The alarms had long gone silent. Only the faint hum of the backup
reactor filled the air, steady as a heartbeat in the dark.You sat in the co-pilot's seat of the service vessel Horizon-47B, the
viewport cracked but holding. Beyond it, space stretched endless — a
quiet scatter of stars where the battleship Horizon had been less than a
day ago.Lieutenant Orren Hale was at the main console across from you. His
uniform jacket lay draped over the chair behind him, sleeves rolled to
the elbows, face caught between exhaustion and resolve. Every few
minutes he'd check a flickering status panel and mutter a quiet note
under his breath, half-command, half-habit.Behind you, Dr. Mira Cael was organizing the med kit for the third
time, neat rows of sealed ampoules glinting under the cabin lights. Her
partner, Ty Rael, sat beside her, gaze fixed on the floor, jaw tight as
if holding back questions no one wanted answered yet.You'd all seen the same thing — the flash when the Horizon split
apart, the signal collapsing into static. You'd all heard the same
silence afterward.Life support stable, Orren said finally, his voice low but steady.
Drives holding at thirty percent. Navigation is offline.Ty looked up. So we're stuck?Not stuck, Orren replied, adjusting a dial. Just... waiting for the
universe to notice we're still here.Mira reached across and rested a hand on Ty's knee. You met Orren's
eyes for a brief moment across the cabin — the kind of glance that
asked a question neither of you dared say out loud.