The Southern borderlands didn't wake up so much as they slowly exhaled, a low, grey mist clinging to the jagged scrub brush. Around our makeshift circle, the remnants of our expedition moved with the rhythmic, practiced efficiency of those who understood the cost of a slow morning. I sat on a flat, mossy stone, cradling a mug of local brew. It was thick, muddy, and tasted vaguely of scorched roots—a far cry from the complex roasts I remembered from Earth. Fourteen days had passed since I’d tasted a real cup, and the deficit was starting to grate on my nerves. I watched the swirl of cream disappear into the black liquid. I had memories, distant and layered, like fragments of a book I had read in a different life. They were the only things I had that felt stubbornly mine, and for the first t
