The observation deck was quiet.
From here, the stars looked close enough to touch—lines of silver drifting past the Nova Sanctum's hull as it cut through space. Lucian stood with his hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the horizon, though his mind wasn't on the stars.
He didn't hear Karl come in at first. The man didn't walk so much as drag himself, boots scuffing against the steel. His ribs were still bound in rough bandages, scales cracked and patched with dried fire. But his grin was in place, even if it looked more tired than sharp.
"You always stare out like you own the whole damn sky," Karl said, leaning against the rail. "Does it ever get old?"
Lucian glanced sideways, then back at the stars. "No."
Karl chuckled, though it turned into a cough. "Figures. You were always the quiet type. Not me. I don't shut up, even when I'm bleeding out." He spat into a rag and shoved it into his pocket.
Lucian let the silence stretch. Karl didn't mind. He never did.
