41. Hearts Under Fire

The hum of the Wraith's engines had become a lullaby, comforting and familiar, a strange contrast to the chaos they'd just escaped. Elara sat in the small galley, elbow-deep in a ration pack that claimed to taste like "beef stew." It didn't. It tasted like regret.

Across from her, Damien stirred his own with a face that looked like he was preparing to eat a live grenade.

"Tell me again why we let Nova cook?" Elara muttered, poking the gelatinous blob with her spork.

"She didn't cook it," Damien deadpanned. "She threatened the food processor until it complied."

Elara smirked despite herself. "No wonder it's having a breakdown."

From the far corner of the room, Valen snorted. "You two act like soldiers, but bicker like siblings."

"That's rich coming from someone who sulks like a cat denied tuna," Elara fired back.

Valen raised an eyebrow. "I do not sulk."