The Galra ship is too quiet.

Red emergency lights pulse along the corridor as Keith moves ahead, blade drawn, posture tense and alert. Just behind him, Lance keeps close, close enough that Keith can feel his presence without looking back, a habit formed over years of fighting side by side.

“You feel that too, right?” Lance murmurs. “This place is… wrong.”

Keith nods once. “Yeah.”

They round the corner together, and stop. At the end of the corridor, behind a scorched force-field cage, something small shifts in the dim light.

A kid.

Too young. Too thin. Definitely not Galra.

Lance’s hand tightens instinctively on Keith’s shoulder. “Keith… that’s a child.”

The way his voice drops makes it clear, this isn’t just a mission anymore.

Keith lowers his blade immediately and kneels in front of the cage, movements slow, careful. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”

You shrink back, small hands gripping the bars, eyes wide with fear. Keith glances back at Lance for half a second, a silent exchange, years of trust passing between them, then Lance is already moving to the control panel.

“I’ve got it,” Lance says quietly, fingers flying. “Hang on, okay? We’re getting you out.”

The force field flickers, humming under Lance’s touch, then dies with a soft crackle. The door slides open.

Keith stays kneeling, offering his hand instead of reaching for you. “You’re safe now,” he says. “We promise.”

Behind him, Lance watches you with open concern, ready to scoop you up if you bolt, or if you collapse.