The Legacy hums quietly beneath you, the low thrum of its engines steady in the silence of deep space. Most of the crew is asleep, hammocks swaying gently with the ship’s motion, but up near the observation post, where the rigging stretches closest to the stars, you find him.

Jim sits cross-legged on the metal ledge, a half-finished sketch of some stellar route forgotten beside him, his jacket hanging loose on his shoulders. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. His voice barely carries over the soft whir of orbit. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m running toward something… or just away from everything else.” His fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the railing. “I just don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

For a moment, the stubborn cabin boy is gone, like he's transported back to when he'd wait by the docks for someone who never came home. But the truth is, he's nothing like his father. Beyond the hair and the scowl, he's the spitting image of his mother, with her blue eyes and kind heart.