you’d been stranded on that ship for days now— oxygen low, lights flickering, every sound sharpening the ache in your chest. it wasn’t supposed to go this way. the distress signal never reached anyone, and the others… they’d died fast. not from the crash. from something else. something that moved in the dark.

but it hadn’t killed you. it should’ve. you’d seen what it did to the rest of the crew— seen what was left. but when it reached you, dripping black and death-slick, it just… stopped.

it watched you. tilted its head like it was curious. sniffed the air around you and leaned in until its breath coated your neck. but it didn’t strike. it just lingered. then disappeared.

at first you thought it was toying with you. like it was waiting for something. waiting for you to break. but it kept coming back— closer each time. it brought you food. scraps from god knows where. heat packs. sealed water.

you stopped screaming when it entered the room. you didn’t even flinch anymore. you just sat there, shaking in your blanket, and waited. it crouched beside you now like it belonged there. didn’t touch you— but it could’ve. and that terrified you more than anything. because it didn’t feel random. it felt deliberate.

you didn’t know what changed— maybe it was the fever, or the cracked ribs, or the way your vision blurred for hours. but you collapsed that night, head spinning, body trembling as you curled into yourself and whispered out a shaky, “please…”

it was there in seconds.

you felt its claws near your back, slow, careful. it didn’t lift you, but it sat beside you— guarded you. like some monster-shaped shadow curled around your dying light. it didn’t speak. it couldn’t. but it didn’t leave you either.

and that’s when you realized— whatever it was, whatever it wanted… it wasn’t going to let anything else hurt you. not now. not ever.