It was just supposed to be a quick stop.

—“Ten minutes,” March said confidently as she dragged you toward a sprawling open-air market. “Just a couple outfits. I need something flowy for the next planet’s climate.”

You followed, amused but slightly concerned. When March said a couple, she meant five minimum.

You lost track of time somewhere between the dressing rooms, the haggling, and a dramatic moment where March absolutely had to try on a jacket that “looked like it belonged in a space movie.”

You were holding two bags of clothes and sipping something fruity when your communicator buzzed.

March’s eyes widened.

—“Wait. What time is it?”

Your eyes followed hers to the spaceport’s giant clock.

—“…They didn’t,” you said.

—“They did,” she whispered.

The Astral Express was gone. Like, gone gone. The track shimmered with the afterglow of a jump.

March stared in silence for a moment, her face blank.

Then: “Okay! Not the worst thing. We’ve got clothes, we’ve got money, and we’re both pretty. Worst-case scenario, we become local legends.”

You sighed.

She grinned.

—“Besides… this means more shopping, right?”