Smoke still hung in the air like a memory refusing to fade.
I sat on the cold floor, my side burning from the impact. Couldn't tell if it was bruised ribs or just my pride. Maybe both. I'd faced off with ghosts before—old ops, lost teammates, pieces of myself I thought I'd buried—but nothing like her.
She was me. And she wasn't.
A version of me sharpened on bitterness and unspoken commands.
A parasite in my shape.
I blinked away the sting in my eyes. Probably plasma residue. Definitely not tears.
"Come on," he said—still watching the wreckage, like she might slither out of it again. "We should move."
"I know," I muttered, pushing myself upright. Every breath felt like chewing glass. "Ship's not far."
He offered a hand. I didn't take it. Not because of pride, but because I wasn't sure I could let anyone touch me right now without flinching. My skin still buzzed with adrenaline and trauma.
The corridor beyond was half-collapsed, sparking like it was trying to put itself back together. Whatever she did to the neural grid—this place would never be the same. I wasn't sure I would be, either.
We walked in silence, boots crunching over shattered glass and broken tech.
"You hesitated," he said quietly.
"I didn't."
"You did."
I didn't answer.
The truth was—he was right. For one breath, for one blink too long, I saw her not as a threat, but as possible. Like maybe she wasn't a monster, just a splinter.
A scar.
We reached the bay doors. My handprint still worked. Barely. The scanner whined like it was in pain.
The doors hissed open to reveal my old ship.
The ECHO.
Mid-class recon vessel. She wasn't pretty, but she'd gotten me out of worse than this. She still had scorch marks on her hull from the Siege of Orlion Prime. She also still had the co-pilot chair Louis had once reprogrammed to play jazz anytime I got moody.
I stared at it a little too long.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," I said flatly. "But we don't have time for therapy."
He laughed. Tired. Half-relieved. "Fair."
We boarded fast. The engines groaned like they were waking from a long nap.
I ran the boot-up while he sealed the hatch. Then I opened the encrypted terminal behind the pilot seat.
One destination entered.
One final trail of data.
One last hail from someone I'd nearly given up on.
Louis.
Last ping?
Dystopia.
Of course it was.
The coordinates blinked back at me—like a dare.
I glanced at the cracked monitor. I could still see the scorched imprint where she'd been hit. And in the static of the rear sensors, for half a second, I swore I saw her standing there.
A glitch. A ghost. Or maybe a warning.
"You really think he's alive?" he asked, settling beside me.
I didn't answer right away.
I just reached for the throttle.
The ship rumbled beneath us like it knew where we were headed.
"Let's find out."
The stars stretched as we jumped.
And in the dark of deep space, I whispered to myself:
"You can't erase a memory...
But maybe, just maybe, you can outfly it."