The Nova Sanctum drifted through the clouds, the hum of its engines steady and low. Inside, the crew sat in silence. No one spoke much—Reia was still flexing her wrists where the iron had cut her raw, Silas leaned heavy against the wall with his ribs bound tight, and Vyn sat with her head tipped back, her shadows curling faintly around her ankles like tired smoke.
Lucian stood by the viewing pane, arms crossed, staring at nothing. He didn't feel the bruises on his own body. He didn't feel the ache in his knuckles. His mind was fixed on only one thought: the Citadel. His sister.
When the Sanctum docked, the silence carried with them down the gangway. The familiar halls of the Citadel stretched before them, clean, polished, alive with soft light. Home. But something in the air felt off. Too quiet.
Lucian led the way straight to the sick bay. His boots struck sharp against the floor as he pushed the doors open.
The bed was empty.
