Akiko lay staring at the ceiling of the medbay, breath shallow, chest tight. The remnants of the dream still clung to her like smoke. Half-formed threats. The echo of her own voice asking questions she couldn't answer.

The door hissed open.

Kara strode in with boots that sounded like judgment. Her expression was a thunderhead, each step coiled with intent. No hesitation. No mercy. Just fury in motion.

"Good," Kara snapped, planting herself at the foot of the bed. "You're awake. And healthy enough for a proper dressing down."

The weight of Kara's voice hit harder than any wound she'd taken in the field. Akiko didn't move.

"No heroics, I said. And then you tear a hole in space and disappear like some myth-forged ghost. Great work."

She didn't wait for a response. "Half of Haven wants to shoot you. The other half wants to put you in a lab until you stop being interesting."

Akiko's ears dipped. She drew the blanket up, a futile shield. No defense. No deflection. Just silence.

"We can't afford this kind of heat," Kara continued, her tone rising. "Not from them. Not from you."

The silence stretched. Then Kara exhaled. Some of the tension bled from her frame. She leaned against the wall, arms still crossed but no longer rigid.

"You've got a good heart," she said, not quite softly. "If I'd had magic at your age, if magic had even existed here then, I might've been just as reckless."

Akiko blinked. Her gaze flicked up.

Kara shook her head, lips twitching into something not quite a smile.

"But this tightrope you're walking?" Her voice dropped. "It's going to kill you. Or worse, get you black-bagged and buried in a Haven site where no one remembers your name."

Akiko swallowed hard. She wanted to protest. Wanted to explain. That she hadn't had a choice. That she had to protect them. That she didn't regret it.

But she didn't say any of it.

Kara wasn't looking for justification. Just the truth.

And the truth was: it hadn't been about the Driftknight. Not really.

They'd already gotten away.

She had been the one still trapped. Pinned down, outmatched, bleeding power into the void.

She'd reached for the dragonling's essence because she had to. Because she didn't want to die.

She told herself it was about survival. And maybe it was.

But even now, she wasn't sure if that made it better… or worse.

All she knew was that next time she would find another way. Survival at the cost of losing herself wasn't the answer.

"I'll do better," Akiko said quietly.

Kara studied her a moment longer, then nodded once. "Good. Rest up. You'll need it."

She turned and walked out. Still angry, still exhausted, but no longer furious.

The hatch shut behind her. Akiko let herself breathe.

The familiar hum of the ship filled the silence. Steady, always present, cradling her in its thrum.

She sank into the pillow and let the guilt settle in, sharp and clean. Kara's voice still echoed in her mind. But so did Kaede's. And Raya's. And Tanya's. The people who had yelled at her not because they wanted her to stop fighting, but because they wanted her to live.

She always promised. She always meant it. And somehow, she always broke it.

Notice: Neural sync reestablished.

Core Stability: Unstable (57%)

Cognitive Layer: Fragmentation detected. Stabilization advised.

Suggested Action: Recovery Mode (Passive)

System recalibration in progress…

The text faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the ache in her chest and the pressure behind her eyes.

She didn't want diagnostics. Didn't need a mirror held up to the pieces she was still holding together by instinct.

Hours later, the hum of the ship's systems shifted. A subtle change, one Akiko felt more than heard. Gravity slipped away. She floated, just slightly, against the medbay restraints. Her body, still sore, still hers, welcomed the reprieve.

The Driftknight's main drive had gone quiet. Smoothly. A deliberate cutoff. No emergency. A maneuver.

Curiosity stirred, nudging through the fog still clinging to her thoughts.

She hesitated. Then forced herself to move. Muscles protested. Stiff. Sore. Still echoing the void's cold grip.

With a thought, she activated the device at her neck. Cool pressure wrapped around her skin as the suit formed over her, dragon-scale plates fusing into place, snug and familiar.

She pushed off carefully, using the handholds to navigate the narrow corridors. The Driftknight felt quieter than usual. Auxiliary systems hummed low in the walls, enough to remind her it was alive.

Soon, the bridge opened before her. Dim screens cast pale glows across the consoles. Quinn stood at the controls, while Kara was strapped into her chair, posture sharp in silhouette.

She didn't turn. Just spoke.

"Strap in." Kara's voice was all business. "We're about to start the retro burn to match velocity with the Yard."

Akiko nodded silently. Gripped a handhold. Floated to the seat Kara had indicated. She slid in, buckled the harness with the ease of someone who had done this too many times to think about it.

Outside the forward viewport, the Outer Shipbreaking Yard drifted into view.

It loomed. A skeletal mass of industrial struts and stacked platforms, silhouetted against the stars. The lights along its framework flickered faintly, like dying embers caught in a net of steel.

"Guess that explains the cut engines," Akiko murmured.

Quinn adjusted a dial, movements precise. His gaze never left the readouts. "Last thing we need is to overshoot or come in hot."

Kara's voice was flat. Controlled. "Especially after the heat you brought down on us. I'd rather not give anyone another excuse to look too closely."

Akiko winced. She said nothing. Just tightened her grip on the harness straps.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The silence stretched.

Outside, the Yard drew closer, its jagged silhouette resolving into detail. Gantries. Dock lines. Cargo scaffolds like the bones of forgotten ships.

Akiko took a breath. She didn't know what waited for them inside the Yard, but whatever it was, she'd face it. Because there was no more running. Not this time.

"This is Driftknight, requesting berth," Kara said into the comm. Her tone was clipped, measured. The kind of voice that didn't leave room for questions.

A moment of static. Then a curt reply:

"Acknowledged, Driftknight. Proceed to Dock Clamp 47-Gamma. That's the best we've got for you."

Kara's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Something more like resignation.

"Of course it is," she muttered, flicking a control to mute her outgoing channel. She turned to Quinn.

"You heard them," she said. "Take us in. Carefully."

"Carefully's my middle name," Quinn quipped, fingers already in motion. "Well. Not officially. But unofficially? Sure."

Kara gave him a look. "Just get it done."

Akiko let their banter wash over her.

Their assigned clamp—47-Gamma—sat nestled in a shadowed corner of the station's sprawl. Out of the way. Easy to overlook. Easy to deny if Haven came sniffing. A convenient place to disappear.

Akiko's grip tightened on the harness across her chest. She tried not to read into it. Tried not to let the tension burrow too deep.

The Yard buzzed with movement. Small silhouettes flitted between platforms. Dockhands, salvagers, people with jobs and purpose. She should have felt curiosity. Wonder. Even awe. But instead, she felt displacement. Again.

She exhaled slowly.

Everyone aboard the Driftknight had their place. Tanya ran point in ops. Lila knew the ship's guts better than her own. Even Quinn, for all his flair, kept the vessel flying.

And Akiko? She patched things. Fought when needed. Helped where she could. But she wasn't a core component. Not like the others. Back home, that hadn't mattered. Her chaos had been strength. Her magic, unpredictable but hers. The adventuring life hadn't cared if she fit, it had cheered her for not. But here, structure ruled. Every action calculated. Every risk measured. It chafed.

She couldn't let it show. She'd made that mistake before, more than once. And it had always cost her.

Kaede's face surfaced in memory. Stern. Protective. Hurt.

Akiko shoved it down.

She wasn't going to lose another family because she couldn't sit still.

A voice snapped over the comm: "Driftknight, you're cleared to proceed. Keep your business quiet and quick."

"Understood," Kara replied.

She glanced back at Akiko, expression unreadable. Then returned her focus to the console.

"Strap in tight. Retro burn in thirty."

Akiko nodded. Her fingers curled tighter around the straps.

The engines murmured to life beneath them.

She cast one last look through the viewport.

The Yard sprawled beneath them now, dark metal and flickering light, stretching like a graveyard of forgotten ambitions. The Driftknight shuddered as the retro thrusters fired. A low vibration rolled through the hull.

On the console, the docking display traced a smooth trajectory. The ship slid into position without drift or sway.

"Mag-clamps engaging," Quinn announced, flipping switches in rhythmic succession.

A soft metallic thunk echoed through the frame.

"And we're in," he said, grinning. "Another flawless landing brought to you by yours truly."

Kara exhaled, clearly not amused. She tapped the console, transmitting confirmation.

"Driftknight secured at Dock Clamp 47-Gamma," she said, voice clipped.

A moment of static. Then: "Acknowledged. You know the rules."

The channel went dead.

Kara turned to face them all. Her gaze swept the bridge like a sweep of floodlight.

"We're docked. Keep your heads down. No drama. Akiko, with me."

Akiko unfastened her harness and caught the nearest handrail, pulling herself into a smooth float. Her muscles still ached, but she matched Kara's pace. They moved together through the narrow corridors. The hum of the ship surrounded them, steady and familiar.

"Anything I should know?" Akiko asked as they neared the airlock.

Kara didn't glance back. "Keep your head down. We're here to unload and disappear. No theatrics. No incidents. Understood?"

Akiko nodded. "Understood."

They passed the engineering bay. Lila was anchored at her console, surrounded by tools and datapads, hands already in motion.

"Lila," Kara called. Sharp. Focused.

Lila turned, one brow raised.

"Start with the usual channels," Kara said. "Quietly. I want buyers lined up by the time we offload."

Lila's eyes narrowed. "You're serious? After the heat we've drawn?"

"Make it work." Kara's tone left no room to argue. "Subtle, but fast. We can't afford to sit on the cargo."

Lila sighed, already pulling up encrypted listings. "No miracles, Kara."

Kara gave a curt nod. "Just results."

Akiko followed as Kara moved on. She gave Lila a passing glance, already muttering curses into her datapad, and pushed off to catch up.

At the airlock, Kara tapped the controls. The cycle began with a soft hiss.

"Low profile," Kara said again. "We're already on thin ice."

"I get it," Akiko murmured.

The doors slid open. Ambient noise spilled in. Mechanical whines, low thuds, the muted murmur of voices. The maintenance bay was dim, grime-streaked and patchworked with mismatched plating. It smelled like machine oil and heat, like recycled air filtered through too many miles of rust.

Dock Clamp 47-Gamma was far from welcoming. But it was farther still from Haven's reach.

A necessary trade.

Kara floated ahead, each movement sharp with purpose. Akiko followed in silence.

The further they drifted from the dock, the louder the Yard became. Distant voices, grinding machinery, bursts of laughter and shouted orders echoing through metal halls.

The place was alive. A scavenged heart still beating. The Yard was a fortress stitched from ship corpses. Corridors twisted between hulls, platforms bridged with repurposed catwalks and jury-rigged bulkheads. Every joint bore the scars of survival.

Kara didn't speak. She moved like someone who belonged.

Akiko didn't.

Her thoughts slipped backward. The last time she'd been here, the regret had been fresh. Not about the battles, but about who she'd left behind.

Anna. Bright and kind, all quick smiles and stubborn hope. A spark of warmth in the sterile chill of the Sovereign. Akiko had never known how to thank her, only how to leave.

And Ethan. All charm and smirk and barely-contained chaos. His flirtation had been more than bravado. She'd seen it in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

She'd walked away from him too.

No choice. Not after the cuffs. Not after the masks came off. Once the crew saw her for what she was. A kitsune, not just a curiosity.

Her ears flattened at the memory.

The Sovereign had been a cage dressed as a home. Rigid. Cold. Still, she'd found moments in it. Threads of connection she hadn't expected.

And tearing free from them had cost her something she still didn't have words for.

She gripped the handrail tighter. Focused forward.

Kara slowed at a junction, scanning the signs bolted haphazardly to the walls. Some stenciled, others hand-painted, most outdated.

She nodded toward a corridor angling upward. The lighting shifted, dim yellows giving way to clearer whites.

Akiko followed, pulling herself forward along the handrails. The air thickened. Warmer. Grime-scented. The sharp bite of heated metal blended with the low tang of lubricant.

This was the heart of the Yard.

The hum of industry pressed closer. Welding sparks flared in alcoves. The clatter of tools echoed from side corridors. Voices passed in fragments. Bartering, arguing, laughing. Life carved from scrap.

Her chest tightened.

She hadn't expected to care. Not at first. But somewhere between the chaos and silence, the Driftknight had started to feel… close. Home, in its way.

Raya came to mind first. Stern when she needed to be. Always watching. Always there. Her reprimands stung, but they were rooted in something gentler. Care, maybe. Or something more fragile neither of them dared to name.

Tanya came next. Their start had been friction, resentment wrapped in protocol. Akiko had brought Tomas down when he lost himself to the entity's influence. The crew hadn't forgiven that easily.

But time shifted things. She'd taken up tools when needed. Learned the rhythms of maintenance, the unspoken rules of the engine bay. Tanya had met her halfway, eventually. Mutual respect, born not of convenience but of effort.

The Driftknight was different. No ranks barked orders. No surveillance hung in the air like a net.

The Sovereign had structure, precision, security.

The Driftknight had trust. Adaptability. Scraped-together systems and people who chose to be there, even when they didn't have to.

It wasn't always comfortable, and Akiko still felt like an interloper sometimes. But there were spaces where she fit. Moments that made her feel seen.

Her fingers tightened on the handrail.

The corridors wound tighter, bulkheads narrowing, light pooling in uneven glows. She followed Kara without speaking.

She wasn't sure if she belonged here. But she was willing to try. Willing to put her life on the line for them.

The elevator looked like it had been salvaged from three different ships and stapled together. Its walls were a patchwork of mismatched panels, each humming faintly with the strain of worn-out motors.

Two guards flanked the entrance. Weapons slung. Eyes sharp. Their attention snapped to Akiko and Kara the moment they rounded the corner.

"Identification," one said. Flat voice, clipped vowels. Not unfriendly, but clearly not here to banter.

Kara didn't hesitate. She reached into her jacket and produced a small, scuffed ID card. No theatrics. Just efficient defiance.

The guard took it, scanned the embedded seal, and gave a short nod.

"Clear." He pressed a control panel beside the door.

The elevator groaned to life. The doors ground open, metal dragging metal.

"Let's go," Kara said, already pulling herself inside with practiced ease.

Akiko followed, gripping a handrail as the doors rattled closed behind them.

The lift lurched upward, anchoring them to the ground. The lights overhead flickered with each shift in momentum, casting the walls in stuttering pulses of amber and shadow.

Akiko glanced sideways.

Kara stood still, one hand braced against the railing. Her face was unreadable, gaze fixed ahead.

The elevator's hum filled the silence. A low, mechanical heartbeat.

Akiko's thoughts drifted again. Not to the guards. Not even to the meeting ahead, but to the air between them.

So much left unsaid.

The floor numbers ticked past in dull succession, each one a step closer to something heavy.

Akiko closed her eyes briefly. Just long enough to steady her breath.

The climb continued.

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