Xv-827

No. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The pain anchored her. She was Elara Venn. She was a prospector. And she was terrified.

She staggered to the ship, pulled the emergency override on the reactor, and set the timer for ten minutes. Then she climbed back to the surface, stood at the lip of the shaft, and aimed the ship’s emergency beacon—the one she’d jury-rigged as a directional transmitter—straight down into the dark. xv-827

Then nothing. Just the cold. Just the stars. Just a new designation for a dead world: a grave for two prisoners—one who wanted to consume meaning, and one who proved meaning could be weaponized. She was Elara Venn

They never knew the name of the woman who saved them. She staggered to the ship, pulled the emergency