That one is a lie.
And I don’t let it show.
I turn before he can answer, before he can stop me, before I give myself time to hesitate, and the door opens as I reach it, the corridor beyond colder, sharper, real in a way the room behind me isn’t anymore.
I don’t look back.
I don’t slow.
Because if I do?—
I won’t leave.
Vihl is waiting where we agreed, near the lower access corridor, his posture tense, his gaze snapping to me the moment I step into view.
“You took longer than I expected,” he says.
“I had something to finish,” I reply.
His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push.
“Everything’s ready,” he says instead. “We move now or we don’t move at all.”
“Then we move.”
We don’t speak again as we reach the shuttle bay, the air colder here, sharper with fuel and metal and the faint hum of systems running at minimal capacity to avoid detection.
The shuttle sits where it should, small compared to the larger vessels, but functional, efficient.
Final.
I step inside without hesitation.
The door seals behind us.
The engines hum to life.
And just like that?—
I’m no longer on his ship.
I sit down, strapping in with practiced efficiency, my hands steady even as everything else shifts around me.
“You’re sure about this?” Vihl asks quietly.
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to undo it.”
“I know.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods once.
“Alright,” he says.
The shuttle lifts.
The ship falls away behind us.
