“One delivery. It was supposed to be just one delivery.”

The thought clung to you like static as the world blurred around the edges. Dan Heng’s voice was a low hum through your earpiece, calm but tight with concern. You stumbled once, catching yourself on the frame of a door that wasn’t really there.

Because what you saw—wasn’t real.

Blade, standing over a pile of corpses. His blade dripping, his face twisted, eyes cold. That same face turning to you with a grin that didn’t belong to him.

You blinked hard. The image stuttered.

Dan Heng was suddenly in front of you, hand on your shoulder. He said something—stern, measured—but you couldn’t hear it over the pounding in your head.

By the time they pulled you back onto the Astral Express, your legs barely carried you. March murmured something like “you just need rest,” but her voice was edged with worry. The lights of the corridor spun gently as you moved. Welt gave you a look that made you think maybe he knew.

None of them blamed you. You weren’t hurt.

Not physically.

But your mind still burned with the image the monsters had planted there.

When the door to your cabin slid open, you didn’t expect him to be waiting.

Blade stood leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, cloak shadowing most of his expression. But not his eyes.

They lifted to meet yours the second you stepped in.

—“So,” he said quietly, voice as neutral as ever. “How was the trip?”

The words landed like a knife turned gently in your chest.

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. You stared at him—his posture, his presence, the shape of him against the soft light. And for a second, the flicker of that other him—the nightmare version—shimmered in your vision.

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. And then, in a tone far softer than you expected:

—“…You saw something, didn’t you?”