At the serving line, Anna slid her tray into place, tapped a glowing panel, and watched with the casual confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times.

  The machine hummed. A sealed tray dropped neatly onto hers with a soft thunk.

  “See?” she said, grinning. “Easy.”

  Akiko stepped forward—and froze.

  Her eyes flicked to the panel. Glowing interface. ID badge scanner. A tiny red light pulsed gently above it.

  No badge. No credentials. No backup plan.

  “Your turn, Kim,” Anna prompted, stepping aside with an encouraging nod.

  Akiko’s pulse quickened.

  For half a second, she considered bluffing. Then she did something worse: she reached for her magic.

  Just a nudge—just enough to suggest to Anna’s mind, help me. Her gaze locked on the woman’s face, willing the thought into the air like a thread pulled taut.

  But the spark of magic flickered. Slipped.

  And the panel sparked.

  With a sharp beep! and a flicker of erratic light, the machine juddered. A second later, a tray launched out of the slot, clattering onto the edge of the counter, its contents sliding dangerously close to the edge.

  Anna blinked. “Whoa. I guess it’s feeling generous today.”

  Akiko lunged, snatching the tray just before it toppled. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

  Behind her, the dispenser gave a final, disgruntled beep, and the lights went dark. A few crew members looked over, brows raised. But no one lingered.

  Anna shrugged. “It does that sometimes.”

  She was already heading toward a table. Akiko followed, her knuckles white around the tray as her nerves slowly uncoiled.

  Her magic was still unstable here. Slippery. Dangerous.

  They sat at one of the long metal tables. The trays clicked into place against the magnetic strips embedded in the surface. Akiko watched carefully as Anna peeled open one of the food packets, squeezing its contents out with a practiced motion.

  The result landed with a wet plop—pale, gelatinous, vaguely rectangular.

  Akiko mirrored her movements, struggling with the vacuum-sealed wrapping until it finally tore open. Her own ration oozed onto the tray like something that had once dreamed of being food.

  She picked up the multipurpose spork and gave it a tentative poke.

  It jiggled. Menacingly.

  “Not exactly fine dining, huh?” Anna said, grinning. “But hey, it’s better than the nutrient bars. This stuff at least has texture.”

  Akiko forced a smile and took a cautious bite.

  It had texture. That much was true.

  Flavor? Less so.

  She nodded politely. “It’s… nourishing.”

  Anna laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

  Conversation flowed easily from there—Anna talking, Akiko mostly listening. The other woman had an effortless way of filling silence without making it feel like a performance.

  “The action earlier wasn’t anything big,” she said around a mouthful. “Just pirates, probably smugglers. Happens now and then in inner-system space, but they usually stick to the outer colonies. Guess someone got brave.”

  Akiko’s ears twitched beneath her illusion.

  She took a sip of whatever passed for juice. “The Sovereign seems equipped to handle that kind of thing.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Anna said, clearly proud. “Nothing gets past us. The ship’s more often at Haven for maintenance than out here doing cleanup.”

  “Haven,” Akiko repeated softly, filing the name away.

  “It’s... fine,” Anna said with a shrug. “Nice enough, but you’ll miss ship life after a week. No gravity shifts, no reactor hum—you start to miss the noise.”

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  Akiko chuckled, but the laugh felt distant.

  The strain of maintaining her disguise was catching up with her.

  Holding this shape—this mask—was like holding her breath underwater.

  Her fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. Her magic felt thin, like stretched thread, one wrong twitch away from unraveling.

  She needed space. Rest.

  Time to be herself, even if just for a moment.

  Anna, thankfully, didn’t notice the shift in her demeanor.

  “Anyway,” she said, pushing her tray aside, “you’ll find your rhythm. Everyone’s a little weird, but it works.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Akiko said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Her mind was already searching for an exit. A graceful way to leave without drawing attention.

  She pushed back from the table, standing and slinging her pack over one shoulder. “Think I’ll turn in. Long day.”

  Anna tilted her head. “Yeah, I bet. Where’s your bunk? I’ll swing by sometime—we can complain about the food together.”

  Akiko froze. Just long enough to think, then recover.

  “Oh, uh… between bunks right now,” she said, adding a sheepish grin. “Maintenance issue. I was just on my way to sort it out.”

  Anna’s brows lifted. Then she brightened. “Well, there’s an open alcove near mine! Not exactly luxurious—more like sleeping in a glorified drawer—but you get used to it. And your neighbors become your best friends. Whether you want them to or not.”

  Akiko smiled thinly.

  Coffin-sleep. Shared quarters. Minimal privacy.

  Absolutely not.

  “Thanks for the tip,” she said, adjusting her strap. “I’ll check it out once I get reassigned.”

  Anna gave her a thumbs-up. “Good luck!”

  As Akiko walked away, she could feel the heat of eyes on her back—friendly, well-meaning.

  But still eyes.

  Still watching.

  Akiko waved as she left the mess hall, her steps quick but measured.

  That had been too close.

  She’d made a note—mental, underlined twice—to avoid Anna’s quarters for the foreseeable future. At least until she had the ship’s layout memorized and somewhere safe to rest.

  The corridor swallowed her in cool, sterile silence. The warmth of the mess hall faded behind her, replaced by the low hum of machinery and the distant vibrations of life aboard the Sovereign.

  Her breaths came faster now.

  Shallow. Strained.

  Maintaining her illusion was like balancing a sword on a thread, every second drawing more blood.

  She needed shelter. Now.

  A flicker of light caught her eye—an access console, quietly blinking. She reached out, fingers grazing the surface like it might bite.

  “I need somewhere to rest,” she whispered, barely audible. “Somewhere hidden.”

  Nothing.

  She began to pull away—but the lights pulsed once, then again. Deliberate. Measured.

  Akiko stilled.

  Further down the hall, another panel lit up.

  Her heart caught in her chest. A path.

  Whoever—or whatever—had guided her before hadn’t abandoned her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, almost too softly to be heard.

  She followed.

  Panel by panel, the lights blinked like breadcrumbs, each flickering once as she passed. Her footsteps grew heavier with each turn, each step draining the last of her adrenaline.

  Finally, the trail ended in front of a small hatch recessed into the wall.

  Akiko frowned.

  It was no doorway—more like a maintenance panel. Barely big enough for someone her size. No labels. No warnings.

  The lights blinked one last time, then went dark.

  “This is it?” she muttered, pressing her hand against the cool metal. A quick glance down the corridor—empty. She exhaled and pressed the panel.

  With a soft hiss, the hatch unsealed.

  A narrow crawlspace yawned open beyond—dimly lit, lined with exposed pipes and cables, just wide enough to crawl through on hands and knees.

  It was industrial. Rough. Hidden.

  Perfect.

  “Coffin indeed,” she muttered.

  She slipped inside, pulling the hatch closed behind her with a muted click. Darkness fell like a blanket.

  She crawled forward, dragging her pack through narrow turns, until she found space to breathe.

  Finally, she leaned back against the wall, knees drawn in tight, and let herself breathe.

  The shift came unbidden—natural, like an overdrawn breath finally exhaled. Her ears flicked upright, no longer bound by illusion, and her tail unfurled with a soft fwump.

  Relief washed through her like a wave.

  “Finally,” she murmured.

  Her limbs ached, her muscles trembled, but she was no longer holding up a false face. No longer wearing a mask that pinched her soul raw.

  But peace was a short-lived luxury.

  Her tail twitched—and immediately regretted it. The borrowed uniform, clearly designed for humans, had no mercy for extra appendages. It pinned her tail tight against her back, awkward and unyielding.

  Akiko hissed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She twisted, trying to ease the pressure, but the crawlspace fought back. Every movement bunched the fabric more, her tail flicking involuntarily in protest.

  “Who designs clothes like this?” she grumbled, yanking at the seams.

  She fumbled with the zipper, loosening it enough to free the worst of the pressure. It helped, barely. The tail tension eased, but everything still felt wrong.

  Her ears flicked in irritation. “Of course. First I get dropped in a world with no magic, and now I’m trapped in a glorified shoebox with a uniform that hates foxes.”

  Despite everything, she laughed.

  Just a short, bitter chuckle.

  She shifted until she found a position that was tolerable, curling her tail tighter around her legs like a blanket of resistance.

  The hum of the ship surrounded her—steady, low, almost like breathing. It wasn’t comforting, exactly. But it was stable. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she felt like she wasn’t seconds from disaster.

  Uncomfortable. Cramped. Out of her depth.

  But safe.

  She exhaled slowly, her body sagging against the cold metal wall.

  “At least it’s better than being chased by guardians,” she muttered.

  A pause.

  “And no one here’s tried to set me on fire yet. That’s progress.”

  Her eyes slipped shut.

  And in the quiet, wrapped in shadows and steel, Akiko finally let herself rest.