For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

Not because anything had improved—please.

Because I'd finally reached the sweet spot between exhaustion and apathy where nothing hurt anymore.

Noah found me sitting alone in the quiet section of the observation deck, It was a small alcove, tucked away from the main viewing area, a place where I could be alone with my thoughts, with the endless expanse of stars that mocked my insignificance.

Noah approached quietly, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. He dropped down beside me without a word, unwrapping a ration bar with exaggerated care, the crinkle of the wrapper absurdly loud in the hush.

"So," he said, already chewing. "How’s the life of punished scrubbing going?"

I shot him a flat look. "Today I had to polish a Zypherian toilet with a rag the size of a sock. I may have lost a part of my soul in that bathroom."

He laughed-properly, head tilted back, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet chamber

"Anything but that. You know the fumes in the lower levels mess with your dreams, right? Yesterday, I had an hour hallucination about talking cucumbers."

I side-eyed him. "You need therapy."

For a second, it felt normal. Easy. Like we were just two bored humans

He leaned back, gazing at the stars. "Still not sleeping?"

I shook my head.

"Same," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Silence.

He nudged my shoulder lightly. "Wanna talk about it?"

I hesitated.

Noah was… safe. One of the few people I trusted here. We weren’t best friends, but we had a thing—a mutual survival pact.

Still, trust had a shelf life on this ship.

Sensing my hesitation, he smiled crookedly. "I promise I won’t sell your tragic backstory to the Zypherians. Even if they offer snacks."

I smirked. "You’d fold for a snack bar, let’s be honest."

"Only if it’s the chocolate one. I have standards."

I sighed, leaning against the glass. "I'm just tired, Noah. That’s all."

He didn’t press. Just nodded.

Then he leaned in slightly, reached out, and with a surprisingly gentle motion, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

the moment his fingers brushed against my skin, I felt it. The shift in the air.

And that’s when the deck thrummed.

A low, guttural hum—not mechanical, not accidental. It pulsed beneath us, through the reinforced steel, through the very bones of the ship.

It wasn’t loud. But it hit. Deep in the chest.

Like the ship itself was... reacting.

I gasped.

Noah’s hand froze mid-air.

He blinked. “What the hell was that?”

And then I saw him.

He stood at the far end of the viewing deck. Still as stone.

Admiral.

His golden eyes were fixed on us like lasers, intense and unblinking. My heart stuttered in my chest.

The intensity of his stare felt like it could split atoms.

Noah didn't notice; oblivious to the weight of those alien eyes boring into my soul.

But I saw the Admiral. And I felt the heat of his attention like a burning lava.

My breath hitched. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind. Why was he looking at us like that? His presence sent a chill racing down my spine, even from across the room.

He wasn't alone-he stood with a group of Zypherian warriors, their towering forms dark and imposing against the backdrop of the stars. Their very existence screamed dominance, control, power.

It was the first time I’d seen him since the Rite.

Since everything.

His absence had been a quiet gift. A lull in the storm. Now, seeing him again, I wished he’d stayed in whatever hell corner of the galaxy he’d vanished to.

Noah, oblivious, was still reacting to the vibration. "What the hell was that? One of the thrusters misfiring?"

I couldn’t speak. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. Tried to focus on the stars, to act casual. But my pulse betrayed me. My hands curled into fists. My spine straightened against instinct. I didn’t dare glance back again. But I knew he was still watching. Still rooted.

And suddenly, Noah's earlier question-"Want to talk about it?"-felt like a cruel joke. How could I possibly explain what I was feeling right now? Fear? Dread? None of those words captured the icy grip tightening around my chest.

I shifted uncomfortably, pulling my knees closer to my chest. "We should go," I said abruptly.

He blinked, startled. "What? Why?"

"Just... let's go."

I glanced back. Admiral hadn’t shifted an inch. His stance was the same—perfectly composed. Perfectly still. Like a predator waiting for its prey to blink.

Noah followed my gaze, finally noticing the Zypherians standing nearby.

His shoulders stiffened slightly, but he recovered quickly, forcing a casual tone. "Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. Let's get out of here."

As we stood up to leave, something made me look back. One last time.

His eyes caught mine again.

-----

The artificial morning cycle began like it always did—without soul, without warmth. A soft pale light filtered down from the ceiling panels of my quarters, casting sterile shadows across the walls

I blinked up, disoriented. My muscles ached like I’d been grinding my teeth all night, tension woven into every fiber of me.

I reached for my comm device, expecting the usual morning message from Noah.

He always sent something dumb in the morning.

But today...Nothing.

No message. No ping.

My gut tightened, slow and uneasy. Maybe he overslept.

I slipped on my boots and bolted out the door.

I passed two Zypherian officers—tall, sharp-jawed, armor gleaming like obsidian mirrors. They didn’t acknowledge me. They rarely did, unless you got in their way or broke something.

I made my way to the communal area, the metallic scent of the ship's recycled air filling my lungs.

The usual chatter was subdued, and when I inquired about Noah, I was met with blank stares.

His quarters: locked. No response.

The mess hall. Hydroponics. Engineering. I circled the training deck three times.

I searched until my boots blistered. Whispering his name through quiet halls like I could summon him from the walls themselves. I began to repeat it under my breath like a chant. Like a prayer.

It wasn’t until I reached Sector Three that I allowed myself to panic.

I flagged down Albert, the officer responsible for our sector. He wore his usual expression—boredom disguised as control—but I saw him stiffen slightly when I approached.

“He was here last night,” I insisted. “We were on the observation deck. I saw him. He didn’t vanish into the damn air.”

“Perhaps he changed quarters. Or was reassigned.”

“To where? The sun? People don’t just disappear!”

His jaw ticked, the only visible crack in his calm. “We will look into it.”

It was a dismissal. A weightless promise.

I walked away before I screamed.

I found Saira—the closest thing I had to a friend here besides Noah—hovering by the ration dispensers.

"Noah’s missing.” My voice cracked. I hadn’t realized how close I was to breaking until I said it out loud.

Her eyes filled with something—fear, recognition.

“Saira. Did you see him? Did anyone see him?”

She clutched the nutrient bar like it was a lifeline. Her fingers trembled.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

I stared at her. “What do you mean gone?”

She licked her lips. Voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not just him. Three others disappeared last week. I thought maybe they were transferred, reassigned, or... I don’t know. But no one saw them leave. They just... stopped existing.”

The world tilted beneath me.

I leaned back against the wall, feeling the edges of the ship blur.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, more to myself than her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered

I wrapped Noah’s last unopened ration bar in both hands like it might talk back.

Noah didn’t just vanish. He wouldn’t. He’d joke. He’d leave a trail of crumbs. He'd be loud about it.

Unless... unless he hadn’t chosen to go.

Unless someone had taken him.

There were too many silences on this ship. Too many whispers that died before they reached the truth.

And now the only person who made this floating cage bearable was gone.

Later, I had been assigned a task well above my clearance: cleaning officer quarters on Level One. I blinked at the assignment in disbelief, rereading the line as if the words might rearrange themselves into something more reasonable. Level One was Zypherian territory. Restricted. Guarded. Off-limits to anyone who didn’t bleed ultraviolet. Especially humans.

But I knew better than to ask questions.

Level One was quieter than I expected—not silent, but heavy, like the ship itself held its breath here. The lighting was dimmer, cooler in tone, with faint strips of violet pulsing along the edges of the walls.

The room I was directed to had no nameplate, the door slid open with a soft hiss.

The air inside was cooler than the rest of the ship, but thick with something fragrant—metallic, yes, but also... spicy, earthy. I paused on the threshold. The room was large—much larger than any space humans were allotted. The walls were dark, almost obsidian, etched with faint glowing lines that shimmered with low energy currents. They hummed gently, like a living circuit. This was no ordinary officer's quarters. This was a sanctuary.

I stepped inside, my senses on high alert. I started to clean, my movements mechanical, my mind racing.

A crystalline sculpture sat on a floating table. I approached it carefully, lifting my cleaning cloth with trembling fingers. The sculpture shimmered like frozen starlight—jagged, beautiful, sharp.

I wiped its surface, my fingers brushing over the cool, alien texture. My mind raced. This place didn’t feel like an officer’s cabin. It felt... important.

Then I felt it.

The shift.

The pressure in the air, like the gravity had deepened around me. My spine prickled.

He was here.

I hadn’t heard him enter yet. But I didn’t have to. His presence wasn’t something you noticed—it was something your nervous system registered.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I hadn't even known this was his room. Otherwise I would have begged to reassign the duty to someone else.

I didn't turn when He entered. I couldn't. I wasn't ready. I wasn't sure I ever would be. I didn't acknowledge his presence, pretending to be engrossed in my cleaning. But he knew. He knew that I knew he was there.

He didn’t speak. He simply stared out into the stars, unmoving, as though the galaxy outside whispered things only he could understand.

I resumed cleaning, slowly, trying to make myself invisible. My hands trembled, cloth barely holding to my grip. My back remained turned to him, muscles locked in place.

A rustle of movement. The sound of fabric against armor.

Then-footsteps.

I froze.

He was moving.

Closer.

My grip on the cloth tightened.. I kept my head bowed, pretending to be engrossed in my work, but my body was shaking, my lungs tight with something dangerously close to fear.

The sound of his steps halted a few steps away. The air between us stretched thin, electric.

"Your hands are shaking."

His voice was low. Resonant. Like thunder trapped behind stone.

I froze, the cloth slipping from my fingers. The sound it made as it hit the table was too loud. Everything was too loud.

"You fear me," he said, not as a question.

I swallowed, my throat dry as sandpaper. "Admiral N-"

"Do not lie."

His voice was like the ship itself-cold, unyielding metal, vibrating with something deep and unreadable. I gripped my hands tighter, trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Yes," I whispered, because anything else would’ve been a lie. And lying to a Zypherian Admiral—especially him—wasn’t just foolish. It was fatal.

There was a pause. A long one. I could hear his breath, and could almost feel it against my neck.

Then-movement. I didn't dare lift my head, but I could hear him, sense him shifting. The way the room itself seemed to bend around his presence.

And then, he was close enough that I could see him from the corner of my eye. Close enough that I could feel the unnatural heat radiating off him.

Then, a sound beside me—a soft click. Something placed gently on the table.

"Take it," he said.

It wasn’t an order. Not really. But it left no room for disobedience.

I turned slowly, heart pounding, and saw it: a small bundle, wrapped in strange, glimmering material. Almost organic in texture. It looked out of place, like something smuggled across dimensions.

I glanced up at him, confused. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching, golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim room.

Why are you giving me this? I wanted to ask. What game is this?

I hesitated. My fingers twitched at my sides.

My heart pounded against my ribs, every instinct screaming to be careful. Because this was Admiral. Because he was Zypherian. And humans did not draw the attention of Zypherian admirals unless something was very, very wrong.

Slowly, cautiously, I reached out to pick it up.

Before I could touch it, his hand moved. Calm. Precise.

He pressed the side of the bundle with two fingers—almost absentmindedly, like it was nothing.

A faint click.

The shimmer changed, slightly.

“Double seal,” he said, voice neutral. “Would’ve resisted your touch.”

His hand withdrew. Efficient. Distant.

But our fingers brushed. Just barely.

The contact was brief. A second, maybe less. But it was enough.

A shiver shot through me, something instinctual, something wrong.

My breath hitched. My gaze snapped up to his face, but his expression remained unreadable, golden eyes watching, unblinking.

I yanked my hand back, heart pounding, but the package was already in my grip.

I swallowed. "What... what is this?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't move.

Just watched.

Like a predator, patient and still, knowing its prey would break the silence first.

I forced myself to step back, clutching the package against my chest. My entire body screamed at me to leave, to run, but my feet remained rooted to the polished floor.

His gaze didn't waver. "Go."

It was a command. A dismissal.

I didn't wait to be told twice

I turned sharply, my movements stiff, mechanical, as I strode toward the door. The moment it slid open, I stepped through, the tension snapping the second I crossed the threshold.

Hours later, alone in my tiny quarters, I opened the package. The wrapping peeled away to reveal something impossible.

Inside, nestled in the alien wrapping, was a fruit.

A real fruit.

A guava.

It was perfectly ripe, its skin a vibrant shade of green. I picked it up, its weight surprisingly heavy in my hand.

I stared at it like it was a relic. It smelled like memory—like sunlight and summer and wild forest at the back of our house. I hadn’t seen real fruit in months. Everything we ate was synthesized, But this—this was alive.

I sank onto the edge of my cot, holding it in both hands like it might vanish. And I cried.

For Noah.

For Shraddha

For the world we’d lost.