They took everything.

Father’s dead. House Atreides broken. The skies above Arrakis burn with Harkonnen flame.

You’re gagged. Hands tied, blood drying at your temple. Jessica’s beside you. Paul is across from you — face unreadable, eyes burning. But he sees you. Only you.

And he’s not afraid.

He tilts his head just slightly — the Bene Gesserit signal embedded in the twitch of his fingers:

The scarred one is deaf.

Your pulse kicks up. His fingers twitch again, more subtle now. You understand him. Always have.

He’s already calculating.

Your eyes snap to the trooper’s face. Scar cutting down past his ear. Good.

You shift your weight slowly, wrists raw against rope. The pilot is distracted. The air is loud. Jessica is watching the shadows under the seat like a hawk. Something’s there. Something hidden.

Paul tilts his head toward you — not a look, exactly, more of a warning. The kind that says: Don’t do anything reckless. Not yet.

But you’ve trained for this. You were born for this sand-swept silence and blood-forged legacy.

You nod, once.

The air around him tightens — you feel it. Like the thopter is holding its breath.

“They think we’re dead already,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Let them.”

The troopers chuckle. Talk about worms. About letting the desert take you like trash.

Paul’s knuckles shift just slightly against yours. You know that signal, too:

We’re getting out.

You glance at Jessica. Her eyes are locked on Paul. On you.

You don’t need words.

Because you were trained too.

Not just the Way of the Voice. Not just Bene Gesserit presence or Atreides tactics. You know how to wait. You know how to strike when the silence hangs heavy enough to crack.

The ornithopter shudders.

“We’re over the deep desert now,” the pilot grunts.

Paul’s eyes flick to you. One signal: Ready.

The third trooper shifts. Turns toward Paul with a smirk.

“You look just like your father did, right before he got killed.”

Paul doesn’t flinch. Just stares, unreadable. The kind of quiet that makes men nervous.

You tense, wrists still bound, heart pounding like it knows the moment’s close.

The trooper leans in slightly, voice low. “You think this desert will save you? It buries everything. Royals. Prophets. Even ghosts.”

Paul tilts his head — just enough. “Then I guess we’ll see what survives.”

The trooper laughs.

But he doesn’t notice the way Jessica’s fingers shift beneath her bindings.

Or the glint of metal under your seat.

Not yet.