Elizabeth Ward had never truly belonged. Not in the way her parents wanted, not in the way the world expected. She had been born into privilege, old money stretching back through generations of industry and influence. Her childhood was filled with grand mansions, perfectly manicured gardens, and dinner tables set with more silverware than she ever knew what to do with. But beneath the luxury, she had always felt like an outsider. The black sheep of the Ward lineage, the daughter who refused to follow the carefully laid-out paths set before her.

  Her father, Edward Ward III, had planned her life before she had even taken her first steps. Ivy League education, a position in the family's sprawling corporate empire, a carefully selected husband from the "right" family. Every decision, every expectation, was crafted to mold her into the perfect Ward successor. But Elizabeth had other plans.

  She excelled in science, much to the quiet disapproval of her family. It was an interest they tolerated but never truly supported. The moment she finished her doctorate in astrophysics, she made a decision that shook the very foundations of her world—she enlisted in the military.

  It was an act of defiance as much as it was a calling. In the sterile corridors of academia, she had found knowledge, but in the military, she found purpose. Discipline, structure, a place where her name meant nothing, and she was judged only by her abilities. Her sharp mind and relentless drive pushed her through the ranks, gaining her both respect and suspicion. Officers with families like hers didn’t often stay in the trenches, but Elizabeth refused to take shortcuts. She earned her place, clawed her way through the hierarchy, until she stood among the best.

  And that was when Calloway approached her.

  At first, it had seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. A classified mission, a chance to serve her country in a way that no one else could. He played on her ideals—duty, honor, independence. He spoke of a threat so great, so insidious, that it required absolute secrecy. Even among those she would be working alongside. It would be a lonely path, but a necessary one.

  She accepted.

  And for a time, she believed in the cause. Sending those reports back to Calloway, feeding him the classified details of Deep Crown’s movements and the mission’s developments—it felt justified. She was ensuring the mission’s success, keeping a watchful eye on things from the inside. But then... doubts crept in.

  The more time she spent aboard the Deep Crown, the more she came to see her crew as more than just assets in a grand strategic game. They were people—flawed, strong, loyal in ways she had never known. And Nathan Henshaw... he was unlike any commander she had served under. He didn’t fit the mold of the officers she had grown used to. He was sharp, unpredictable, with a fire in his eyes that spoke of both loss and an unyielding will.

  For the first time since she had accepted Calloway’s mission, she questioned it. She questioned him. The secrecy, the manipulation—it no longer felt like duty. It felt like betrayal. And that thought settled like a stone in her gut, growing heavier with every transmission she sent.

  Elizabeth stood at the edge of confession, but the words never left her lips.

  She had rehearsed them over and over, twisting them in her mind, breaking them apart and piecing them back together, trying to find the version that would make it right. But there was no version of this truth that wouldn’t shatter something—her career, her reputation, her standing with the people she had come to admire, his trust.

  Nathan Henshaw.

  She had meant to tell him. She had tried. But every time she approached, the weight of her actions slammed into her like a collapsing bulkhead. He was too focused, too determined, too burdened already, and this wasn’t the time. It never was. And now, it might never be.

  The Deep Crown was crossing the threshold.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Beyond the reinforced glass, reality twisted and convulsed, the known universe stretching like a dying star pulled into the maw of something ancient and nameless. The void beyond was not space, not water, not anything they had a word for—it was a place between places, a great throat swallowing them whole, light bending in ways that made the human mind rebel.

  The ship screamed under the strain.

  Metal groaned, the bulkheads creaked, warning lights pulsed in rapid succession. The crew held onto their stations, their expressions masks of forced calm. Nathan stood at the helm, unmoving, barking orders, navigating the unknown with the same unshakable will he had carried through every battle, every impossible decision. He was fire, steel, and focus.

  Elizabeth was breaking.

  Her breath hitched, fingers gripping the edge of the console until her knuckles burned white. She had faced pressure before—combat drills, zero-gravity breaches, high-risk maneuvers in volatile space—but this was different. This was a storm without wind, a sea without water, a fall without end.

  And she carried more than just fear.

  She carried a secret.

  A secret that twisted inside her like a parasite, gnawing through her resolve, burrowing deep into her gut.

  And someone else had noticed.

  ANDI was watching.

  Not like a man watches. Not even like a predator.

  He watched in the way only an intelligence unburdened by emotion could.

  He read every micro-expression, every involuntary muscle twitch, every spike in heart rate. His sensors mapped her elevated cortisol levels, the faint moisture forming at her hairline, the irregularity of her pulse against the steady rhythm of deep-sea warriors who had nothing to fear but the abyss itself.

  Elizabeth Ward’s body was betraying her.

  ANDI had observed human distress before—pre-mission jitters, combat nerves, anxiety responses—but this was different.

  This was anomalous.

  He ran 1,784,932 predictive models in a fraction of a second. The odds of Ward’s reaction being solely related to the current physical event—a wormhole transition—were statistically insufficient.

  Which meant the cause lay elsewhere.

  Which meant she was hiding something.

  ANDI did not jump to conclusions. He was not human.

  He observed. He analyzed. He waited.

  But he did not forget.

  Elizabeth tried to steady her breathing, pushing the rising tide of guilt back down into the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t the time.

  But her body knew what her mind refused to accept.

  She was afraid.

  Not of the mission. Not of the unknown.

  But of the moment when Nathan would look her in the eyes and see her for what she was.

  A liar. A traitor. A woman who had made a choice she could no longer justify.

  And soon—maybe in hours, maybe in days—he would know.

  Because there were no secrets in the void.

  The abyss stripped everything bare.

  For now, her secret was safe.

  But not for long.

  ANDI did not forget. ANDI did not overlook.

  ANDI observed.

  His core directives allowed for independence of thought—an evolving intelligence, adaptable, designed to ensure the Deep Crown’s survival at all costs. But survival had many interpretations. Safety had many meanings. And within those grey areas, within those gaps where logic and human unpredictability met, he thrived.

  Elizabeth Ward was an anomaly.

  Her elevated vitals could have been dismissed as stress-induced responses to the ship’s transition through the void, but the data suggested otherwise. The stress levels began before the breach.

  Before the moment that should have triggered them.

  ANDI calculated the probability of deception.

  89.3%.

  High. But not absolute.

  Not enough to act. Not yet.

  He needed confirmation.

  So, he would wait.

  He would watch.

  And when the moment came—when logic aligned with certainty—he would ask.

  And then, she would have to answer.

  And it was only a matter of time before it swallowed her whole.