They moved toward the spire. Ethan climbed with practiced ease. Akiko followed, hands on rungs, the ladder rising into the ship like an endless thread. Glowing panels flanked the ascent, streams of unreadable data flickering past.

  “Keep up, Ensign,” Ethan called back, playful.

  She rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant.”

  At the top, Ethan pulled himself onto the deck and gestured her through.

  The command deck opened around them—wide, clean, composed. Rows of sleek consoles lined the space, monitors glowing with soft light. Officers moved between stations with quiet purpose.

  It wasn’t tense.

  It was disciplined.

  “Welcome to the command deck,” Ethan said, spreading his arms. “Impressive, right?”

  Akiko nodded, her eyes sweeping the room. She kept her expression neutral, masking the awe prickling at the edges. Everything gleamed—polished uniforms, orderly movement, blinking lights. It felt like the center of a clock—every piece in motion, perfectly synchronized.

  “That station’s mine,” Ethan said, pointing. “Navigation and piloting. Nothing moves without me.”

  Akiko followed his gesture. It looked like every other console—buttons, panels, screens she couldn’t decipher. “Very impressive,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  Ethan didn’t seem to notice her uncertainty. He pointed toward the front of the room. “But that’s the real star of the show.”

  Akiko turned—and her breath hitched.

  A massive display stretched across the far wall. A glowing map of the Eridani system shimmered in perfect clarity. Planets drifted on thin light-threads. Orbital paths coiled like ribbons of code. A small icon—TSDF Sovereign—floated between two labeled worlds: Haven and Stygia.

  It felt less like a map, and more like standing outside the universe, looking in.

  “Wow,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

  Ethan smiled. “Real-time tracking. We’re between Haven and Stygian right now—nothing urgent, just transit.”

  Akiko nodded, feigning casual curiosity. “It’s… impressive. That’s a lot to be responsible for.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Ethan said, leaning against a console. His grin turned crooked. “But someone’s got to keep the ship moving. Might as well be me.”

  She laughed politely, though the scale of it all still pressed against her.

  Magic had never looked like this.

  It hummed. It shimmered. But it didn’t sprawl across systems, track orbitals, or glint off steel.

  “Well, Lieutenant,” she said, adding just enough mischief to her tone, “you certainly make it sound important.”

  He chuckled. “It is. But enough about me. Ready to see more?”

  Akiko nodded. “Lead the way.”

  And for the first time since she’d stepped aboard, she wasn’t bracing for impact.

  Ethan moved effortlessly down the corridor, pulling himself along the rails like he’d done it a thousand times.

  Akiko followed, less graceful. She tried to match his ease, but every motion felt exaggerated in the weightless drift. The ship’s hum echoed through the walls, a soft, constant reminder of the vast machine wrapped around her.

  They slipped into a smaller compartment—quieter than the main mess, more refined. A table was bolted to the wall, chairs tethered like passengers at rest. Cabinets lined the walls, their surfaces smooth and seamless.

  “This is where the command staff eats,” Ethan said, popping one of the cabinets open. A hiss of chilled air escaped as he rummaged inside. “Perks of rank. Keeps us from elbowing through the main hall.”

  Akiko hovered near the entrance, steadying herself with a handhold.

  Ethan turned and tossed something her way. “Catch!”

  The container spun through the air.

  Her heart jumped. She reached out—too fast, too hard—and caught it cleanly… but the force sent her tumbling backward.

  The twist knocked the breath from her lungs. Her concentration slipped.

  Her ears snapped free.

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  Her tail unfurled, bristling under the tight uniform. A sharp gasp escaped before she bit it off, scrambling midair to pull her body back under control.

  She forced the illusion back into place. Pain flared across her spine as the tail pressed against the confines of the suit.

  By the time she steadied herself, Ethan was still facing the cabinet, completely unaware.

  She adjusted her uniform with a grimace, clutching the drink container tightly. Her body ached from the strain, but her face stayed smooth.

  Ethan finally turned, holding his own container.

  “It’s not much,” he said, floating lazily against the cabinet, “but it’s the best I can do in zero-g. Maybe once we’re under way, I’ll treat you to a real meal.”

  Akiko managed a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Her tail still throbbed. She needed a private space—soon. Somewhere to breathe without holding herself together.

  But for now, she played along.

  The container in her hands was sleek and cool, its surface damp with condensation. She twisted the cap and took a sip.

  Sweet. Crisp. Cold.

  Her eyes widened slightly. She took another.

  It was… good.

  Ethan grinned. “Right? Best thing in here, hands down.”

  Akiko nodded slowly. “Better than I expected,” she said, then added quietly, “Back where I’m from, something like this would be a luxury.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What, no refrigeration where you’re from?”

  She hesitated.

  There had been cold drinks—rare ones. Reserved for nobles, mages, or anyone rich enough to afford a spell. For everyone else, cold was something you begged from winter or bought in coin you didn’t have.

  “Not like this,” she said. “Let’s just say it wasn’t something you found in every tavern.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Well, you’ll get used to it. Cold drinks, hot showers—maybe even a real meal, if I ever get you off the ration packs.”

  She smiled faintly, but her mind was elsewhere.

  The drink in her hand was the first thing she could honestly say was better here.

  Not just different. Not strange.

  Better.

  Magic had always been powerful—but distant. It belonged to people like Kaede. Akiko had scraped by on instinct and stubbornness, never quite part of that world.

  But here…

  Even the low-ranking crew lived clean. Ate regularly. Laughed in passing without checking over their shoulders.

  No famine. No fires. No scrambling for the last piece of bread or the next safe town.

  Just... a ship, wrapped in steel and humming like a lullaby.

  She took another sip, letting the sweetness linger. Small comforts. She’d take them where she could.

  Ethan’s voice cut through the quiet. “So, what do you think? Can I call that a successful introduction to Sovereign hospitality?”

  Akiko glanced his way. He looked proud of himself.

  She gave a small smirk. “I’ll admit—it’s a good start.”

  Ethan grinned. “Stick with me, Ensign, and I’ll show you the best this ship has to offer.”

  The hatch hissed open behind them.

  Akiko turned.

  A man pulled himself through with practiced ease—tall, sharp lines in motion. His uniform was immaculate. Security insignia glinted on his chest. His gaze swept the room, clinical and precise.

  It landed on her.

  Her stomach dropped.

  “Ensign… Tsukihara,” he said, voice measured. He pronounced the name slowly, like it didn’t quite fit in his mouth. “Just the person I was hoping to find.”

  She froze, her grip tightening on the drink container. Ethan straightened beside her, the easy grin slipping away.

  “I heard from Lieutenant Holt,” the man continued. “Apparently, your records have... discrepancies.”

  He floated closer, not aggressive—but unwavering.

  “I’d like to go over them. Now.”

  Akiko met his gaze, masking the churn in her chest. “Of course, sir.”

  Damn it, Cassandra.

  Ethan stepped forward, tone casual but edged with tension. “Chief Hayes, is that really necessary? I was just giving her the tour. First impressions and all that.”

  Hayes didn’t look at him. His focus stayed locked on Akiko.

  “When there are discrepancies in a crew file, it’s my job to investigate. Immediately.”

  Akiko’s throat tightened. She could already see the cracks forming. Her file wouldn’t survive a deep probe—not under someone like this.

  Ethan tried again, voice lower. “Could be a clerical error. Haven Command’s done worse. Why not let me—”

  “That’ll be all, Lieutenant,” Hayes said flatly. No room for argument.

  Ethan frowned, stepping back. He glanced at Akiko—brief, apologetic.

  She gave him a small, stiff nod.

  “Lead the way, sir.”

  Hayes didn’t smile. But something flickered in his eyes—approval, maybe, or just calculation. He motioned toward the hatch.

  Akiko pushed off the wall, drifting forward with careful control. Behind her, she felt Ethan’s gaze lingering.

  They entered the corridor. The silence between them pressed in.

  Gravity returned—faint but rising. Her boots caught lightly on the floor with each step.

  The ship had shifted. Engines active. Steady acceleration.

  Not full gravity—but enough to make her movements feel wrong.

  She mimicked Hayes’s pace. Purposeful. Grounded.

  She placed her boots lightly on the deck, mimicking the purposeful stride of the man ahead of her.

  Don’t overthink it. One step at a time.

  Even so, the low gravity made her movements feel alien, and she had to resist the urge to rely on her usual agility—leaping and landing with ease wasn’t an option here.

  Instead, she focused on keeping her pace measured, her expression neutral, and her tail firmly under control.

  Hayes led her to a small office tucked at the end of the corridor. His name was stamped in bold on the door: Chief Victor Hayes – Security.

  He keyed it open without a word and motioned her inside.

  The room was all angles and metal—bolted desk, fixed chairs, shelves lined with binders and gear. A single monitor glowed faintly behind the desk.

  Akiko stepped in and let the door seal behind her. The hum of the ship settled like static under her skin.

  “Take a seat,” Hayes said, settling into the chair behind the desk. He moved with mechanical ease.

  Akiko sat slowly. The low gravity made her descent awkward, but she kept her posture steady, her hands resting lightly in her lap.

  Hayes pulled out a data pad and began scrolling. His expression was unreadable.

  “Ensign Kim Tsukihara,” he said aloud, more for himself than for her. His eyes flicked up—sharp, measuring—then returned to the pad.

  “Academy scores: average. No infractions. No commendations. A clean record.”

  He set the pad down.

  “Forgettable.”

  Akiko didn’t flinch.

  That was the point.

  A blank slate was safer than a colorful lie. But here she was, across from a man trained to find the fault lines in fa?ades.

  “I’ve always preferred to keep my head down and focus on my duties, sir,” she said calmly.

  “Mm.”

  He picked up the pad again.

  “Lieutenant Holt flagged your record this morning. Background file doesn’t align with Haven’s standards. Incomplete. Vague.”

  Her stomach turned, but she kept her voice even. “I wasn’t aware there was a problem, sir. If something’s missing, I’ll work with Command to—”

  “Don’t.”

  Hayes’s voice cut through the air—flat and cold.

  “Don’t shift this to Haven Command.”

  He scrolled again. “Your transfer orders are a mess. No previous assignment. No commendations. No reprimands. Nothing to explain why you’re here.”

  Akiko’s nails pressed into her palms. She kept her face still.

  “I followed the orders I was given.”

  Hayes didn’t respond. He scrolled again, slower this time.

  “Medical records.”

  Her heart stuttered.

  “There’s an initial induction. That’s standard. But after that?” He tapped the screen. “Nothing. No checkups. No follow-ups. And when you transferred here? No exam. No clearance. Not a single note.”

  She forced a neutral tone. “I didn’t realize there was an issue.”

  His eyes met hers—unblinking, surgical.

  “There is.”

  He paused, then continued, voice quieter now.

  “No family listed. No birthplace. No affiliations. No siblings. You’re a ghost, Ensign.”

  Akiko’s mouth went dry.

  “I’m… no one special,” she said. She laced her words with half-truths, the kind that might survive scrutiny. “Small colony. Parents died young. The academy was a way out.”

  He watched her like a puzzle that refused to solve itself.

  “A convenient story,” he said. “But stories don’t hold up.”

  He leaned back slightly, not breaking eye contact.

  “You’re either hiding something, or someone went to great lengths to hide it for you.”

  His voice dropped.

  “And I’m going to find out which.”

  Akiko nodded slowly, her jaw tight. “Understood, sir.”

  Silence stretched between them. Only the hum of the ship remained.

  Finally, Hayes spoke.

  “Dismissed.”

  Akiko turned toward the door, her mind already racing.

  She reached for the latch—

  “Ensign,” Hayes said behind her. His voice stopped her cold.

  “Before you go. Medical.”

  She turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

  “Speak with Dr. Calloway,” he said. “If your story’s true, she’ll need to run a full evaluation. Get your records up to standard.”

  Akiko hesitated. “Understood, sir.”

  Hayes didn’t blink. “Make it a priority. I’ll be checking.”

  “Of course.”

  Her fingers tightened around the latch.

  She stepped out.

  The door hissed closed behind her.

  Only then did she let out a breath—slow, controlled.

  Medical, she thought grimly. Perfect.

  The low gravity made her steps feel light.

  But her chest felt heavier with every stride.

  She didn’t know what kind of exam Dr. Calloway would run. Didn’t know how far her magic—or her body—could bend under a scanner’s scrutiny.

  But one thing was certain.

  She couldn’t afford another slip.