The first thing Ben noticed was the quiet.

  Not the comforting kind. The careful kind.

  The Ember always hummed — engines, ventilation, distant machinery talking to itself — but this was different. The ship sounded like it was holding its breath.

  Consciousness returned with reluctance. Ben cracked his eyelids and immediately regretted it as light seared through his retinas, scrambling his thoughts. The familiar smooth metal ceiling swam into focus above him—the med bay's distinctive paneling. Not his first time here. Probably not his last.

  A groan escaped his lips as he attempted to lever himself upright. The gentle pressure of fingertips against his shoulder halted his progress.

  "Remain still," came Vaeris' voice—measured, clinical, unmistakable.

  Ben went rigid, not from the restraint but from its brevity. Her hand withdrew with unnatural quickness, as though the contact itself had triggered some internal alarm.

  Ben frowned.

  “This usually comes with a lecture,” he muttered.

  “You are not currently in a condition to survive one.”

  Dry. Controlled. Normal.

  Almost.

  This time, Ben eased himself up with caution. The sensation in his limbs wasn't pain exactly—more like emptiness, as though something vital had combusted and scoured him clean from within.

  In the chair across from him, Thorn had folded into himself, leathery wings awkwardly wrapped around his small frame like a misshapen cocoon. Black eyes remained at half-mast, though his tail gave a single, sharp flick when he noticed Ben stirring.

  You were unconscious for too long, Thorn said, the telepathic voice quieter than usual. I considered biting someone.

  What stopped you?

  The captain. He looked disappointed in advance.

  That earned a weak smile.

  Ben glanced around the room.

  No one else. No chatter from the hallway. No sarcastic commentary from Thimble. Even the monitors beside him were dimmed.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked Vaeris.

  “Giving you space.” she answered.

  That was… new.

  He watched her for a moment.

  “You look tired,” he told her.

  “I am reconsidering several long-held assumptions.”

  That sounded like Vaeris, but the way she said it made the hairs on his arms rise.

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  Ben stared at his hand, fingers splaying wide. The air rippled above his palm—a brief, liquid shimmer that vanished almost instantly. Vaeris' posture changed before her expression did; shoulders squaring, weight shifting backward half an inch. Her gaze locked onto his hand, pupils contracting to pinpoints.

  The room's atmosphere transformed in that moment, the silence no longer delicate but deliberate—not the quiet of peace, but the stillness before flight.

  The door slid open with a soft hiss, cutting the tension.

  Ironbelly ducked through first, filling the frame with black fur and armored bulk. Behind him came Thimble, anti-grav boots humming faintly as she floated a foot or so off the deck, holo-pad already glowing in her cybernetic hand.

  The captain’s gaze locked onto Ben immediately.

  “You look less dead,” he said.

  Ben blinked. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Ironbelly grunted. He motioned for Ben to move over and sat down directly onto Ben’s pillow. Before he could ask the captain why he chose to sit there, Thimble leaned sideways, peering at Ben as if he were an especially interesting piece of machinery.

  “Vitals stabilized,” she muttered. “Neural activity normal-ish. Residual field interference still present.”

  Ben frowned. “Normal-ish?”

  Thimble waved him off. “You’re alive. That counts as success.”

  Her gaze dropped to his hands.

  She hesitated.

  Then she angled the holo-pad slightly farther away.

  “You’re not gonna erase all my data, are you?” She joked.

  “Hell, if I know. But I’ve got my null gate firmly shut.” Ben shrugged. “I really don’t want to open it again after everything that happened back there.”

  Ironbelly crossed his arms.

  The captain’s whiskers twitched, but his expression didn’t soften.

  “You did something,” he said casually. “That's for damn sure.”

  Thorn snorted from the chair. Accurate summary.

  Not accusatory.

  Careful.

  Ben glanced at Vaeris. She still hadn’t moved closer.

  Thimble tapped her holo-pad.

  “Environmental readings from the site are inconsistent,” she said. “Mana saturation dropped to near-zero in a localized radius. Temporarily, we think. We didn’t stick around for a full analysis.”

  Ben stared at her. “Is that bad?”

  Silence.

  The kind where everyone waits for someone else to answer.

  Vaeris finally spoke.

  “It is… unusual.”

  Well, that wasn’t an answer.

  Ironbelly pushed off the bedframe.

  “You’re breathing. And that shoulder wound is all the way healed. That’s what matters right now.” He looked at Ben a second longer than necessary. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

  He turned toward the door. Thimble followed, though she cast one last curious glance at Ben’s hands before floating out.

  Vaeris lingered.

  For a moment Ben thought she might say something — explain, maybe — but instead she only nodded once.

  “We begin training tomorrow,” she said.

  The door sealed behind her.

  The med bay felt bigger suddenly.

  Ben looked at Thorn.

  “They’re being weird, right?”

  Thorn tilted his head, wings rustling softly.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely,” he said. “But they are trying very hard not to be. Isn’t that right, Ember?”

  “I shall refrain from sharing my opinions of others in their absence.” Ember replied.

  Thorn chuckled. “That means ‘yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.’”

  Ben lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.

  The med bay settled into silence again, broken only by the low thrum of the ship.

  Thorn hopped down from the chair, wings flexing awkwardly before folding tight against his back. He walked to the bed and sat, crossed his legs, and curled his tail around himself.

  Ben watched him for a moment.

  “You’re getting better with those,” he said.

  “I know, right? Aren’t they awesome? I love my wings!” Thorn replied. “I feel loads bigger.”

  Ben snorted. “You were never exactly subtle.”

  Thorn’s tail flicked, but his eyes stayed on Ben’s hands.

  “You frightened me down there,” he said quietly. “I felt you slipping away.”

  The words landed heavier than Ben expected.

  He looked away. “Yeah. Me too.”

  Silence stretched.

  Thorn leaned forward slightly, voice lowering into the familiar rasp that always sounded older than his size.

  “But you didn’t lose yourself,” he said. “That matters. To me, anyway.”

  Ben flexed his fingers again, watching the faint distortion ripple above his skin.

  “I almost did, though. I’m scared of what this all means.”

  Thorn tilted his head.

  “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

  Simple. Certain.

  Ben exhaled slowly, some tight knot in his chest easing.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “Together.”

  The ship hummed around them, steady and alive.

  For the first time since waking, the quiet felt almost safe.