The Star-Jumper slid through the void, a sliver of darkness in an ocean of light. Inside, the silence was a living thing, thick and heavy.
Marc sat in one of the rear harnesses, his head resting against the cool bulkhead, eyes closed. He wasn't sleeping. He was just still. He could feel the weight of their stares like a physical pressure. Silas's gaze was a blunt instrument, straightforward and distrustful. Reia's was a scalpel, precise and analytical. Vyn's was a chill fog, seeping into the corners of the compartment. He didn't react, didn't open his eyes. He just breathed, in and out, a steady rhythm against the ship's faint hum.
