37 Echoes of Doubt

The silence aboard the Wraith after Valen's recovery was no longer comforting. It was the hush before a storm, thick with questions no one dared ask.

Damien stood at the edge of the observation deck, arms crossed as the stars crawled by. Behind him, the soft patter of footsteps announced Lyne.

"We've triangulated the last known signal from Requiem's command hub," she said. "But something's wrong. It's moving."

He turned slowly. "Moving how?"

"Like a ghost ship with a mind of its own."

Valen hadn't spoken much since the archive incident. His eyes would drift, tracking things no one else could see. Elara watched over him, trying to anchor him with soft humming—the same lullabies their mother used to sing.

"They left pieces of me behind," he murmured one night. "Fragments in other minds. I'm not all here, Elara."

She squeezed his hand. "We'll find the rest. I promise."