“One more for the road,” Ramy says, grabbing another slice of pizza as he gets up from the table. “I gotta get out of here. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants and getting up to follow him out the door of the canteen.

“You got everything?” I ask as we head down the hall.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he answers with a salute, slinging a duffel over his shoulder and stepping into the lift. I roll my eyes and turn to head toward the bridge, but Ramy calls me back.

“Jahdra!” he shouts from the lift. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll see you on Meridian. Okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I know the drill. Now stop stalling and go!” I give him my best smile to show him I’ll be fine. He winks at me with that crooked smile of his. Just as the lift door slides shut, I watch the slice of pizza fall from his hand and land on his shoe, a splattering of red sauce in its wake.

“Aw, sh—” I hear as the lift door closes. And just like that, he’s gone.

I walk across the bridge and plant myself in my usual spot at the nav control. I spin in my chair absentmindedly, waiting to hear from the crew.

“Lotus to Chrysanthemum,” I hear Dad’s voice over the speaker.

“Go ahead, Lotus,” I answer.

“Now that we’ve finally got everyone, we’re gonna get going. How are things looking up there?”

“Everything looks good up here, Lotus,” I answer. “Conditions are clear and particle density is minimal,” I say, double checking the display in front of me. “You’re good to go.”

“Stars bright?” Dad asks.

“Stars are bright, and all is well,” I answer.

“Alrighty, then. Let’s get this show on the road.”

I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the dash. Fleetwood Mac is playing softly over the speakers. A coffee would be great right about now, but I don’t like to leave the bridge when I’m on duty. I stand up and stretch, pulling my arms high over my head.

And then, something catches my eye, a flicker of light on the other side of the glass. I check the reading on the display. There’s nothing there. The radar’s silent.

But wait—there it is again.

“Chrys, hail Lotus,” I say aloud.

I stare out into the uninterrupted stretch of darkness. For a minute, I think I must’ve imagined it. Then I see it again. A glint, brief but unmistakable.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Chrysanthemum to Lotus,” I call out, a note of panic creeping into my voice.

There’s definitely something out there.

“Chrysanthemum to Lotus,” I yell, my voice rising in desperation.

It’s getting closer. Closer and closer and closer.

“Lotus, answer me!”

And then—it’s gone.

I put my hands on the dash and lean my face toward the glass, studying the darkness, looking for a sign of whatever it was I saw. I squint my eyes as I scrutinize every centimeter of space in front of me. But I can’t find it. Where did it go?

The music has stopped, I suddenly realize. It’s quiet. Eerily quiet. I listen for the hum of the engine, but it’s not there.

There’s something else. Another sound, faint but ominous. The sound of someone breathing.

I feel my skin prickle. It’s coming from behind me, slow and steady. Inhaling. Exhaling.

I stand rigid, unable to move. I can feel it now, the hot, damp breath on the back of my neck. He’s right behind me. I don’t turn around, but I know he’s there.

His breath is heavy on my neck, and I feel the collar around my neck start to tighten.

“Warning,” says Chrys’s voice over the speaker.

My collar twists tighter and tighter, digging into my skin painfully, choking me.

“Warning.”

I try to grab at it, to tear it away from my skin, but I can’t. I can’t move my arms.

“Warning.”

I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can’t move, and I can’t breathe.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I close my eyes, and I scream.

“Warning,” comes Chrys’s voice over the speaker. It’s closer this time. Clearer. Realer.

I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. I’m in my quarters, I realize.

I unclench my fists and feel the damp cloth drop from them. I’m drenched in sweat, and so are my sheets, it seems. I lie there for a minute breathing deeply, letting myself come slowly back to reality.

I’m in my quarters. I’m on the Chrysanthemum. I’m in my bed. And—

“Warning,” says Chrys. “Unauthorized personnel on bridge.”

And I’ve got to go see who the hell is on my bridge.

I need a shower. I can smell myself through my clothes. But that’ll have to wait. I jog down the hall to the bridge, anxious to get there before anyone has a chance to sabotage my ship a second time. The cool air of the bridge is a welcome relief as I step through the door. But when I look around to see who tripped Chrys’s sensor, no one’s there. Huh. That’s odd. I wonder if it was a mistake. But Chrys doesn’t make mistakes.

I start to cross the room when a strange feeling comes over me. My stomach twists uncomfortably and my heart starts to race. It’s like everything in my body is telling me to leave, to get out of here. I try to shake the feeling off. There’s no one here, I tell myself, drawing deep, steady breaths. The room is empty.

Despite my urge to flee, I force myself to stay and make my way to the nav panel, looking around the room again just to make sure I’m alone.

No one is here, I tell myself again. The Garda are long gone. But despite my best efforts to calm myself, I can’t keep my hands from shaking as I reach for the controls. I keep waiting for something, someone to reach out of the dark and grab me.

I do a quick compulsory check of the course map and exterior and interior sensors. Looks like we’re right on track, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone tailing us.

“You’re keeping an eye on things, right, Chrys?” I ask, eager to leave.

“All system monitors active,” Chrys replies.

“Good enough for me,” I mutter as I head back out the door.

I’m about to head to the shower when I decide to stop by the canteen. I have no idea how long I was out, but I feel like I could sleep for another three days. My mouth is dry. I know some water would probably solve that, but I feel like I deserve a coffee after what I’ve been through.

I’m just steps away from the canteen when I hear something. It’s familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. It’s coming from inside. I inch closer to the door, pressing myself against the wall to keep out of sight. The sound is low and melodic, barely louder than a hum. I hold my breath, straining to listen.

It’s a voice. A woman’s voice.

It’s Shae.