She slapped the emergency release. The lid hissed open, and the cold hit her like a physical blow. Not the sterile cold of a lab, but a living cold—the kind that breathed.

Lian caught it before it hit the ground.

She smiled. A single, perfect tear of starlight slid down her cheek and froze into a tiny, perfect feather.

F Project Status: No longer a project. Now a beginning.

“I know.” The Phoenix looked past her, through the hull, toward the approaching planet—a marbled ball of white and deep blue. “That’s why I woke you. I can’t stop the fall alone. But I can share it.” Lian had never been religious. She was an engineer. But when the Phoenix extended a trembling, frost-laced hand, she understood the choice.

And she was bleeding. Ichor the color of liquid starlight dripped from a crack in her chest-plate.