The ship's intercom crackled to life at 03:47.
Elias was awake—he hadn't slept more than an hour since the rift—and the sound made his skin prickle. It wasn't a voice. It was breathing. Slow, wet, and familiar. The breathing of a man who had drowned and kept on breathing.
He was out of his bunk before the second breath, rifle in hand. The corridor was empty, but the intercom hissed again, and this time a word formed, stretched and broken: "Little... copy..."
Elias froze. The original was dead. He had watched the green fire die in his eyes. He had felt the Silence leave them both. But the voice was unmistakable.
"Voss!" he shouted, moving toward the bridge. "Valdez! We have a problem!"
The ship's alarm began to blare. Crew members stumbled into the corridor, weapons raised. Commander V
