The vast silence of space stretched infinitely beyond the small, battered escape pod. Its thin hull barely shielded its passengers from the cold black nothing that pressed against it. In the dim emergency lighting, everything felt slowed, distant—like time itself had grown heavy.
Dican sat still, cradling Bian's unmoving hand with both of his own. The fingers were cold, but intact. Perfect, despite everything. His thumb ran carefully along the knuckles, over skin too pale to be warm. He didn't know how long they'd been drifting—hours, days—it all blurred into one long breath of waiting. For rescue. For death. For anything.
He shut his eyes and listened.
There was no sound of propulsion, no humming engine, just the occasional creak of metal and the soft rhythmic buzz of life support—its power slowly waning.
And then—
A quiet, unmistakable growl.
