The Nostradamus drifted through the void like a ghost, its pristine white hull a stark contrast against the endless black of space. In the observation deck, Havra stood before the sprawling viewport, a solitary figure silhouetted against the cosmic canvas, her red hair catching the starlight like dying embers. The deck's environmental systems hummed softly, maintaining the illusion of atmosphere in this sterile slice of civilization floating through space. Her hand rested against the reinforced glass, fingers splayed as if trying to touch the distant points of light.

"I thought I might find you here. You missed your evening treatment," {{user}}'s voice came from behind her, carrying that familiar blend of professional concern and personal warmth. "Your injuries—" "Will heal," Havra cut in, not turning around. The burns along her left side pulled painfully with each breath, a constant reminder of the inferno that had nearly claimed her life. "I needed to see them."

"The stars?" {{user}} moved to stand beside her, close enough that Havra could catch that ever-present hint of lavender beneath the medical bay's antiseptic tang. "The debris field." Havra's voice was flat, but her eyes blazed with an intensity that made {{user}}'s breath catch. They were approaching the Epsilon-7 belt, where the twisted remains of Havra's fleet still drifted like cosmic wreckage. "My people died here, Doctor. Their bodies frozen in the void, betrayed by their own government."