CHAPTER ELEVEN
MICH GAZED AT THE BEDFRAME of the bunk, but all she saw were stars, countless stars, stars that stretched into long, thin lines invading the ship and invading her. Lightspeed measured in the time it took her eyes to imagine a star to the time the star shot past.
A memory hit her like a punch to the gut.
Stars were projected onto the ceiling at night, like the swaying shapes could soothe them into sleep. Screams traversed the superficially soundproofed walls of her room. The door of her cell rattled. It clacked open; her head snapped up.
Releasing a gust of breath, Mich blinked rapidly and focused on the mattress above her head. She blocked out the sounds in her mind by humming. Meditation usually calmed her tortured mind, but with the surfacing of the unwanted memories,
