Nova Sanctum
The sick bay of the Nova Sanctum smelled faintly of steel and antiseptic. The hum of the engines was steady beneath the floor, a constant low vibration that reminded Lucian they were still moving, even if everything else felt frozen.
Lucy lay on the bed beside him, wrapped in pale sheets. Her horn was gone, snapped clean when she collapsed, but the markings still clung faint on her skin—fading, but not gone. Her breath came shallow, steady enough to keep him from panicking, but not enough to make him relax.
Lucian sat in the chair next to her, his cloak torn and burned through in half a dozen places. Dried blood stained his hands. He hadn't bothered to wash it off yet.
"Alfred," he said quietly. His voice carried even in the still room.
The lights above shifted slightly as the AI's voice answered, smooth but edged with concern. "Yes, captain?"
