The Wraith drifted silently through a nebula cloud—a bruised smear of purple and silver gas that gave the illusion of serenity. Inside, the crew was anything but calm.
Elara stood in the command deck, eyes locked on the small drive she held like a loaded weapon.
It was warm.
Still pulsing.
Still alive.
Damien leaned against the console beside her, arms crossed. "Voss gave his life for that thing."
"He said it held everything," Elara muttered. "Patterns. Code. Origins. If he was right, then this" she turned the drive over in her palm "is the blueprint to understanding the Architects."
"Or destroying them," Valen added from behind. His face was drawn, darker than usual. "We just don't know which yet."
Aeron stood quietly at the back, a ghost in the corner. His hands were shaking, but not from fear. Rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin. Ever since the station ever since he saw that memory, he hadn't spoken more than five words.
Nova didn't trust the silence.
