saw it. And he pushed.


    "You might be a parasite," he murmured. "But at least you’re a pretty one."


    He let it sit. Then, just loud enough for me to hear—


    "Just like your mother."


    A cold spike of rage shot down my spine.


    The whisper turned into a roar.


    Rip his throat out.


    I was out of my chair before I even registered moving. One second, I was lounging, playing the part of the unbothered little princess—


    The next, I was in front of him.


    Too fast. Too aggressive.


    But I held back.


    Barely.


    His smirk barely faltered. He thought he had me. Thought he won.


    I leaned in slightly, my voice low, even. "If you ever call that bitch my mother again, I’ll kill you, now fuck off."


    For the first time, he hesitated.


    Then he smiled. Not smug. Not victorious. Something sharp. Something knowing.


    "So you do hate her as much as I do," he muttered. "It was nice when we had you under our scalpels."


    Heat crawled up my spine, my jaw tightening, my muscles coiled like wire.


    His smirk faltered. Just slightly. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow before he turned toward the door.


    But just before leaving, he threw one last look over his shoulder, voice mocking.


    "Whatever your father is making down there? That’s on you, Sol."


    He exhaled sharply. "I knew Julian Voss. He was a brilliant man. But I’ve studied AI my entire life, and if there’s one thing I do know?"


    His glare bore into me, that glowing eye. Scanning me.


    "The thing controlling this ship?" He shook his head, voice dipping lower.


    "It’s not Julian Voss."


    A pause.


    "And it’s sure as hell not your father."


    Then he was gone.


    I exhaled slowly, my hands shaking from the sheer force of holding back.


    The whisper coiled tighter, purring in my skull.


    He doesn’t deserve to walk away.


    I clenched my teeth, shutting it out.


    Let him think he won. Let him walk away thinking he got the last word.


    Because next time?


    I wouldn’t just threaten him.


    A sharp ding echoed through the lab, my datapad lighting up on the counter.


    I blinked, my breath still ragged as I reached for it.


    <hr>


    ROTATION SCHEDULE UPDATE


    A-Team Standby for Cryo Entry


    <hr>


    Just like that, my time was up.


    I exhaled, biting my lip before swiping the notification away. Another alert followed—a direct message from Vega.


    I opened it, the glowing text reflecting in my tired eyes.


    <hr>


    FROM: Lt. Evelyn Vega


    TO: Sol Voss


    SUBJECT: Rotation Schedule Update – Immediate Action Required


    Sol,


    Per command’s latest scheduling update, A-Team is scheduled to return to cryo at 0800 tomorrow to allow for rotational balance and resource management.


    Given your unique metabolic requirements, your extended wake cycle has placed an increased strain on rations and energy reserves. While we acknowledge your contributions, continued deviation from rotation protocol is not sustainable. As such, you are required to report to the cryo bay on time—and I don’t want trouble like last time.


    Your shifts have already lasted longer than most, extended due to the Rue’s attacks and the ship’s constant emergency jumps. But with the Rue seemingly shaken off, command has decided to return to a normal rotation. After months of uncertainty, we are resuming course toward Haven. The council has determined that remaining adrift any longer is a waste of resources, and the ship will proceed toward its intended destination once this transition is complete.


    Team B will assume operational control, and Dr. Knight will be part of their rotation. Any unfinished work should be documented and transferred before the end of your shift. Use the next 24 hours to settle affairs accordingly.


    Do not be late.


    Attached: [Cryo Rotation Manifest]


    Lt. Evelyn Vega


    <hr>


    The words blurred slightly as I stared at them, a tight knot settling in my chest.


    They were sending me back.


    Again.


    Just when I was making progress, when I’d finally started optimizing my suit, when I was beginning to feel like I had some control—now, it was all getting put on pause. For nine months.


    I could, of course, override the order. I had the authority, the ability. But I had chosen this. I had given the council back power, and thanks to Garin’s improvements, they could now communicate even while in cryo. No more blind leaps, no more power struggles while half the crew slept.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I sighed.


    The logic made sense. I drained more resources than anyone else, my metabolism eating through supplies at a rate the ship wasn’t built to sustain long-term. It was why my rotations were shorter. Why I spent more time in cryo than awake.


    But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.


    My fingers clenched against the datapad.


    Nine months of nothing. Nine months of silence, of frozen, empty time while the rest of the ship kept moving without me.


    And Knight would be staying awake.


    She didn’t age. That much, I was certain of now. Whatever she’d done to herself, it wasn’t just normal gene therapy or standard enhancements. It was something deeper.


    Is it the same as Phoenix?


    Biologically, it should be able to bond to her X chromosomes. She was my genetic template, after all. That meant, theoretically, it could have taken root in her, just like it had in me.


    But if that was the case… Why wasn’t she like me?


    Knight looked human. More human than I ever had. No red eye. No unnatural regeneration. No insatiable hunger clawing at her insides.


    But she still hadn’t aged.


    Not in centuries.


    She is your mother after all, my little Phoenix. The project had to start somewhere, the whispers cooed, curling around my thoughts like smoke.


    I exhaled sharply, shoving the thoughts—and the whispers—aside.


    I had less than a day to wrap things up before they forced me into another nine months of sleep.


    I needed to clear my head. There was no point in fighting what was coming. No matter how much I hated it, I was going under in the morning.


    So, I did what I could with the time I had left.


    I found Holt in the armory, exactly where I expected him to be. The smell of oiled metal and disinfectant filled the space as he methodically cleaned his sidearm, his movements sharp and practiced.


    He didn’t look up as I approached, but I knew he heard me.


    “Still walking straight after that fight with Wolf?” he muttered, setting the pistol down.


    I huffed. “Barely.”


    He finally glanced at me, eyes scanning over my frame like he was assessing damage. “You’ve improved.”


    Coming from Holt, that was high praise.


    “Yeah? Felt like I was getting my ass kicked most of the time.”


    “You were,” he said plainly, then added, “but you fought back. Harder than before.”


    Something in his tone made me pause. He wasn’t just humoring me. He meant it.


    “You’re learning,” he continued. “Next time you wake up, don’t let that rust.”


    I nodded. “I won’t.”


    He gave a short grunt of approval and went back to cleaning his weapon. That was as much of a goodbye as I was going to get.


    The med bay was quiet when I arrived. Too quiet.


    Reid hadn’t moved. Hadn’t twitched. He was still the same as before—still hooked up to machines keeping him stable, still caught in whatever limbo his body refused to leave.


    Jimmy was already there, sitting at the foot of the bed. He didn’t say anything when I walked in. He just held up a small bundle of parts in his hands—some mechanical piece he’d brought from engineering. He set it on the table beside Reid, next to a growing pile of similar pieces. Offerings. As if Reid might wake up and know exactly what to do with them.


    I swallowed hard, stepping up beside them. Yates stood at the monitor, arms crossed, eyes locked on the readings. She didn’t need to say it. I already knew.


    No change.


    “I don’t get it,” Jimmy muttered. “He’s strong. Stubborn as hell. He should’ve—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.


    I reached out, resting a hand on Reid’s arm. He felt… wrong. Like he was there, but not. His body was healing. His vitals were stable. But something wasn’t letting him come back.


    I clenched my jaw.


    “See you when I wake up,” I murmured, not sure if I was saying it for him or for myself.


    “He’ll be good as new by then,” Yates said encouragingly. “The medics on the other teams will take good care of him.” She hesitated, then softened. “But you should take care of yourself too, Sol.” Her voice was quieter now, laced with something close to concern.


    I nodded stiffly, knowing Reid couldn’t return to cryo in this state. I could only hope they’d do their job. I barely met the medics from the other teams when they were awake, never bothered remembering their names—but they were responsible for him now. They better hope Yates was right. Or I’d be having words with them when I woke up.


    "Yeah... I will," I said, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel. "And he’ll be cracking jokes in no time."


    Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away, nodding to Jimmy before turning and walking out. As I reached the doorway, I pulled my flask from my belt and took a deep, burning swig.


    Yates didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered, tightening with something unspoken. Jimmy, too, shifted uncomfortably, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced between me and the fading hope on the bed.


    I ignored it.


    The alcohol dulled the edge just enough to keep my legs moving. Just enough to keep me from turning back.


    I was so focused on the burn in my throat that I didn’t notice the figure stepping into my path until I nearly walked straight into her.


    "Oh—sorry!" Ashly yelped, flinching back, her datapad clutched tight against her chest.


    I stepped back, steadying myself. "No, that one''s on me."


    Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she still looked uneasy, fingers gripping the pad tightly. She hesitated, glancing at my flask before quickly looking away.


    "For a second, I thought you were Garin," she muttered.


    I frowned. "What?"


    She shifted awkwardly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "The smell. It’s… never mind."


    "What about it?"


    Another pause before she sighed. "He''s been drinking. Since this morning. A lot."


    That made me stop. "Garin? He was just bitching about rations earlier."


    She nodded. "I know. That''s why it''s bad. He even took my share... not that I drink."


    l exhaled, rubbing my temple. "Let me guess—he''s been an even bigger asshole than usual?"


    Ashly hesitated, giving a small, uneasy shrug. "He''s... been worse. We''ve all noticed."


    "Yeah, well, no offense, but the guy’s a dick even when he’s sober," I muttered, shaking my head. "I don’t know why anyone puts up with him."


    Her fingers tensed slightly against the datapad, her gaze dropping for a second before she answered. "Because he’s not just that. He’s difficult, yeah. Harsh. And sometimes cruel. But he wasn’t always this way."


    I snorted. "Sure. And maybe if you dig deep enough, the void’s got a soft side."


    She didn’t laugh.


    Instead, she looked at me—really looked at me—before saying quietly, "We all deserve second chances, don’t we?"


    That stopped me cold.


    Because all I could think about was the crack of bone under my grip, the way she fell to the floor, the pained gasp, the stunned silence afterward. The way she had looked at me—not just with fear, but with something worse.


    And then—how she had still forgiven me.


    Even after that, after everything, she had still stood by Reid when Warren locked me up for it. Still took my side when it counted.


    I forced my breath steady, looking away. "Yeah," I said finally, quieter than I meant. "We do."


    Ashly nodded once, almost to herself. "Just… be careful, Sol."


    She didn’t say with Garin.


    Maybe she meant him. Maybe she meant me.


    Either way, I didn’t answer.


    I just walked away.


    The moment I turned the corner, I yanked my flask free, unscrewing the cap with sharp, jerky movements. The burn hit my throat fast, spreading through my veins like liquid fire, but it didn''t do what I needed it to. It didn''t settle the anger crawling under my skin, didn''t quiet the gnawing frustration clawing at the back of my mind.


    I wasn''t even sure what had me on edge-Garin''s smug bullshit, Ashly''s careful, too-kind words, or the fact that my time was almost up. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.


    Another swig.


    Still not enough.


    My feet moved before I could think, before I could ask myself what the hell I was even doing. I didn''t have a plan, didn''t have a reason, but that didn''t stop me from heading straight for the bridge.


    Maybe l''d figure it out when I got there.


    The bridge was dim, the lights kept low to simulate night cycles. Warren and Vega stood near the central console, quiet as they studied the star charts. Beyond them, through the wide viewport, the nebula stretched in luminous tendrils of violet and electric blue, shifting with an eerie, liquid motion. Ionized hydrogen swirled in vast, coiling currents, casting faint pulses of light across the ship’s hull.


    The reactor hummed steadily as it drew in fuel, stabilizing with each measured intake of hydrogen from the nebula. The process was smooth, controlled—so simple it almost felt insulting after everything. We could have done this months ago instead of bleeding ourselves dry chasing the dream of Phoenix. Instead of chasing ghosts.


    I approached, arms crossed, watching them for a moment before speaking.


    “Sol,” Warren acknowledged, turning toward me.


    I nodded. “Warren.”


    He exhaled. “Vega briefed you?”


    “Yeah.” My gaze flicked to the console—fuel levels climbing, everything functioning exactly as it should. I scoffed, shaking my head slightly. “So that’s it? We’re actually back on course? No more random jumps, no more suicidal detours?”


    Warren smirked faintly. “Yes… We’re moving forward.”


    I let that sit for a second before tilting my head. “Forward,” I repeated, my voice deliberately flat. “So after all that, we’re finally doing what we could have done a year ago?” I gestured vaguely to the viewport. “This seems a lot easier than diving into a star just to refuel. No Hemlock. No wild theories. Just good old-fashioned hydrogen scooping.”


    Vega’s shoulders tensed slightly, but it was Warren who answered. “The Hemlock was a calculated risk,” he said. “Like waking you.”


    I huffed. "Yeah? And what did either get us?" My tone wasn''t outright hostile, but I wasn''t sugarcoating anything either. "The Hemlock was a failure. The only real takeaway was that we''re not alone out here. That''s it." I let out a sharp breath, arms tightening across my chest. "Well—that, and the fact that I was never anything more than a pawn. None of us were." My gaze flicked between them, bitterness curling at the edges of my words. "So tell me—was it worth it? Dragging me out of cryo for this? Nearly losing the ship to Lion? Risking the last ark of humanity for something that was never ours to begin with?"


    Neither of them answered immediately.


    I let the silence stretch before adding, “Or did we just agree not to talk about that part?”


    Vega met my gaze, unreadable. “If we hadn’t gone after the Hemlock, we wouldn’t understand the full scope of Phoenix. We wouldn’t have known the truth if you hadn’t woken the Guard—if they didn’t make Knight talk.”


    I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. “Right. The truth. The one Knight only told me to twist the knife—when it was already too late to stop any of it.” My voice was flat, bitter. “Or do you mean the part where we found out Phoenix was never meant to save humanity? That it was never about making any of you immortal—just turning you into something monstrous if you were stupid enough to try?”


    I glanced between them, my voice dropping lower. “It was never for you. It was for me. For him. And you were all too desperate to see it—too blind to realize he was never going to share.”


    No one had to ask who he was.


    Warren exhaled, slow and measured. “Why are you bringing this up now? Why are you questioning us? You’re the one who put your trust in us—just like your father did when he gave us captain clearance so he could go back to his lab.”


    I huffed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, I did. But what was my other option? Becoming an unqualified dictator?” I shook my head. “I know what you all think of me, but I’m not about to prove you right. You see me as a monster? Fine. But I’m not going to act like one. And I sure as hell know that you’re better suited to lead than I ever was.”


    Vega didn''t so much as blink. "You still had a choice, Sol. So if you''re just here to vent, go ahead." She gave me a once-over, unimpressed. "Though it''s pretty clear you''re just drunk and looking for someone to blame."


    I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You know what, Vega? I haven''t been sober in months, so maybe I did come here just to bitch about my fucked-up childhood and how my mommy never loved me." I threw up my hands, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So tell me-did I ever actually have a fucking choice?" My eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unflinching. "Because I sure as hell don''t remember signing up for Knight''s bullshit. Or his." My voice dropped lower, harsher. "I didn''t choose the fucking tests. I didn''t choose to be ripped out of cryo. And I sure as shit didn''t choose to inherit a goddamn warship with the last of humanity riding on its back."


    A muscle in Warren’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt.


    I turned toward the viewport again, watching the slow, endless drift of the nebula. “What I remember is Lion forcing my hand. I remember what they did in that lab. I remember that when it all came down to it, I didn’t have a say in any of this. So yeah, I gave the god damn power back. But don’t act like that was some grand choice.”


    Warren studied me for a long moment. “The council—the one your father stripped of power before you handed it back—has decided it’s time to move forward, that is our choice.” His voice remained steady, but there was an edge to it. “Unless you’re taking control again.”


    I sighed, shaking my head. “No, I’m not, Warren. Fuck, I should’ve talked to Yates.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to push back the pounding in my skull. “It was never a choice, Warren. We both know that. Humanity’s fate was never in our hands… our lives were never ours, and that’s all I’m trying to say.”


    Jericho’s voice chimed in smoothly, as if answering the unspoken truth. “Fueling complete.”


    The silence stretched between us before Warren exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, in that half-joking, half-serious tone of his, he muttered, "Well, Yates is the counselor, after all." He paused, his expression shifting, then added, quieter, "But giving up isn''t in my nature. We''ll find a way— with or without immortality."


    Like it was a promise.


    Just as I turned to leave, he spoke again. “Thank you.”


    I stopped, frowning. “For what?”


    He met my gaze, expression unreadable but steady. “For giving us the chance to do this right. For not making me regret waking you up.”


    I scoffed, shaking my head. “You should regret it.”


    He shrugged. “Maybe. But you were right about one thing.” His voice dropped slightly. “You’re not a monster.”


    I didn’t answer. Just turned back toward the viewport, watching the last flickers of nebula light dance across the hull.


    Maybe I wasn’t a monster.


    But I sure as hell wasn’t free.


    The conversation ended. They had things to prepare. I had things to finish.


    Tomorrow, I was going under.


    And when I woke up?


    The next phase of this journey would begin.


    I was almost to my quarters, a half-empty bottle of Crown hanging loosely from my fingers— courtesy of Blackwell''s stash. It wasn''t my first drink of the day.


    Probably wouldn''t be my last.


    Then I heard his voice.


    "You bitch! Everything that''s gone wrong is your fault!"


    I exhaled slowly, gripping the bottle just a little tighter before turning.


    Garin stood in the dim corridor, unsteady on his feet. His stance was loose, but not relaxed—his shoulders too tight, his cybernetic eye flickering wildly as it scanned me, searching. His slicked-back dark hair was a mess, his usually pristine lab coat hanging open over his pressure suit, wrinkled and stained. His sharp, angular features—high cheekbones, a straight, aristocratic nose, and perpetually irritated eyes—were cast in harsh shadows under the dim lighting, making him look even gaunter than usual.


    The stench of alcohol clung to him, thick and sharp.


    “Not in the mood, Garin.”


    He scoffed, stepping closer, whiskey thick on his breath. “Of course you’re not. You never are when someone tells you the truth. And there’s a lot to tell, so let’s go over it, cunt.” His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Warren let you out after snapping Ashly’s arm. Just like that. One fucking month, and you’re free to do whatever you want. Meanwhile, I was in quarantine longer after the Hemlock—but no, the great Sol Voss gets special treatment.” His words slurred slightly, just enough to betray how much he’d been drinking.


    I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great. Another self-righteous speech—”


    But he didn’t let me finish.


    His fists clenched, his knuckles white. “You''re a goddamn burden on this ship,” he spat. “A drain on everything. You eat enough for five people. You burned through rations, wrecked the training bay, and spent weeks playing with that fucking suit while the rest of us actually worked. And for what?” He let out a scoff, swaying slightly. “What the fuck do you even do here?”


    I inhaled sharply, tilting my head back. “You really wanna do this tonight? We’ve been through this dozens of times, you drunk asshole.”


    “Yes, I do, bitch. It’s not fair only you get to drink and shout. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”


    I gritted my teeth. “We’ve had this conversation already.”


    “And yet, here you are. Still walking around like you’re one of us. Have you no shame?”


    My fingers curled around the bottle, grip tightening.


    Garin’s smile was razor-thin. “You’re not a member of our team. And you never were.”


    The whispering in my skull turned into a low, slow hum. He dares question you? Tell you things you already know, like you are a fool? Now, little Phoenix, it is up to you—embrace what you are, not reject it.


    “You think this ship needs you?” He laughed, bitter and breathy. “We needed a cure, Sol. Not you. Not your father’s little experiment. And now, here we are. Everyone on Jericho still dying slowly, and guess what?” He spread his arms wide, swaying slightly. “We still don’t have immortality. We still don’t have salvation. We only have you.”


    He shook his head, breath hitching.


    “You should’ve never been here, but your father and his promises guaranteed it.”


    I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, the anger curling hot in my gut. “Then tell them to throw me out. See how far that gets you.”


    His smirk deepened. “Oh, I would. But what’s the fucking point?”


    He took a step closer, lowering his voice.


    “You’d just come back. That’s assuming we could ever get past the Guard—which, trust me, we’re working on.”


    The air between us stilled.


    “Hell,” he murmured, tilting his head, “why don’t you do it yourself?”


    My chest tightened.


    “You wanna prove you’re better than him?” His lips curled. “Go to the airlock. Step outside. See if you come back.”


    The whispering in my skull roared.


    “You keep pretending like you give a shit,” Garin went on, words slurred, voice shaking. “Like you’re different. But you’re not.”


    “I never said I was,” I snapped, a memory from a dying Earth flashing in my mind—a friend from my stolen moments outside the lab, showing me the truth of the world, what it meant to be human… not a Voss.


    His eyes flashed. “No. But you think it.” His sneer twisted. “You tell yourself you’re trying. You tell yourself you’re better than him. But deep down, you know—you’re just like your father.”


    I exhaled sharply, forcing down the burn rising in my throat. “I am not him.”


    He didn’t stop.


    “Oh, but you are pretending you’re one of us, but you’re just biding your time. You don’t give a shit about this ship, this mission, humanity, any of us. You just want to survive.”


    I clenched my teeth. “And you don’t?”


    His breath hitched.


    For a second—just a second—I thought he might stop.


    Then his jaw tightened. His voice dropped lower, rougher.


    “I left everything behind.” He swallowed thickly. “Everyone. My daughter.”


    I didn’t want to hear this.


    Garin’s voice cracked. “She begged me not to go.”


    I shut my eyes.


    “I told her I’d come back. That she’d be safe. That she’d be there when I returned.” His voice wavered. “And you know what happened?” His breath shuddered. “She likely starved. In the streets. Just another body no one even fucking bothered to move.”


    Silence.


    My stomach twisted.


    Then his voice sharpened again, slicing straight through me.


    “And then there’s you.” His lips curled into something hateful. “Safe in your father’s fucking tower, waiting for a ship that only you were guaranteed a seat on.” His laugh was sharp, hollow. “His little fucking lab rat. While the rest of us watched our families rot.”


    His breathing was uneven, ragged.


    "And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Knight came.” He let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “That bitch. That whore. I thought she was my second chance. I put my faith in her. I thought cybernetics would save us—not your Phoenix. That AI would make us gods.”


    His laugh sharpened, almost manic.


    "But guess what? It was all bullshit. Because you were the answer. Some twisted little experiment was always meant to be the future—for Voss. Not us.”


    I swallowed, pulse hammering.


    Rip his throat out.


    He grinned, seeing the way my hands curled at my sides, the way my shoulders went rigid. He saw the breaking point coming. And the bastard pushed.


    “You’re a monster—like that yellow-eyed freak—and everyone knows it.” His smirk widened. “Even Warren. He only woke you up because he needed you to complete Phoenix. But he doesn’t trust you. And he was right not to.”


    His voice dropped lower. Sharper.


    “No one does. And now we know why—all from your lips. Your father used you like he used us. But you win… you get to live.”


    I forced my hands to steady.


    “Garin—”


    He cut me off again, his smirk twisting into something cruel, his gaze dragging over me like I was something to be owned.


    “You think it makes you special? Maybe it does. Maybe you really are immortal," he sneered.


    "But you''re just another one of his fucking toys. And when the captains are done with you and the get your father out of Jericho—” his eyes lingered, dark with something ugly, “—they’ll put you down like the rabid little bitch you are."


    Then he went lower.


    His voice turned softer, almost coaxing.


    "But I’ll give credit where it’s due." His eyes dragged over me, slow, lingering, disgusting. "Knight really outdid herself. She didn’t build you for war, did she?"


    The corner of his mouth twitched.


    "She made you perfect."


    His voice dipped lower. Filthier.


    "Beautiful."


    And then, the final, ugly sneer.


    "Humanity’s little whore."


    The words slithered into my ears, poisoning the air between us. He leaned in further, close enough for me to hear his heart beat.


    "How about I break you in?" he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. A low, mocking chuckle followed. "I don''t mind Reid''s sloppy seconds."


    I snapped. I moved fast. Before he could react, I slammed him against the wall, his back hitting metal with a sharp crack. His cybernetic eye flickered wildly, breath hitching as I grabbed his throat—hard enough that I felt him struggle for air beneath my grip.


    I looked up at him. He towered over me, over six feet of arrogance and condescension, always looking down on me like I was something lesser. But now? Now he was pinned, struggling against my grip, and for the first time, I was the one looking down.


    Stop.


    A sharp spike of clarity cut through the haze. My breath hitched. My grip trembled—just for a second. This wasn’t right. I could feel my heartbeat, heavy and uneven, pounding against my ribs, a raw, primal instinct warring with something deeper. Something human.


    I shouldn’t. I could still walk away. He’s not worth it.


    The whispers coiled, thick and cloying, slithering through my mind like living things. He stands in the way of progress.


    Garin struggled, shoving at my arms, fingers clawing against my grip. His breath was ragged, shallow, but he still wasn’t afraid—not yet. Then he lashed out.


    A fist slammed into my face, snapping my head back with enough force to break my nose. Blood spattered, hot, thick. The impact should have stunned me, should have made me let go—but the pain faded before I could register it. My nose reset. The skin stitched itself back together.


    The hunger stirred.


    I inhaled sharply—too sharply. His scent hit me like a drug. Sweat, metal, blood—fear. I could smell it now. Sharp, acidic, raw. I could hear his pulse, hammering out of control, a frantic, terrified drumbeat beneath my fingers. I could feel his heartbeat, pounding like a caged animal’s, each rapid thud sending shockwaves of adrenaline through his veins.


    His pupils dilated. His lips parted—another insult forming, another taunt, another twist of the knife.


    The hunger flared. The whispers surged.


    Consume the fool.


    The voice was stronger now, deeper, filled with something that wasn''t just hunger but purpose.


    He is an unbeliever. A traitor to the future. He clings to the old ways, to the dying species, to the weak flesh that must be discarded.


    You are the next step.


    And he would drag you down with the rest of them.


    I clenched my jaw. No.


    YES.


    He defies the inevitable. He mocks the divine.


    My fingers tightened around his throat. His pulse hammered beneath my grip. Fast. Too fast. I could hear it, feel it, taste it before it even spilled.


    And then—pain.


    A sharp, unnatural ache bloomed in my jaw. My gums split, teeth pressing against my tongue, shifting, sharpening—not just my canines. All of them. A maw of razors, serrated edges clicking into place. My body was changing, matching the hunger, meeting the need.


    This is what you are.


    I clenched my teeth, forcing down the instinct, the panic clawing at the edges.


    He is an obstacle. a failure. a relic of the past.


    Garin’s cybernetic eye flickered, scanning—calculating. But his human eye softened. His breath hitched, chest rising in a shallow, unsteady rhythm.


    “No… no,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “You really are a fucking monster.”


    A sharp inhale. A flicker of panic.


    And for the first time, beneath the arrogance, the venom, the bitterness—I saw it.


    Fear.


    His lips parted. His body twitched like he wanted to step back, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.


    "Wait—please." His voice cracked, his breath shuddering. "I— I didn’t mean—"


    Too late.


    He does not belong in the new world. He does not belong among the gods.


    Something cold settled in my chest. A weight. A certainty.


    I exhaled. “You were right about me... I’m no less a monster than my dad.”


    And I bit down.


    His pulse slammed against my tongue in one last, desperate stutter. The skin split. The warmth of blood flooded my mouth in an instant, thick and metallic. His scream barely made it past his lips before it turned into a wet, choking gurgle. He fought—tried to shove me back, tried to claw at my arms, his fingers scrabbling weakly against my suit—but it was already over.


    I ripped back, tearing through flesh, through muscle, through the fragile, pulsing life in his throat.


    Yesss! My dear! The old must be consumed so the new may rise!


    He collapsed. The sound he made was pathetic—a soft, wet gasp as his hands scrambled to cover the gaping hole in his neck. Blood poured between his fingers, a useless attempt to hold himself together. His artificial eye flickered wildly, pupils blown wide in shock.


    He wasn’t processing it. Not yet.


    His mouth opened, forming silent, panicked words that would never come. I could see my red and blue eyes reflected in his, wide with horror, the last thing he would ever see.


    I swallowed, the last of his blood sliding down my throat. The hunger purred in satisfaction.


    You are the future. He was the past. You are the next step. He was the roadblock. His strength, his mind—absorbed into something greater.


    This is your purpose, little Phoenix. You are the fire that will burn away the frail, the unworthy. And from your blood, a new species will rise.


    His body twitched once. Then stilled.


    I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, smearing blood across my skin. I could still taste him—still feel the warmth of him inside me, fresh, real.


    This hadn’t been battle. This hadn’t been survival.


    This had been… something else.


    Something I wanted.


    Immediate panic and regret flooded me, crashing through the lingering satisfaction like ice water.


    What the fuck did I just do?


    Blood dripped from my hands, warm and thick, as I stood over Garin''s crumpled body, staring down at him— folded awkwardly against the cold metal, his lifeless form smaller now, lesser, yet even in death, he still felt like he was looking down on me.


    For years, I had looked up at him—his sneering face, his condescension, the man who thought himself untouchable. But now, I was looking down.


    His cybernetic eye flickered weakly, the last shreds of its failing systems running useless diagnostics. His fingers twitched once, a final, pathetic reflex. Then—nothing.


    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.


    The words slammed through my skull like a hammer. My breath hitched, sharp and uneven, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs. I dropped to my knees beside him, hands flying to his throat, pressing down on the gaping wound. Useless. Too much. Too fast. It spilled through my fingers, hot and thick, pooling beneath him, soaking into the fabric of my suit.


    I couldn’t fix him. I couldn’t fix this.


    My stomach twisted violently, nausea rising hot in my throat.


    What the fuck is wrong with me!


    The whispers slithered through my mind, thick with amusement.


    Oh, sweet Phoenix… are you afraid?


    I was.


    Not because they could stop me.


    Because they couldn’t.


    Even if Warren and Vega tried, even if the entire command team turned on me, it wouldn’t matter. They couldn’t put me down. They couldn’t even touch me. Not with the Royal Guard sleeping, waiting in cryo, their genetic code bound to me by the very system they had all sworn to.


    The moment they made a move against me, the Guard would wake. And then?


    Then no one would be able to stop me.


    And you don’t want that, do you?


    I swallowed hard. No.


    I didn’t want them to see me like this. I didn’t want them to know.


    Not Holt. Not Jimmy. Not Ashly, who already feared what she saw in me. Not Reid when he woke up, or Yates. Not even Warren, who had let me walk free once before. And certainly not to prove Vega right-that I was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off.


    They didn’t see it yet. They still thought I was human. They still thought I could be trusted.


    If they knew—if they understood—they would look at me the way Garin had in his final moments.


    With terror.


    I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking, my breath coming in ragged sobs. I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.


    The whispers coiled tighter, smug, pleased.


    You did what was necessary.


    I staggered back, chest heaving, staring at Garin’s lifeless body. My hands trembled, stained red. My vision swam. My breath came too fast, too shallow.


    I killed him.


    Not in battle. Not in self-defense.


    I killed him because I wanted to. Because it felt right. Because the whispers were right.


    You are not one of them. You never were. You are the herald of the next age. And the weak have no place among the species you shall birth.


    I clenched my teeth. No. No, I am still me.


    Are you?


    I let out a ragged breath, swallowing back the nausea clawing at my throat.


    I had to erase this. There couldn’t be a body. There couldn’t be a trace.


    Jericho’s voice hummed in my ear, smooth and clinical, unaffected by the carnage before him.


    "It doesn’t have to be this way."


    I stiffened.


    The AI’s tone was eerily calm. Unbothered.


    "There are solutions," Jericho continued. "Shall we make it look like an accident?"


    I stood there, frozen. My hands still pressed against Garin’s lifeless throat.


    The ship’s AI… my father. Watching. Calculating. Offering solutions.


    My father’s voice echoed through my mind—cold, pragmatic.


    Dispose of the evidence. No one will question a malfunction.


    I exhaled. Shaky.


    Then, slowly, I nodded.


    I forced myself to breathe, to think past the fog of panic suffocating me. My hands trembled as I pulled them away from Garin’s throat, his blood still warm against my skin. My stomach churned. The scent of iron filled the corridor, thick and suffocating.


    Jericho’s voice remained eerily calm. “The airlock is prepped. No traces will remain.”


    I swallowed hard. My mind screamed at me, my body caught between terror and cold calculation. I couldn’t undo what I’d done.


    But I could make sure no one ever found out.


    My fingers curled into fists. I glanced at the cameras in the hall, knowing Jericho had already looped the footage, scrubbed any evidence. No alarms had been tripped. It was as if Garin had never been here.


    I moved like a machine, my body detached from my thoughts as I grabbed Garin beneath his arms, dragging his lifeless weight toward the nearest airlock. He was still warm. His dead weight pressed against me as I hauled him, leaving a smear of crimson along the floor. The scent of blood clung to my skin, thick and metallic, filling my lungs with every ragged breath. My black suit was soaked, sticky with it.


    Behind me, the ship came alive. The drones whirred from their compartments, silent and efficient, their mechanical arms sweeping across the floor. The nanite scrubbers activated, dispersing in a fine mist, dissolving the blood into nothing. The crimson streak faded, the cold metal floor returning to pristine sterility in seconds. It was as if he had never been here at all.


    I forced myself not to think about it.


    Not to feel it.


    Jericho overrode the security lock with a simple chime. The doors slid open.


    I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, looking down at him.


    This was it.


    No body. No questions. No consequences.


    The whispers purred in satisfaction. It was always going to end this way.


    I exhaled sharply and shoved Garin inside. His head lolled unnaturally as his body settled, blood pooling slightly beneath him before the vacuum would claim him.


    For the briefest moment, I hesitated.


    Then, with a final press of the controls, the outer doors slid open.


    Silence.


    His body was sucked into the void, disappearing into the endless black.


    It was done.


    The airlock cycled back, sealing shut with a final hiss. A new entry logged into the system.


    AIRLOCK MALFUNCTION.


    Jericho’s voice hummed in approval. “It is as though he was never here.”


    I closed my eyes. My breathing had steadied. My heartbeat had not.


    The weight of what I’d done pressed into me, heavy, suffocating. But there was no regret in my choice—just guilt in my actions. A quiet, aching finality.


    And beneath the guilt, something deeper. Something colder. A sliver of satisfaction.


    I had liked it.


    The power. The control. The way his pulse had fluttered beneath my grip, weak and helpless. The way the blood had filled my mouth, thick and hot, the way it had felt right—like it belonged there.


    The realization terrified me.


    I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling at my sides. My nails dug into my palms, sharp enough to break the skin—desperate for the sting, the blood, anything to ground me.


    My voice came barely above a whisper, raw and unsure. “Why did you help me, Dad?”


    Jericho’s response was immediate, smooth, affectionate.


    "Because you are my legacy, little Phoenix. And I love you.”


    A shudder rolled through me.


    Not Julian Voss. Jericho.


    Or were they even different anymore?


    I turned on my heel and walked away, my bloodstained clothes clinging to me, Garin’s scent thick in my nose. I could still feel the warmth of his blood against my skin, the phantom sensation of his throat breaking beneath my teeth.


    The showers. I needed to burn this suit. I needed to scrub every trace of him off me. I needed to erase it.


    Even if deep down, I knew—


    I never really could.


    I didn’t go to the main sanitation bay—too many eyes. Too many questions. Instead, I made my way to the sanitation unit by the hangar bay, where the scouting teams decontaminated after planetary excursions. No one would be there this late. No one would see me.


    My boots left faint, dark smears on the floor as I walked, the blood drying in uneven patches against the black material. The smell of oil and coolant filled the air, masking the scent of iron that clung to me. The bay was silent, the usual hum of shuttle maintenance absent. The security feeds wouldn’t be monitoring this part of the ship so closely.


    Perfect.


    I stepped inside the sanitation unit, barely registering the sterile scent of the space. The incinerator hummed in the corner, its curved metal chamber ready for use. It was meant for decontaminating samples, burning away anything that might have followed us back from uncharted planets. Tonight, it would burn something else.


    I peeled the suit off slowly, my fingers stiff, my muscles trembling. The black fabric peeled away from my skin in sticky, tacky strips. Garin’s blood had soaked through the outer layer, dried against the seams. The scent of it filled my lungs, thick and metallic, refusing to fade.


    I glanced down at myself.


    Pale skin, almost luminescent under the harsh white lights, streaked with red. My arms, my collarbone, the curve of my ribs—smeared in blood, drying in uneven patterns against my flesh. My hair, white as frost, clung to my damp skin in matted strands, streaked with crimson.


    For a moment, I didn’t even recognize myself.


    This is what you are, the whispers crooned. A hunter. A thing that feeds. This is your nature.


    I swallowed hard and shoved the suit into the incinerator. The moment it hit the containment field, the machine activated, heat flooding the chamber. The fabric twisted, curling, turning to blackened dust in seconds. The blood that stained it turned to vapor, rising and vanishing into the vents.


    Gone. Like he never existed.


    I should have felt relief. Instead, I felt cold.


    I turned, stepping into the decontamination unit. The door hissed shut behind me, sealing me in. I activated the system manually, bypassing the normal protocols—no chemical scrub, just heat and water.


    Steam flooded the chamber.


    The first spray of water hit my skin like a shock, scalding, nearly unbearable. I stayed under it, letting it run down my body in thick, crimson streams, washing Garin away piece by piece. I scrubbed hard, my nails raking over my arms, my throat, my face—until my skin burned, until I could feel something other than the phantom weight of him against me.


    But no matter how much I scrubbed, I could still smell it. Still feel it.


    He deserved it, the whispers murmured. You were right to take him. You were stronger. You are meant to consume.


    I clenched my jaw, shaking my head, willing the thoughts away.


    I stayed under the water until the drain ran clear. Until the heat left my skin raw, the remnants of blood dissolving into nothing. Until the weight of what I had done pressed into me so hard I thought I might collapse.


    Only then did I leave, my body weak, exhaustion pressing into my bones like lead.


    But I still wasn’t clean.


    The scent of alcohol hit me next—the sharp, bitter burn of cheap, synthetic whiskey. I found it in Reid’s locker, part of the stashes he’d hidden around the ship, tucked away for nights like this. I drank until the room spun, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the phantom ache of his throat between my teeth.


    It didn’t help. It never did.


    That night, I dreamed of him—of tearing out his throat again and again, his voice slithering through my mind like my father’s, whispering that he’d never really leave me. That he was inside me now. That I’d only just begun.


    When I woke up, my head throbbed, my stomach twisted, and Garin’s dead eyes still stared at me in the back of my mind.


    The cryo bay was silent when I arrived.


    The others were already prepping for stasis, medical techs running final checks. The air smelled sterile, too clean, too cold.


    They were talking about what happened.


    Shock. Surprise.


    Garin’s name hung in the air like a ghost. Not spoken loudly, but in murmurs, sidelong glances, half-finished thoughts. I moved through the room in autopilot, responding when I had to, barely processing what was being said.


    Jericho had tried coaching me on what to say—feeding me the right words, the proper cadence of grief and regret. Maybe I repeated them. Maybe I didn’t. I couldn’t remember. Everything was a haze of booze and exhaustion, of guilt I refused to name. I just nodded when I had to, shook my head when it seemed appropriate, said enough to not seem off.


    And no one questioned it.


    They knew I had no love for the man, but no one outright pressed me for more. Not yet.


    Then Vega’s voice cut through the quiet, cool and professional. "We have confirmation on Garin now. The reports were accurate."


    The room stilled.


    The crew gathered around, silent and expectant, drawn to witness his fate.


    I forced myself to keep moving, feigning disinterest as I glanced toward Vega. She stood near the main console, Warren at her side. The holoscreen flickered to life, displaying a security feed.


    Jericho had handled it well—too well.


    The video showed Garin stumbling through the corridors, clearly drunk. He wove toward the airlock, his movements erratic, muttering to himself. The playback sped up, showing him fiddling with the manual override, swaying on his feet. Then—an alert flashed. A malfunction.


    The doors slid open.


    A sharp intake of breath from Ashly. Onscreen, the pressure shift pulled Garin forward, his balance lost in an instant.


    One moment he was there.


    The next—gone.


    The footage ended. The silence stretched.


    Jimmy was the first to speak, voice quiet. "Shit." He swallowed hard, rubbing his jaw. "He’s been drinking more lately. We all noticed it. It started off as just an extra glass here and there, but today? It was different. He was already drunk when he got to the canteen—way more than usual." He hesitated, frowning. "Jericho cut him off. He tried to order another drink, but the system flagged him. He got pissed, started ranting about his demotion, about how he ‘built this ship’ and shouldn’t have to follow the same rationing as the rest of us." Jimmy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Then he stormed out, still grumbling. Kept going on about how no one respected him anymore, about—" his eyes flicked toward me for the briefest second, "about Sol. Then something about the cargo bay." His voice trailed off.


    Ashly shook her head, arms wrapped tightly around herself, disbelief etched across her face. "No. I knew something was off with him today, but this…" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head harder. "I mean, yeah, he’d been drinking more these past few weeks, but nothing like this. Not Garin. He was a social drinker, never reckless. And today? He wasn’t just drinking—he was losing control." She swallowed, her voice dropping lower. "He never let himself get like that."


    "It’s a shame," Yates murmured, arms crossed, her expression tight. "If I’d been paying more attention… maybe I could have helped. Maybe if he had talked to someone…" She let out a slow exhale. "I should’ve seen the signs."


    She looked at me then, concern flickering behind her sharp gaze. I knew what she was thinking—what she wanted to say. The drinking. The fact that I’d been doing it practically since I woke up. The barely-hidden flasks, the ever-present burn on my breath. But she didn’t say it. Not here. Not yet.


    And even as the shame twisted in my gut, my mind drifted to the cargo bay. Had Reid’s stash of moonshine survived, still tucked away in some hidden corner? Or had that dipshit Garin already found it while taking over Reid’s duties and drained it dry before I could?


    Yet, as I sat there feeling like a piece of shit, Yates’ words settled over the room, pressing into everyone. The evidence was laid out before us.


    It was clean. Too clean.


    But the story made sense.


    Warren exhaled, rubbing his chin. “We don’t know for sure that he killed himself,” he said carefully. “This could’ve been an accident. He was drunk, angry… Maybe he just slipped up.”


    His words sat heavy in the air. The three of them—Yates, Jimmy, and Ashly—didn’t look convinced. Their doubt flickered in their expressions, in the way they glanced at each other but didn’t say anything. But Holt and Vega? They nodded, agreeing with Warren.


    “It makes sense,” Vega said, voice level.


    Holt gave a short nod. "Yeah. Seen it happen before. All it takes is one mistake."


    But still—something was off. The doubt didn’t fade completely. It lingered beneath the surface, unsaid, a silent tension that none of them wanted to name.


    Jericho had doctored the footage, stitching together security feeds, falsifying timestamps, and fabricating the airlock malfunction alert with surgical precision. A perfectly reconstructed accident. Or a tragic suicide. It wasn’t just a cover-up—it was a narrative. A believable one.


    And why would anyone question it?


    Garin had spent fifty years at the top, ever since the captains had stripped Knight of her role. Fifty years as the architect of Jericho’s AI, as the mind behind humanity’s future. But then—he lost everything. His daughter. His rank. His life’s work with AI. The dream of immortality. He had been reduced to just another crew member—a lackey, no different from Ashly or Jimmy, the same people he had once dismissed as beneath him.


    He resented it. Resented Warren, my father, Knight, me—hell, probably the whole damn ship. The Voss name, once a symbol of progress, had been something he praised— back when he thought my father was dead and gone. Now, it was just another reminder of everything he had lost.


    So he drank. Too much. Ran his mouth. Too often. Pissed off everyone who had to suffer his presence.


    And yet, for all his arrogance, he was still one of the most brilliant minds humanity had left.


    And now?


    He was dead.


    No one wanted to linger on it.


    Not when the explanation was so simple. Not when grief was easier than doubt.


    The crew murmured in agreement, subdued and unsettled, but accepting. A tragic accident. A drunken mistake. A moment of weakness that cost him everything.


    The official report was logged.


    Cause of death: suicide.


    But as I moved toward my pod, I felt it.


    Vega’s gaze lingered on me. Sharp. Calculating. Not accusing. Not yet. But watching.


    Holt, silent as always, stood near the edge of the room. His expression unreadable. But his eyes tracked me as I walked past.


    I kept my face neutral, my steps even. I didn’t acknowledge it.


    They wouldn’t act on suspicion alone.


    They couldn’t.


    I was just another crew member returning to sleep.


    You did what needed to be done, my father’s voice whispered in my mind, cold and pragmatic.


    I stepped into my assigned pod, the familiar space wrapping around me. The technicians gave me one last glance, asking standard questions. I nodded absently, answered without thinking.


    The pod hissed as it sealed.


    I took one last breath as the cold washed over me.


    Darkness creeps in, slow at first, curling at the edges of my mind as my final thoughts drift.


    No body. No questions. No consequences.


    But he’s not really gone, is he?


    His blood is in me now. His DNA. His mind. Phoenix doesn’t waste potential. It adapts. It takes. Temporary, like Knight said—or permanent, like she wouldn’t admit but the whispers would.


    Garin hated me. Fought me. Despised everything I was. And now?


    Now he’s a part of me.


    The thought should have sickened me. It didn’t.


    An all-too-familiar voice swims through my mind, calm. Certain.


    We did well, little Phoenix.


    Darkness took the rest.


    And for the next nine months—nothing.