I woke up to a dull, throbbing headache, each heartbeat banging against the inside of my skull like pissed-off hammer.

  Took me a second to remember where I was sprawled out on my bunk, still wearing my boots, mouth dry as sandpaper, and a sour taste in the back of my throat like I’d gargled motor oil. So… probably a good night.

  I squinted up at the ceiling. Still in my bed. Still on the ship. Still alive. Technically.

  I blinked against the haze and tried to retrace… anything.

  I blinked, tried to piece it all together: we landed. I saw Nyx. She was being weird. Well, weirder. Then that bar with alien moonshine and corpse people whispering in my skull. Zara cornered me. Accused me of being something I wasn’t sure I wasn’t.

  Then the dream. That voice. That monolith. That woman. And those damn black veins.

  I rubbed my face like it would scrub the thoughts off.

  Alright. Priorities.

  Figure out where I stashed painkillers. Take a piss before my bladder explodes. Deal with the mess outside. Figure out what the hell I’m going to do with Nyx, Zara, and however much duct tape is currently holding this ship together.

  And then there's the real problem.

  Astra.

  Who took her. Why? What do they want?

  Whatever. I’ll deal with it when it happens.

  First: stand. Walk. Piss.

  Then we see just how bad this day’s gonna get.

  I groaned, dragging myself upright. The sound of welding and voices filtered in from the wall panels, along with the unmistakable scent of ozone and scorched wires. I rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the door, my feet feeling about three seconds behind the rest of me.

  Fantastic.

  The common area was an absolute disaster.

  Panels pulled open. Tools scattered. Wires spilling out of the walls like metallic entrails.

  And in the center of it all, crouched with an exposed circuit board in one hand and a welding torch in the other, was Nyx.

  She looked up the second I entered, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

  “Ah, mon cher!” she purred, flashing a grin. “You are looking… what is zee word… ah, like sheet.”

  “Huh. You’re actually wearing clothes today. Thought I walked into the wrong ship for a second.”

  She gave a twirl like a model on a trashy late-night fashion channel. “Mmm, oui. For you, I dress conservative, no?”

  “Conservative. Right...”

  She had on a cropped black flight jacket zipped halfway, a pair of tight, high-cut engineer shorts, boots up to mid-thigh, and a toolbelt slung low around her waist.

  Nyx’s eyes glittered. “I could take some off, if it would make you feel better.”

  Zara groaned audibly from across the room. “Please don’t.”

  I blinked at the mess. “Anyways what the hell happened to my ship?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Nyx’s tail curled slightly, like she was delighted to deliver the news.

  Nyx stood, all smug grace and too much confidence. “Oh, nothing too bad,” she said, voice pure innocence. “Zee outer hull is good as new. Just… minor issue inside.”

  Zara didn’t even look up from her panel. “She fried half the interior circuits.”

  “Bah,” Nyx waved a hand, still grinning. “Not half. Maybe… a quarter?”

  Zara’s glare intensified. “That is not better.”

  I exhaled through my nose. “Alright, just… fix it. My head is killing me.”

  “Oui, Commandant~” Nyx cooed, and before I could stop her, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  Warm. Smug. Zero shame.

  Across the room, Zara exhaled sharply through her nose. “Speaking of killing, Nyx…”

  She trailed off.

  I glanced between them.

  Zara had her arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed on Nyx like she wanted to say more. Nyx didn’t even bother hiding her grin, just gave Zara a slow, sidelong look.

  “Well, that’s not ominous,” I muttered. “Anyway. I’m gonna go take a piss before my bladder explodes.”

  Nyx perked up. “Do you want me to hold it for you?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  Zara looked up like she'd just heard the most disgusting thing of her life. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

  Nyx shrugged, completely unbothered. “It was a joke. Mostly. Unless…”

  I pointed at both of them as I backed toward the bathroom. “You stay here. No killing. No groping. Try to act like adults for five minutes.”

  “No promises,” Nyx sang.

  The door slid shut behind me. I made a beeline for the lav, technically labeled the “environmental purge station,” which sounded a lot fancier than “space toilet.”

  I took care of business. Didn’t realize how badly I needed to until I was midstream.

  Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  I looked like shit.

  Eyes reds, skin pale, expression halfway between hangover and death.

  I splashed some cold recycled water on my face and let out a slow sigh.

  Enough screwing around.

  If this really was some kind of cursed space RPG, I’d already followed the golden rule: “Thou shalt always get sidetracked by random bullshit.”

  But I was done playing tourist. Time to get back to the real objective.

  Save Astra.

  Get her help selling the Crimson Dust.

  Find the Core, whatever that was, and maybe finally unlock my rpg abilities of leveling and whatever else it comes with.

  I stepped back into the common room with one goal: get this ship off the ground and away from this miserable rust bucket of a station.

  Zara was still elbow-deep in the wiring panel, pretending I didn’t exist. Nyx had migrated to a console, typing something with one hand while sipping what I hoped wasn’t coolant from a flask.

  I stepped past both of them, heading toward the cockpit, the closest thing this ship had to a bridge. Compact. Sleek. All matte-black panels and smooth curves, like the inside of a stealth fighter designed to disappear from both radar and memory.

  I slid into the command chair and tapped the nav console.

  “Ares. Once we’re flight-ready, I want everything. Intel, surveillance, anything that pings Astra’s ID or biometric pattern.”

  Ares’s voice crackled through the speakers.

  “Commander, I have located potential intel regarding Astra’s whereabouts.”

  I straightened, “go on.”

  A soft chime, then a holographic star map blinked into existence, Kelthar-3 highlighted in blood red.

  “Recent activity suggests a major cartel operation underway on the planet. Additionally, I’ve managed to access Terran Republic military files…”

  “Didn’t I tell you to stop poking around their systems? One of these days they’re going to trace the signal back here, and then boom, orbital strike, screaming, lots of fire. Probably mine.”

  Ares’s voice took on a hint of smugness. “Their network protocols haven’t changed in three cycles. It’s not so much hacking as it is… reminding them their firewall was written by interns.”

  “That’s not comforting, Ares.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be. But I thought you might appreciate this next part.”

  The map zoomed in on a cluster of coordinates just off the Kelthar-3 grid. A faint Terran emblem flickered beside it.

  “There’s a Republic blacksite operating just outside the main cartel territory. Light on personnel, high on encryption. Someone’s been rerouting sensor feeds and burying movement logs, sloppy, but deliberate.”

  I frowned. “So who’s running it?”

  “Based on biometric pings and intercepted scheduling logs… I believe it’s an old friend. She’s got her own way of doing things, but she’s reliable. Most of the time.”

  “Come on Ares, stop playing games. I’m already sick of the girls doing it.”

  “Think, Commander. Dark hair. That stare that could freeze an asteroid. Deadly with a blade…”

  My jaw tightened. “Yuki?”

  “Indeed,” Ares said, just a touch too pleased with himself. “It seems your old… flame? Rival? The emotionally distant femme fatale? She’s been quite busy. Her clearance level puts her in range of over thirty shadow projects—one of which ties directly to Astra’s last known coordinates.”

  I grunted. “Yeah, well. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see me.”

  “Roughly as thrilled as Nyx would be if you brought home another girlfriend,” Ares replied. “Shall I prepare a damage report in advance?”

  “Let’s start with flight prep,” I muttered. “Then we’ll worry about who’s stabbing who once we’re in orbit.”