An alarm beeps in Arthur’s apartment—a clean, quiet box suspended above Vale City.

  Far beyond the window, turbine towers flash red beacons in sequence.

  Arthur checks the display beside his bed.

  WARNING: CRITERIA MET

  SHIP INCOMING

  ARRIVAL IN 8 HOURS

  He packs methodically.

  Shirt rolled.

  Coil of fiber line.

  Signal beacons.

  Each item is placed like a chess move—calm, deliberate.

  He pauses, eyes drifting through the room. The silence weighs heavier than noise.

  On the wall: a framed sketch.

  Arthur and Sarah laughing in sunlight, near the rim of the Grand Canyon.

  He lifts it down, studies it in the reflection of city lights.

  Then he sets the frame carefully on the table, aligning it with a faint scratch in the surface. He steps back, adjusts it slightly to the left.

  “Too sentimental,” he mutters with a scoff.

  He moves through the room, shifting a ceramic piece by two centimeters. Tilting another photo. Considering each choice like stage direction.

  A chair straightened.

  A shelf reordered.

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  The curtain angled so the morning wind will tug it open at dawn.

  He steps back, head tilted—an artist judging his canvas.

  “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That tells a story.”

  Sarah’s voice drifts from the Void.

  “You think he’ll figure it out?”

  Arthur nods once.

  “He’s finally checking here. I think so.”

  He shoulders his bag. One last look at the staged memory—something left behind to read, after he’s gone.

  The door whispers shut.

  ---

  Arthur stands aboard the Cologen—a narrow vessel of neutral panels, humming with restrained power. Outside the viewport, the gate floats dormant.

  The captain’s voice crackles over the speakers, easy and practiced.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be passing through the gate as soon as it’s clear.”

  Arthur rests his forehead lightly against the window trim, eyes open, distant.

  In space, the ring ignites—chains of blue fire racing its circumference. Reality crinkles like cellophane.

  The Leviathan erupts from the gate.

  A hulking silhouette. Predatory. Its mass swallows starlight as it lumbers toward Shaelock Seven—inevitable as a falling mountain.

  The Cologen glides past at regulated distance.

  For one breathless moment, the warship fills the viewport—impossible, overwhelming.

  Then it slips away.

  The Cologen pivots, knifes into the gate, and vanishes into blue fire.

  ---

  Arthur sits alone.

  A half-finished meal rests on the tray—protein loaf, cut fruit, cooling tea.

  His hands move from habit.

  He connects a compact comm unit to a homemade scrambler: a breadboard bristling with microcoils and a jitter oscillator. He solders a final link, flips a toggle.

  The device purrs.

  Arthur closes his eyes and slips into the White Void.

  “The plan is in motion.”

  Sarah brings up a control menu and lowers her music. The violin fades to a whisper.

  “Do you think it’s wise to trust her?”

  Arthur offers his hand.

  “I don’t trust her,” he says evenly. “I just know she won’t turn us in.”

  Sarah takes his hand. He draws her close, guiding them into a slow dance.

  “She’ll trade up if we fail,” he adds. “But not before.”

  Shreen’s voice hums through the Void, his glow keeping the space stable.

  “Arthur is correct. When I was within her systems, many files indicated a preference for caution.”

  Arthur grins faintly as he dips Sarah.

  “See? Shreen agrees with me.”

  “I do not believe this plan is free of risk,” Shreen adds promptly.

  Sarah smirks.

  “See?”

  A beep from the real.

  Arthur spins her out—and vanishes.

  ---

  Back in the cabin, Arthur exhales, shaking his head despite the tension humming under his ribs.

  He types a short string into the comm—dense, layered, quick-burn encryption.

  Then he hits call.

  The screen flickers.

  Merail appears—sharp, composed, already braced.

  “The items you requested are at the drop site,” she says. “Don’t screw this up, Hammond.”

  Arthur leans back, boots planted against the metal floor.

  “My friends call me Hammond.”

  She cuts him off.

  “We’re not friends. We’re barely acquaintances.” A sigh. “Just do the job. And try not to get us all killed.”

  He smiles as if she’s paid him a compliment.

  “Straight to the point. I knew I liked you.”

  He leans in slightly.

  “Ready to slay a monster?”

  Then he ends the call without waiting for an answer.

  Sarah’s voice slips in from the Void.

  “She’s going to have a heart attack if you keep that up.”

  Arthur chuckles.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “Then get back in here and finish this dance.”

  He kills the scrambler. The hum dies to silence.

  Arthur sits in the smallness of the cabin as the gate flare washes everything in pale light.

  His eyes close—

  —and open in the Void.

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