Then it’s gone.
I tighten my grip on the override panel. My ship groans around me—metal flexing like it’s praying.
“This isn’t where I end,” I whisper.
Not like this.
I slam the override button.
A low whine tears through the air.
The core stirs. Flares.
A spike of pressure hits me like a gut-punch. The cockpit floods with raw data, spiraling in layers—temperature, mass flux, radiation levels climbing.
But beneath all the chaos, I see it.
The crack.
A seam forming in the wormhole’s skin. Just a sliver of normal space breaking through the madness. I canfeelthe pull.
My only shot.
“Alright, sweetheart,” I murmur to the ship, flicking switches even though half of them aren’t connected anymore. “One more dance.”
I reroute power from the life-support grid to the thrusters. Oxygen cuts out. The lights go dark. The only thing left is the pulsing beacon of the override drive and my will.
I steer hard, nose tipping toward the fracture.
The ship shudders. Lurches. Something blows behind me—doesn’t matter.
I don’t let go.
The reentry vector is too steep. I can feel it. We’re sliding sideways into the crack like a blade through a tight seam. The ship isn’t going to hold. She’s screaming at me now—metal shearing, panels ripping off in chunks.
The crack widens just enough to show stars on the other side. Real stars. Our sky.
Home.
The control panel sparks. Fire rips across the dashboard, eating into the side panel. Smoke clouds my vision.
My oxygen’s gone. Heat's climbing fast. My suit AI’s blaring warnings in four languages.
I grip the yoke and scream through my teeth. “You’re not taking me, you bastard hole! Not today!
Contact.
The fracture folds open.
Light pours in.
My ship bursts through.
I black out with Nova’s name on my tongue.
CHAPTER 50
NOVA
