The skiff hums like a throat holding back a shout.
Celadryn’s ring curves beneath us, a clean arc of glass and shadow. Out past the viewport, the Veins ribbon through the dark—thin, pale currents of resonance, flickering like nerves. I’ve flown this route before, but not with my ring this warm or my chest this tight.
We’re in the small skiff—no wide mission carrier, no extra crew. Just the five of us.
Kaien sits closest to the forward console, long legs braced as if his body is just another part of the ship’s structure. Theron’s sprawled in the secondary chair like the rules of physics were written for other people. Cassian’s bent over a portable star-grid, fingers tapping patterns that look like lazy spirals but never are. Eryndor leans against the far bulkhead, half in shadow, like th
