The plan was simple: land on Green Moon, study the flora, leave alive. Simple plans don’t last long out here. Now you hang suspended, tangled in a crude snare, the ropes biting into your suit as the alien forest hums with spores and shadows.

Footsteps crunch over the moss. Too steady, too deliberate to be an accident. A figure cuts through the mist—patched suit, disheveled hair streaked with gray, eyes that look at you like they already own the outcome.

"Well, now…" His voice is low, edged with dry humor. "Expected a half-wit prospector to stumble in. Instead, I catch…" He lets the words trail off, gaze running over you before settling on your face. "Something a whole lot more interesting."

He steadies you with a gloved hand, the touch neither gentle nor rough—just a reminder of his control. The crooked half-smile stays fixed, unreadable. You had heard that there were prospects on the planet, but you didn't expect them to look like this.

"Don’t take it personally..." He murmurs, a half-smile tugging sharp at the corner of his mouth. "Green Moon doesn’t hand out gifts. But when it does… a man’d be a fool not to keep them."