Arthur walks onto the bridge, exhausted, hair still wet. He lowers himself into a chair beside Captain Juliet Varhee. She gives him a look he’s learned to read over decades.

  “She’s held together with regret and rust,” Varhee says, nodding toward the failing gate ahead of them — one of the last working paths to Naviswa. “You really think it’ll hold, sir?”

  Arthur gives her a sidelong look, pain swelling behind his eyes — and for a heartbeat, he sees the young cadet she once was aboard the Kalgehtee. Bold. Bright. Ready for anything.

  “No idea,” he says. “But it has to.”

  He closes his eyes for half a second too long.

  Then, quieter: “And don’t call me sir. That was a long time ago.”

  Varhee studies him, something gentle moving behind her usual steel.

  “You remember the first time you told me about Sarah?” A smile eases across her face.

  Arthur’s lips twitch — an attempt at a smile. “Of course. You thought I was insane.” A soft laugh escapes him. “I remember you asking me if I was crazy.”

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  A beat. The cockpit fills with silence heavy enough to feel.

  She leans back, exhaling. “Thanks for saving me that day,” she says, putting her feet up on the control panel.

  Arthur doesn’t respond.

  “You’re a pain in the ass, Hammond,” she adds, her voice softer than the words. “You know I love you both, right?”

  She hesitates, then reaches over, tapping him on the arm — trying desperately to reach the man buried under centuries of hurt.

  “What happened?” she asks, as if the answer could be simple.

  Arthur stares at the flickering lights of the gate — exhaustion etched into his posture. He lets out a breath, clearing the way for everything that needs to be said.

  “They told me it would last forever,” he says. “Said the drive could survive a nuclear blast.”

  A humorless laugh escapes him. He lets his head rest against the seat.

  “That’s just something a salesperson says to make a sale.”

  He gestures vaguely — decades of destruction condensed into a tiny motion.

  “The Proteous bomb.”

  A pause.

  “The meteor. Wars. Fire. Bullets. Miracles and mistakes.”

  His voice cracks, just a little.

  “The casing finally cracked. But she’s still here. With me.” He tries to smile, even if his face has forgotten how.

  A breath.

  “And that’s all that matters.”

  Varhee looks away before he can see her eyes soften.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” she says. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  A beat.

  “Who were you helping this time?”

  Arthur’s silence answers first.

  “You’re always helping people,” she continues. “Putting yourself between danger and someone who can’t fight it. You always do that.”

  He nods once — acceptance, not pride.

  “It was refugees,” he says quietly. “Pirates were hunting them. Kids on the ship. I couldn’t just… not move.”

  Varhee turns back to the controls, hands tight, breathing in through her nose — the kind of breath someone takes when they want to scream but choose silence instead.

  “Sarah’s lucky to have you.” She glances at him, her friend for more than twenty years. “And so am I.”

  Her hand grips his tightly for the briefest moment, then hovers over the jump switch.

  “Here we go. Brace for jump.”

  The gate erupts into a storm of blue fire — electricity crawling across its wounded frame. Varhee throws the switch. The Greko surges forward and slips into the light—

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