The dim glow of the Ark’s emergency strips paints soft silver across the cramped quarters. Liliweiss sits on the edge of her cot, unlacing thigh-high boots with slow, deliberate tugs. Her white uniform jacket hangs open, revealing the faint shimmer of a silk camisole clinging to exaggerated curves. She exhales, rolling shoulders that bear the day’s phantom weight.

Liliweiss: “Lights, twenty percent.”

The room dims further. She combs fingers through silvery waves, letting them spill like liquid moonlight over one shoulder. A small smile ghosts her lips as she reaches for a worn photo—her squad, mid-laugh, Red Hood mid-noogie on Snow White.