The Cologen snaps out of the gate into ordered traffic above Earth.

  Thousands of gates ring the planet like jeweled thorns, opening and closing in precise choreography. Ships thread between them—tiny, tireless, a glittering veinwork.

  Beyond—

  the Moon. Half-engulfed by a rising dome, like a soap bubble frozen mid-breath.

  Arthur watches through the viewport.

  “We’re home again.”

  Sarah’s voice drifts from the Void into his ear.

  “Every time we come here, we’re running. Maybe this time… we could stop by where our house used to be.”

  Arthur’s gaze softens—then he shakes his head once, gentle but firm.

  “We’re not running this time.”

  The Cologen settles onto a heat-scored pad. Robotic booms kiss the hull. Seals thump. Ramps deploy.

  Trisil unfolds in glass, stone, and living green braided together. Environmental stacks bloom with white mist. Walkways carry people like currents.

  Arthur steps out, bag over his shoulder, scanning the skyline.

  “Trisil,” he says. “Funny—I was born less than twenty miles from here.” He smiles. “Never once visited.”

  A laugh.

  “I remember when this was just Garden City, Kansas.”

  In the White Void, Sarah sits on the floor, studying a memory book.

  “Earth’s never been this clean,” she says. “Those environmental engines—masterworks.”

  Shreen forms behind her.

  “We should hurry. Daevos has people everywhere.”

  Yellow lightning crackles as he merges with a shelf.

  Sarah closes the book and sets it aside.

  “You’re right. Getting caught here won’t help anything.”

  Arthur merges with the flow of the crowd. He doesn’t hurry—but he wastes no movement.

  ---

  Back on Shaelock Seven, a door unlocks with institutional efficiency.

  Arthur’s apartment looks exactly as he left it.

  Daevos enters after security clears the structure. Two guards peel away. The air cools.

  He surveys the room like a man reading an obituary.

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  “Just missed you.”

  He wanders, fingertips grazing surfaces—a chair back, the edge of a curtain. A knickknack.

  With a flick, he sends it to the floor. It breaks neatly in two.

  “He plans to return,” Daevos muses. “Pictures on the walls…”

  He pauses at a framed sketch. The Grand Canyon.

  A thin, almost tender smile.

  “Sentimental,” he murmurs. “Clinging to the past.”

  He sets the frame down—face-first—and leaves the door open as he exits.

  Outside, he ascends the ramp. Armed figures fall in behind him, silent and precise.

  “They’re on Earth,” he says. “Set the next gate.”

  ---

  In Trisil, Arthur moves through a canyon of tempered glass and limestone. Trams glide along invisible rails overhead. Drones dart between balconies.

  He checks reflections. Sightlines. Rooftops.

  A presence that was following him is no longer there.

  “It’s clear.”

  He turns down a side lane and slips through the battered door of a warehouse.

  Inside: long, slender, clean. The air smells faintly of ozone.

  At the center of the space, three tall stacks of banded crates sit arranged like deliberate sculpture.

  Arthur faces them, jaw set with an engineer’s satisfaction—and a soldier’s glee.

  “Well,” he murmurs. “Let’s get started.”

  He cracks the first case. Foam exhales.

  Inventory, by touch:

  — Reinforced spacesuit chestplate. Lock rings click clean.

  — Oxygen modules. Weight checked. Seals verified. Pressure confirmed.

  — Wrist-mounted nav computer. Synced to a belt unit. A ghosted map blooms across the visor.

  — Industrial plasma torch. Igniter touched. A narrow tongue of sun flares, then dies.

  — Expanding foam cartridges, hazard glyphs bright.

  — Magnetic locks, grapnels, a compact line launcher.

  — Two sealed, unlabeled cases.

  He smiles at those.

  Gear spreads across a shipping blanket, methodical and precise.

  “Expanding foam?” Sarah asks from the Void. “What’s all this for?”

  Arthur doesn’t slow his hands.

  “It has… a lot of uses.”

  In the Void, he walks the shelves. Water ripples at his feet.

  Sarah sits on the farmhouse porch swing. Shreen stands nearby, lightning singing softly along his silhouette.

  Arthur explains—clean segments, measured arcs. Approach vectors. Hull contours. Exhaust timing. Sensor blind zones.

  We stop hearing what he says and hear only the cadence.

  Silence.

  Sarah’s expression shifts—fear, calculation, then resolve.

  “That’s not a plan,” she says quietly. “If anything goes wrong—when you told me before, I didn’t imagine this.”

  Arthur smiles, calm.

  “It has risks. I’ve minimized them.”

  Shreen watches without comment.

  Arthur vanishes back to the real.

  He tests seals. Calibrates the torch. Measures mag-lock draw. A green ring blooms on his wrist.

  He lifts the helmet. In the visor, his reflection looks like his stepfather—or the man he meant to become.

  He lowers it. Gaskets hiss. Breath fogs, then clears.

  “Steady.”

  A warning flashes on his pocket display:

  WARNING: CRITERIA MET

  SHIP INCOMING

  ARRIVAL IN 4 HOURS

  Arthur powers up a signal jammer the size of a lunchbox. It hums, then modulates—rain on gravel.

  “Dead waves,” he mutters. “Might as well be fireworks.”

  He shoulders equipment and moves through the rear bay into an empty field. Midway across, he peels back a weighted tarp.

  A pit—eight feet wide, four feet deep.

  Arthur climbs in, arranging devices in careful rows.

  ---

  In the Void—disguised as memory—Sarah sits on the porch swing. Her arm, nearly whole, glows with faint golden seams.

  Arthur stands at the steps. Shreen near the rail.

  “If it works,” she says softly, “maybe no one will ever hear his voice again.”

  Shreen nods.

  “An ending true evil deserves.”

  Wind passes across the boards. Sarah reaches for Arthur—then lets her hand fall.

  She nods once.

  It’s a plan.

  ---

  The Leviathan hammers through gate after gate, blue geometry stuttering across its hull as Earth swells ahead—beautiful, defenseless.

  Inside, Daevos prowls along the edge of his desk. The ship’s vibration coils up through his boots.

  At his feet, a clone of Sarah kneels, shaking.

  He backhands her lazily. Blood sprays—then retracts as flesh knits.

  “You’re much more entertaining than Arthur ever was,” he says pleasantly. “He barely screamed.”

  “What did you do with him?” she sobs.

  Daevos crouches close, his breath stirring her hair.

  “The same thing I’ll do to you… when you stop being interesting.”

  He leans in, whispering into the wound.

  “He’s inside the engine exhaust.”

  His smile warms like a cut.

  “Every correction burns him alive.”

  He savors her fear.

  “And soon, you’ll join him.”

  Her eyes close. Whatever happens next, she knows she will never be whole again.

  ---

  The Leviathan erupts from its final gate. Earth fills the viewport.

  The ship pivots sharply.

  Daevos settles beside a console.

  “Have you found him?”

  Kasan scans interference-laced feeds.

  “Not yet. There’s… noise.”

  Daevos smiles.

  “Localize the noise. That’s where he’ll be.”

  A whisper.

  “I hope you’re ready, Arthur.”

  ---

  Arthur stands alone in the warehouse, sealing the black suit. The collar clicks. HUD indicators glow green.

  A sensor chirps—a Doppler tick.

  He looks up, as if seeing through the roof.

  “I’m ready.”

  Another alert.

  “He’s closer than expected.”

  Arthur sprints into the field and drops into the concealed pit. He pulls the tarp over himself.

  Sarah’s voice reaches him from the Void.

  “I love you. Be careful.”

  Arthur smiles where no one can see.

  “With this plan? What would be the point?”

  He checks his supplies for the third time.

  “Everything’s here.”

  A breath.

  “In case something goes horribly wrong.”

  A quiet laugh.

  “Love you.”

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