The air was cool and still—no wind, no weight.

  Just the steady hum of machines, pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat too large to feel all at once.

  Whatever this place was, it wasn’t trying to kill her.

  A step up from the cargo hold.

  Akiko glanced back at the sealed hatch. The blinking panel still pulsed faintly, slower now—like it was catching its breath after helping her survive.

  “You helped me,” she whispered, voice taut with suspicion. “Why?”

  The lights on the panel blinked again.

  Slower. Almost hesitant.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “All right,” she said, stepping forward into the next chamber. “You want me to trust you? I don’t have much choice.”

  The door hissed shut behind her.

  The final sound of escaping air vanished.

  Silence, save for the hum.

  She paused. Let her senses adjust. Her hair floated gently now behind her, still too light, refusing to settle completely.

  The new room was enormous.

  The lights were soft overhead, casting a sterile gleam on the smooth floor. Towering cranes and mechanical arms loomed from the ceiling like sleeping titans, their joints perfectly still.

  Vehicles—sleek and angular—sat lined in rows, utterly foreign in design. No wheels. No reins. Just smooth symmetry and unreadable purpose.

  Akiko stared, heart skipping.

  “What is this place?” she breathed. “A forge? A temple?”

  Her boots clicked against the floor as she walked farther in, each sound swallowed by the size of the room. The space was too clean. Too empty. It made her skin crawl.

  The only motion came from blinking lights or the lazy rotation of a crane joint high above.

  She was just starting to relax when a hatch at the far end of the bay slid open.

  Hiss.

  Her ears twitched—then flattened.

  She darted behind one of the support columns, pressing her back flat against cold metal.

  A figure stepped into the hangar.

  Dark uniform. Fitted. Adorned with sharp patches and symbols she didn’t recognize.

  They moved with purpose, boots crisp against the floor, a toolkit slung casually over one shoulder.

  Akiko peeked around the edge of the column.

  The figure tapped a device on their wrist, glanced toward the cargo bay hatch—then moved in her direction.

  Her tail lashed once, hard—then stilled.

  She drew a slow breath, watching.

  Their uniform was pristine. Sharp lines. Mechanical efficiency.

  She looked down at her own: worn leather armor, scuffed from old fights, singed from recent ones. The scent of smoke still clung faintly to her shoulders.

  Kaede would have given her that look again.

  “I don’t think this look is going to cut it here,” she muttered.

  Kaede’s voice rose unbidden in her head, cool and pointed: Always approach strange situations with a fresh face, Akiko.

  She sighed. “Fine. Fresh face it is.”

  Akiko closed her eyes and let the magic flow.

  Her form shimmered—ears vanishing, tail receding, features softening into something human.

  But the shift fought her.

  Her chest clenched. Her muscles locked for a heartbeat too long.

  The magic snapped into place like a too-tight knot.

  When she opened her eyes, everything looked correct on the outside. Human skin. Human eyes.

  But inside…

  She felt brittle. Wrong.

  The disguise wasn’t seamless—it was suffocating.

  “This isn’t normal,” she whispered, resting one hand on the cold crane beside her.

  “It’s like the magic’s… thin. Or poisoned.”

  The technician hadn’t noticed her. They continued toward the cargo hold hatch, oblivious.

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  Akiko could feel the strain of the transformation—like holding her breath underwater.

  Her first instinct was to move closer. Learn more. Observe.

  But the weight of the disguise made her hesitate.

  Instead, she leaned into the metal, forced her body to relax, and muttered to herself:

  “Okay, Akiko. Fresh face. Quick thinking. No sudden moves.”

  She adjusted her stance, shook out her fingers. “Let’s see if we can figure this out—without getting caught.”

  Akiko slipped along the edge of the hangar, silent and fluid.

  The technician was still focused on their task near the cargo bay hatch—no hint of awareness.

  Good.

  She pressed herself flat against the wall, scanning the room for an exit.

  Her eyes locked on the open hatch the technician had entered through. Beyond it, she caught the outline of a narrow ladder, framed in cold light.

  Perfect.

  She darted across the open floor—steps light, breath steady—and slipped through the hatch before the technician could even glance up.

  The air changed instantly.

  Inside, the space narrowed. The walls pressed in, tight and metallic, the air warmer but somehow thicker. The ladder stretched up and down—rungs gleaming with faint, reflected light.

  She hesitated.

  Below, distant voices echoed upward. Calm. Controlled.

  Clipped tones of professionals.

  “…enemy closing on vector three-two-five… deploying countermeasures now…”

  Akiko frowned, her ears twitching beneath the spell of her human guise.

  Disposition of the fight? What fight?

  It didn’t sound panicked.

  It sounded like war.

  She squinted down the shaft. Definitely more than one person down there. A large chamber? A war room?

  Her gaze shifted up.

  Silence.

  And then she spotted it—a blinking light at the top of the ladder, just like the one she’d followed in the cargo bay.

  Her brow furrowed.

  “…Guiding me again, huh?” she murmured, voice dry. “All right. I’ll bite.”

  She started to climb, boots scraping gently against the rungs.

  The hum of distant machinery surrounded her—unfamiliar and constant, like the world itself was exhaling.

  The rhythm of climbing settled into something almost meditative.

  Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

  Then the gravity shifted.

  It didn’t nudge her. It slammed sideways.

  Her body snapped against the wall with a grunt, every muscle tensing to hold her in place.

  Her hands locked around the rungs, nails biting the cool metal.

  “Ghh—what the hell?” she rasped.

  The air flattened in her lungs.

  Every breath felt twice as heavy, her shoulders straining under the pull.

  She clenched her jaw, riding it out.

  Eventually, the force eased.

  Her grip loosened slightly, and she sucked in a shallow breath. “I take it back. This place is definitely trying to kill me.”

  She continued climbing—slower now, every limb braced for the next shift.

  It came again, but softer this time.

  A downward drag that pressed her into the ladder.

  Her whole body flinched.

  “If my tail was out right now,” she muttered, climbing through clenched teeth, “it would be bristling so hard they’d mistake it for a weapon.”

  Another rung. Then another.

  Finally, she reached the top.

  The blinking light was waiting—embedded in a control panel like the others she’d seen. Its rhythm was steadier now. Less urgent. Almost… expectant.

  Akiko crouched on the narrow ledge beside it.

  “Okay, mystery box,” she whispered. “Let’s see what you’ve got this time.”

  Her fingers hovered over the panel. The sequence was simpler—clear, deliberate pulses. She followed the pattern, pressing each button with care.

  On the final press, the ceiling hatch hissed open.

  The metal shifted with smooth grace, revealing another space above.

  Akiko pulled herself upward, grunting slightly as she hauled her weight through the gap.

  She landed lightly, brushing imaginary dust off her armor out of habit.

  This chamber was different.

  Large. Circular.

  Corridors radiated outward like the spokes of a wheel. The walls were smooth, polished, lined with glowing panels that pulsed softly—as if the whole room were breathing.

  Akiko let out a sigh. “Finally. Somewhere that doesn’t look like it wants to snap my spine in half.”

  She took a step forward.

  The ship’s ambient hum—the steady drone that had faded into the back of her awareness—cut off.

  Just gone.

  The silence hit like a slap.

  And then the weight vanished from her limbs.

  Her feet left the ground.

  “Oh, come on,” she groaned, arms flailing as she floated upward in a slow spin.

  Her hair curled up around her again, strands floating into her face, brushing her lips, tangling with her breath.

  She scrambled for a grip, hands finding the edge of a wall panel. She anchored herself, panting.

  “Make up your damn mind,” she growled at the ceiling.

  Akiko drifted toward the blinking panel, awkward in the stillness. Her limbs still hadn’t adjusted to the weightless world; every motion sent her spiraling a little farther than intended.

  She pressed her finger to the light.

  The locker hissed softly and popped open.

  Inside: a folded uniform. Crisp. Neat. Dark.

  It looked a lot like what the technician had been wearing.

  Same sharp lines. Same alien sheen.

  But up close, it was even stranger—smooth as silk but firm, like metal woven into fabric.

  Akiko squinted at it.

  “You’re definitely not from my world,” she murmured, running her fingers across the surface.

  It was cold to the touch. Breathless. A little too clean.

  She held it up, sizing it against her own frame. Close enough.

  A glance down reminded her what she was still wearing: scorched leather, straps hanging loose, singed buckles half-undone from the crypt escape.

  Once, it had been her pride. Her armor.

  Now, it felt like a costume for a play that had closed.

  “Kaede would laugh herself sick if she saw me in this,” she muttered, lips quirking. “But I don’t think I’ve got a choice.”

  She peeled herself out of the armor one buckle at a time, gritting her teeth as each piece fought her in zero gravity.

  Unfasten a strap, and it would spin away. Shift her weight, and she’d go tumbling.

  “Stupid—weightless—death trap,” she growled, catching the chestpiece just before it bonked her in the nose.

  She stuffed the armor into her pack, pressing it down between old tools, travel rations, and talismans from a world that felt increasingly fictional.

  She hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be funny if someone found this later?”

  Her voice was dry, almost amused.

  “Mysterious leather armor of unknown origin… Found floating. Probably cursed.”

  She shook the thought away. Not helpful.

  Peeling off the last layers sent a chill down her spine. The air in the chamber was cold—clinical. She rubbed her arms briefly, the silence pressing in around her like fog.

  The uniform hovered nearby, gleaming faintly under the sterile lights.

  Akiko reached for it.

  “Okay, alien suit,” she muttered, “let’s hope you’re smarter than you look.”

  She turned it over in her hands, searching for an opening. No buttons. No buckles.

  Then she spotted it—a nearly invisible zipper running down the front.

  Subtle.

  Slipping into it was easier than expected. The material stretched to accommodate her frame, molding to her limbs with uncanny precision. It didn’t cling, exactly—but it knew where her body was supposed to be.

  As she zipped it up, the fabric warmed slightly, adjusting to her skin like it understood her temperature.

  Akiko stared down at herself.

  The suit was… plain. Sleek. Dark. No decoration. No armor. No expression.

  “Whoever you people are,” she said to the empty room, “you’ve got no fashion sense.”

  She twisted side to side, testing the fabric’s give. It moved with her, almost too easily.

  Too light. Too quiet.

  It felt like she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

  She caught her reflection in a polished panel nearby and drifted closer, steadying herself with a hand.

  Her human face looked back. Plain. Small. Unfamiliar in the too-clean uniform.

  Even with the spell active, she didn’t look like she belonged here. Not in this world of lines and lights and humming steel.

  For the first time, she didn’t just feel disguised.

  She felt displaced.

  Akiko stared at her reflection for a long moment.

  Then she reached for her pack and slung it over her shoulder, the familiar weight grounding her just a little.

  She turned toward the branching corridors, jaw tight, the strange fabric whispering against her skin as she moved.

  “Time to figure out what kind of story I’ve landed in.”

  Akiko lingered in the central hub, her eyes darting across the radial corridors that branched out like spokes.

  Everything around her was too still. Too clean.

  Then—voices.

  Muffled. Close. Filtering through the open hatch below.

  Her heart jumped.

  Nope. Not sticking around for that.

  She launched herself toward one of the corridors, grabbing a rung and yanking herself inside just as the hatch at her back hissed wider.

  The voices grew sharper behind her.

  “Emergency hatch was triggered in the cargo hold… hull breach patched, but we’ll need to run diagnostics on—”

  The voice trailed off as she pulled herself deeper.

  Akiko exhaled shakily, her forehead coming to rest against the cool metal of the rungs.

  “That was close,” she whispered, her fingers flexing around the ladder. “Let’s not press our luck. Find out if they’re hostile before making new friends.”

  With the immediate threat behind her, she paused to look down the corridor.

  Straight. Clean. Lined with evenly spaced handholds and sealed hatches.

  The ladder rungs stretched on into the distance like some mechanical ribcage.

  She gave a crooked smile. “Well. When in… wherever this is.”

  Akiko pushed off the rung and let herself drift.

  Weightlessness carried her forward.

  She moved one hand to the wall, tapped a grip to adjust.

  Then another.

  Her motions grew smoother—natural.

  The sensation was impossible to describe.

  Not flying. Not swimming.

  Just moving, in a way that ignored the rules of everything she’d known.

  A laugh bubbled up—light, breathless, uncontainable.

  “This is amazing!” she said aloud. Her voice echoed down the corridor.

  “Flying without wings. Kaede would be so jealous.”

  She twisted in the air, spinning slowly with a flick of her wrist.

  Then the far wall started coming faster.

  Too fast.

  Her grin faltered. “Uh-oh.”

  She reached for a handhold, fingers brushing metal—then missing it.

  Her trajectory tipped sideways. She spun again, legs flailing as she tried to slow herself.

  “No no no—wait—!”

  Whump.

  She hit the wall with a dull thud. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs.

  Her body bounced, then drifted, her pack spinning lazily beside her.

  Akiko clung to the nearest rung, breath wheezing, hair floating across her vision.

  “Okay,” she croaked, chest still tight. “So maybe there’s a learning curve.”

  She gathered herself slowly. One hand reached for a nearby grip, anchoring her again.

  The corridor stretched ahead in perfect silence.

  No signs. No instructions. Just sealed doors and the steady glow of panel lights.

  Her amber eyes narrowed.

  “All right, Akiko,” she murmured. “Time to see where this rabbit hole leads.”

  She adjusted her pack and began drifting toward the nearest hatch—cautiously now.

  No more crash landings.