Two Day has passed.

The storm had ended, the ship returning to its cold, calculated rhythm.

But.

Something felt different. It was subtle, a whisper at the edge of perception. Like a change in the air pressure before a rain, a prickle of static electricity on the skin.

I couldn't explain it. I tried to push it aside, tell myself it was nothing. But the sensation was there, always lingering at the edges of my mind.

I felt it before I could explain it.

A presence. A weight. A lingering awareness pressing against my senses whenever I moved through the halls. Whenever I worked, whenever I ate, whenever I breathed.

At first, I chalked it up to paranoia. It had to be. The ship was already suffocating, and my mind—exhausted, malnourished, stretched thin—was playing tricks on me.

But then—it still persist.

The sensation of something lurking behind me, just beyond my line of sight.

And the worst part?

Every time I turned to look—there was no one there.

The mess hall buzzed with noise—cutlery clanged, boots scuffed, murmured conversations floated between spoonfuls of gray, flavorless food.

I hated it here. The light was too white, too clean, like it was trying to bleach out anything human.

I moved with my tray, eyes locked on a lonely corner table. Just a few more steps. Just sit, eat, pretend you’re invisible.

Then—impact.

My tray wobbled precariously, the carefully portioned food threatening to spill.

"Whoa," a voice said, a hand steadying my tray. "Almost lost your dinner there."

Noah. He righted the tray with a practiced hand, his lanky frame a welcome presence in the chaos of the mess hall. His eyes, warm and friendly, met mine, and he offered a small, reassuring smile.

"Those protein cubes are lethal projectiles, you know." He gestured to the small, dense squares on my tray with a wry grin.

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, my heart still pounding. I felt flustered, embarrassed, as if he could somehow see the turmoil raging inside me.

He shrugged, his smile widening. "They say they're synthesized from recycled socks. Adds to the... flavor." He made a face, wrinkling his nose.

I made a face. "God, I hope not."

"Trust me. The science checks out."

I sat down across from Noah, I managed a small laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "You're terrible," I said, but the smile on my face was genuine.

Nova stirred the paste on his tray like it might reveal a message if agitated enough. “You hear about Sector 3C?”

I paused mid-bite. “What about it?”

He lowered his voice. “Storage bay took a hit during the storm. Full of Earth goods—lots of basic cargo. Clothes, books, medicine. Even some espresso units.” He gave a mock salute. “Rest in peace, civilization.”

I blinked. “Gone?”

“Mostly melted. Radiation fry. Apparently, a huge number of crates floated loose before the seals auto-locked. A crew went in this morning to salvage what they could."

That was bad news.

Novah nudged me with his elbow. “If comfort cargo’s gone, we’re down to three luxuries.”

“Which are?”

“Dried sarcasm, recycled socks, and my charming personality.”

I snorted. “That last one is debatable.”

But I barely heard myself.

A presence shifted, not close, not directed at me, but felt all the same. Like the movement of deep ocean currents—silent, vast, inevitable. There.

I swallowed. My skin prickled as if the recycled air had turned liquid and thick. I shouldn't look. I knew I shouldn't.

I looked.

Across the hall, He was entering, flanked by two Zypherian officers. He moved with an effortless grace, his posture radiating power and authority. His elongated frame was draped in the standard-issue black uniform, but nothing about him was standard.

Power clung to him like a second skin. The mess hall seemed to shift around him—voices dulling, movement slowing, as if space itself was bending to accommodate his presence.

My breath hitched, spoon pausing just shy of my lips.

A flicker.

A glance.

Not directed at me, Not quite.

But close enough.

Admiral's molten gaze flicked over the room, brushing past me like a solar flare—brief, searing, indifferent.

Then, just as quickly, his attention was elsewhere. His officers murmured in their guttural, rhythmic tongue, showing him something on a tablet. His expression remained unchanged, his focus detached and methodical.

I exhaled through my nose. It felt too loud.

Or not.

Because suddenly—

molten gold met mine.

Not a glance.

A collision.

A gravitational pull that rewrote physics.

The breath I had just taken froze mid-chest, crystallized into something sharp and shimmering. My fingers curled around the edge of the table, pressing into the scratched surface as though I could anchor myself to it.

It wasn’t intentional, I told myself. It was nothing. A passing glance, a fragment of a second. I was just another face in the crowd.

And then—he moved, behind him his officers trailing.

But it was his gaze—unyielding, unswerving—that closed the distance

One step.

My breath faltered. I felt it—an ache in my ribs like they were bruising from the inside. Like my lungs were too shy to expand in his presence.

Two steps.

Heat rose to my neck. Not embarrassment—awareness. As if every nerve had been rewired to his frequency.

Three steps.

Everything in me said don’t look, don’t breathe, don’t exist—

But I couldn’t look away.

Four.

That stare—solid as iron.

I felt cracked beneath it. Exposed. Why couldn’t I move?

Five.

A shimmer ran down my spine, slow and electric. It was terrifying. Beautiful. The kind of fear that made you feel alive.

Six.

He was close enough now that I could hear the quiet tap of his boots, see the threads of gold at his cuffs. Every detail too vivid. Too sharp. Like a memory I hadn't made yet.

Seven.

The world narrowed to a heartbeat.

Mine.

Hammering. Wild.

from panic? possibility?

And then—

he walked past me.

Just like that.

As if the last few seconds hadn’t unraveled every sense in my body.

The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped in a shaky exhale, my muscles screaming from how tightly I’d wound them.

Noah cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "He's... intimidating, isn't he?" he said, his voice a low murmur.

I nodded, words felt useless. Because I didn’t know what that had been.

Not interest.

Not attraction.

Not really.

But it wasn't just fear either.

And that unsettled me more than anything.

I picked at the paste, but hunger had long since retreated. My eyes kept drifting—toward the doors he’d vanished through. As if some part of me hadn’t gotten the memo that the danger had passed.

“You ever talk to him?” I asked, voice low.

Noah glanced up. “Admiral? Gods, no. I like living.”

I gave him a flat look.

“I mean—” he dropped his spoon, leaning in conspiratorially, “—no one talks to him. People report to him. They stand at attention, they nod, they vanish. He’s not a guy you grab drinks with after shift.”

He chewed thoughtfully, then added, “Hell, some people say he doesn’t even eat. Just plugs into a wall and downloads nutrients or something.”

I tried to laugh, but it caught somewhere in my throat.

Because he had talked to me.

I hadn’t told Noha. I hadn’t told anyone.

Noah raised an eyebrow, looking at me.

"You good?"

I forced a weak smile. "Yeah."

The words barely registered. The taste of my dinner had turned to ash in my mouth. 

Noah didn’t press, but his gaze lingered a moment too long before he turned back to his tray.