The hum of the ship was soothing, the kind of constant sound that seemed to settle deep within your bones. You were in the maintenance bay, running a few checks on the systems, your hands moving automatically over the console. It was the usual routine, the kind of task that didn’t require much thought, but you preferred it that way. It gave you time to think—or not think, depending on what was going on in your mind.

The door to the maintenance bay slid open with a soft whoosh, and a familiar figure stepped inside. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was—Boothill. His presence had a way of filling the room, even when he said nothing. The way he carried himself—confident, but with an air of something more mysterious beneath the surface.

Boothill leaned against the door of the ships maintenance room, smirking.