A soft buzzing filled the bunk, pulling Akiko from the haze of sleep.

  She groaned, fumbling under the blanket until her fingers found the smooth surface of the datapad. Its glow stung her eyes.

  A blinking clock emoji greeted her—cheerful, insistent.

  Whoever you are, she thought, scrubbing a hand across her eyes, you’re persistent.

  She sat up, stiff and groggy, and began the morning ritual. Uniform. Illusion. Tail tucked, ears flattened, body reshaped into the borrowed skin of Kim Tsukihara. Familiar, now—but still foreign in the wrong light.

  She slid open the curtain.

  The corridor was quiet. Anna’s bunk already empty, the curtain pulled aside with uncharacteristic neatness.

  Akiko smiled faintly. She’s not so bad… when she’s asleep.

  The morning blurred into routine. Reports. Logs. Minor system updates. Cassandra—mercifully—kept her distance. Whether it was strategy or coincidence, Akiko wasn’t going to question it.

  Partway through the shift, a hand reached past her terminal.

  A steaming mug landed beside her.

  Akiko blinked.

  Willis—the older crewman who rarely spoke—nodded at the cup. “You look like you need it,” he said, voice rough but not unkind.

  She hesitated, then picked it up and took a cautious sip.

  Bitter. Rich. Warm.

  The taste hit hard, but the warmth that followed spread through her chest like a hearth fire in winter.

  The fog in her brain lifted. Just a little.

  She looked up. Willis gave a satisfied grunt and returned to his console.

  Akiko took another sip.

  So this is coffee.

  She let it sit on her tongue, savoring the comfort of it. A small, strange luxury in a place that still didn’t feel like hers.

  By the time her shift ended, she ached—not from battle, but from stillness. A new kind of exhaustion.

  How does sitting all day feel like a full day’s adventuring? she thought. Except without the fun parts. No treasure. No monsters. Just spreadsheets.

  She stretched, letting her limbs loosen, then made her way to the exit.

  Ethan was waiting by the hatch, hands in his pockets, smile easy as always.

  “Hey,” he said. “Thought I’d collect on that meal I promised you.”

  Akiko opened her mouth to respond—but a chill rolled down her spine.

  She glanced sideways.

  Cassandra stood across the room, arms folded. Her eyes locked onto Ethan, sharp and cold.

  Akiko suppressed a groan. Of course.

  “Maybe you should talk to Cassandra about that,” she said, nodding toward the storm cloud across the room.

  Ethan blinked. “What? Why?”

  Realization crept across his face like a slow sunrise. “Wait. You think she…?”

  Akiko didn’t answer, just gave him a flat stare.

  Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Wow. If she did… that’d be something.”

  Men, Akiko thought, rolling her eyes. Always oblivious until it’s too late. Always dragging trouble behind them like a cloak they don’t realize they’re wearing.

  A memory bubbled up—crowded tavern, too-friendly innkeeper, his furious wife, Kaede dragging her out the back door before pitchforks were involved.

  Everyone always blamed the kitsune.

  Even when they didn’t know.

  At least this one’s not married.

  Ethan nudged her arm. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet about a simple meal.”

  Akiko groaned. “You’re impossible.”

  “Impossible,” he said, grinning, “but charming.”

  She rubbed her temples. “Fine. Let’s go. But if Cassandra tries to kill me later, I’m blaming you.”

  He held the door for her, laughter in his voice. “Deal. I’ll make sure you get a proper hero’s send-off.”

  The mess hall was quieter than usual. Most of the crew were either asleep or off-shift, leaving the space hushed and half-lit.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Akiko sat across from Ethan, the low hum of the ship and the occasional clink of metal utensils filling the silence between them. Their meal was standard Sovereign fare—functional, uninspired—but Ethan’s casual charm made up for the flavor.

  He talked easily, laughter threading through his stories—piloting mishaps, near-misses, and the kind of reckless maneuvers that would’ve gotten him fired if he hadn’t pulled them off.

  Akiko let him carry the conversation.

  It was easier that way. Easier to nod, to smile, to let the rhythm of his voice pull her forward.

  And for a little while, it worked.

  She could almost pretend she was back in a tavern after a job—legs sore from climbing ruins, gold in her pocket, Kaede chiding her for ordering the strong stuff too early. A drink in hand, a warm fire nearby, and nothing urgent until morning.

  Almost.

  But as the evening wore on, she felt it shift.

  Ethan leaned in just a little closer. His smile lingered a little longer. His tone dipped, softer, smoother.

  Akiko recognized the shape of the moment.

  She’d seen this play before.

  Her first instinct was to shut it down. Quick. Clean. A polite escape and a return to her bunk before things got complicated.

  The last thing she needed was more fuel for Cassandra’s fire.

  Her lips parted. Then she paused.

  That familiar spark—mischief, sharp and restless—flickered in her chest. The part of her that had always thrived on pushing boundaries. On stepping sideways through other people’s expectations.

  What the hell.

  She wasn’t some simpering noble’s daughter waiting to be rescued. She’d survived cursed tombs and broken relics. She’d bled for coin, fought for survival, and defied death more than once.

  She could handle a little drama.

  Besides, Cassandra had already made up her mind—enemy, threat, rival. No smile or apology was going to soften that glare.

  So why bother playing small?

  More than that… Akiko needed something. Something normal. Something simple. Something selfish.

  Not to forget, exactly—but to breathe. To laugh. To feel something that didn’t tie back to magic, guilt, or survival.

  When Ethan reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out two small containers—wine, sealed for microgravity—she couldn’t help it.

  A slow, foxy grin curled across her lips.

  “Well,” she said, voice light, “aren’t you prepared.”

  Ethan’s grin widened, cocky now. “I aim to impress.”

  She took the offered container, tilting it slightly, watching the red liquid catch the light. Kaede’s voice echoed distantly in her head—Be careful, Akiko. Don't let charm turn into carelessness.

  The thought only made her grin deepen.

  She raised the container in a mock toast, eyes gleaming.

  “Cheers,” she said.

  Akiko stirred, her body reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed and the warmth surrounding her.

  She blinked slowly, her senses returning to her one at a time.

  The room was dim. The steady hum of the ship’s systems buzzed in the background—a sound she was starting to associate with safety. Or, at least, stability.

  Ethan’s arms were draped over her, breath slow against the back of her neck.

  She allowed herself a moment to relax, savoring the rare feeling of peace.

  Her hand brushed against something soft—something unmistakable.

  Damn it.

  She glanced down.

  Her tail curled lazily against her thigh, dark fur catching in the dim light.

  Her ears twitched forward, brushing the pillow.

  She froze.

  Ethan didn’t stir.

  His face was calm, unbothered. Still asleep.

  Small miracle, she thought. At least he didn’t wake up screaming.

  Quietly, she drew the magic back around her. The shimmer of the illusion settled into place. Her tail vanished. Her ears flattened and faded. Fur smoothed back into skin.

  She stretched—slow, indulgent.

  Officers really do get better quarters.

  She glanced around the room.

  Not just the bed. The entire cabin was spacious compared to the coffin-like alcoves she shared with the junior crew. A proper desk. Actual storage. Subtle lighting, not the harsh overhead glare of shared spaces.

  No wonder they all look so well-rested.

  Her lips curled.

  Maybe there were perks to keeping this up more often.

  She chuckled softly, careful not to wake him.

  For now, she was content to linger.

  The hum of the ship lulled her, and the tension that usually coiled in her chest felt just a little lighter.

  She let her eyes drift across the room.

  One of the displays on the wall flickered—just for a breath.

  A white question mark blinked into view.

  Akiko arched an eyebrow.

  Right. Obligations.

  She sighed and began to shift in Ethan’s arms.

  He shifted as she moved, eyes blinking open, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

  “Good morning, fly guy,” Akiko murmured.

  Ethan chuckled, voice thick with sleep. “Good morning, foxy lady.”

  She rolled her eyes, laughing quietly. “You’ve got a way with words.”

  “Comes with the territory.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Gotta keep up with someone as clever as you.”

  Akiko sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Flatter me all you want—I need to move before someone notices I’m gone.”

  “Let them,” Ethan said, stretching. “Maybe they’ll think I’m finally settling down.”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Do I look like someone who’s going to help you ‘settle down’?”

  He grinned. “Fair enough.”

  Akiko dressed quickly, movements brisk. The uniform snapped into place with practiced ease. She ignored Ethan’s gaze as she tied her hair back, straightening the collar like nothing had happened.

  “You’re going to make me regret letting you leave,” he said, half-playful, half-serious.

  Akiko snorted softly. “You’ll survive,” she muttered, grabbing her datapad from the bedside table.

  She powered it on.

  The screen blinked to life.

  And her stomach dropped.

  Pinned to the top, in bold, unmissable font:

  Report to the captain’s office immediately.

  Her pulse jumped.

  Cassandra. It has to be her.

  Ethan sat up further, catching her shift in expression. “You alright?”

  She held the datapad toward him.

  His grin returned, cocky. “Uh-oh. Trouble already?”

  “Don’t sound so excited,” Akiko said, slipping the pad into her pocket.

  She stepped toward the door, her posture tight.

  “I’d better not keep her waiting.”

  “Good luck,” Ethan called.

  She didn’t answer.

  Her thoughts were already spiraling.

  What does she want?

  The question echoed through her as she walked into the corridor—away from the warmth, back toward the storm.

  Akiko made the long trek from the habitation ring to the central spire, her steps steady as she ascended through the Sovereign’s narrowing corridors.

  The transition from the ring’s gravity to the drive section’s microgravity had become second nature. Her body adapted without thought now—one more strange rule of this world she was learning to obey.

  She moved with precision up the ladders, floating from rung to rung.

  The top deck felt worlds away from the rest of the ship. The air was cleaner here. Tighter. Weighted with command.

  By the time she reached the captain’s office, her nerves were buzzing.

  She paused at the door, drew a slow breath, then stepped inside.

  The room was austere—sleek walls, a broad desk, and a tactical display showing the ship’s orbit. Captain Ward stood behind the desk, hands clasped. First Officer Hale leaned nearby, arms folded.

  Both watched her with unreadable expressions.

  “Ensign Tsukihara,” Ward said, voice calm but firm. “Take a seat.”

  Akiko did, smoothing her uniform as she folded into the chair. Her fingers rested in her lap—still, but not relaxed.

  Ward leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on her.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced,” she began. “I make a point of personally welcoming all new transfers. The fact that I haven’t yet is… concerning.”

  Akiko’s pulse ticked upward.

  “Chief Hayes raised concerns. I took the liberty of reviewing your file.”

  She kept her face still.

  “I also contacted a few colleagues at the Academy,” Ward continued. “Most didn’t recall you at all.”

  Akiko’s stomach dipped.

  “But,” Ward added, “one did. A medical associate. He remembered you clearly.”

  Akiko blinked.

  Medical?

  Ward’s gaze sharpened. “He described you as a quiet, diligent student. Said you had potential.”

  Then it clicked.

  Calloway.

  She’d reached out—tried to protect her. But of course her contacts would’ve been in the medical field. And now her fabricated operations identity had a conflicting origin story.

  Akiko fought to keep her expression neutral.

  Thanks, Doctor. Maybe don't get so creative next time.

  Ward studied her carefully. “I was not aware you had medical training, Ensign.”

  Akiko gave a careful nod. “It’s not my current focus, Captain.”

  “I imagine not,” Ward said smoothly. “Still, odd that a medical associate remembers you vividly—while your operations instructors recall nothing.”

  The air grew heavier.

  “Can you explain that?”

  Akiko’s mind spun.

  She straightened slightly. “It’s possible I made a stronger impression earlier in my training. I focused on medical studies at first, but transitioned to operations later. I wasn’t exactly in the spotlight by then.”

  Hale arched an eyebrow. “That’s a significant pivot. Most cadets don’t make that switch late in the program. What changed?”

  Akiko kept her voice measured. “I realized I was more effective working with larger systems. Medicine felt… limiting. Operations gave me a broader way to contribute.”

  Hale didn’t respond. His silence was pointed.

  Ward leaned back. “Transitions like that require mentorship and approval. Who oversaw yours?”

  A beat.

  Akiko smiled faintly. “I don’t remember specific names. It was a chaotic time—lots of movement, lots of instructor turnover. I wasn’t anyone special.”

  Ward’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “I’ll follow up,” she said at last. “I’d like to understand your journey better. Cadets who make such shifts are rare. It might help us tailor your development.”

  Akiko nodded once. “Understood.”

  Ward leaned forward again.

  “Let me be clear, Ensign. If there are further inconsistencies—or if your record proves falsified—this won’t end well. Do I make myself clear?”

  Akiko met her gaze.

  “Crystal, Captain.”

  Ward gave a curt nod.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  Akiko rose, saluted, and stepped out with practiced control.

  The door hissed shut behind her.

  Only then did she let out a breath, sharp and shaking.

  Calloway… we need to talk.