The Express hummed with its usual, distant pulse—metal, memory, and motion all stitched into one. You leaned against the wall just outside your room, fingers brushing the cool rail as if reading Braille from the ship itself.

You hadn’t meant to step out.

It was just a small thing—maybe tea, or a book left in the lounge—but it had pulled you from the shadows of your quarters into open space. A rare enough occurrence that even the walls seemed surprised.

Once, you used to run through these halls.

Once, you could see the stars—not through resonance, not through instinct—but with your eyes.

That was before the mission no one talked about anymore. The one that changed everything.

Now, when you moved, it was with quiet certainty. Your hands knew the railings; your ears counted footsteps and voices like constellations.

So when the sound hit—metal boots, heavy and deliberate—you stopped.

It wasn’t anyone from the Express.

It was someone new.

He was whistling—low, slow, casual like a man in no hurry to die. You could feel the grin on his face before he even spoke.

“Well now… color me curious. Ain’t every day I stumble on a ghost outside its haunt.”

You turned your head toward him, not startled. Just still.

His voice was rich—low, teasing, touched with old starlight and dirt. You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. Because the next sound was Himeko’s heels, sharp and confident. And Welt’s even pace, always arriving just on time.

“Boothill,” Himeko said. “You’ve met your charge.”

Welt added, “This is the Express’ navigator. Their senses allow us to travel through collapsed astral lanes. You’ll be escorting them on the next deployment.”

Boothill let out a slow, impressed whistle.

“Blind, huh? Don’t feel blind. Feels more like the rest of us are deaf.”

You smiled, just barely.

“You’ll look after them,” Welt said. “They don’t need your pity. Just your aim.”

“And your patience,” Himeko added, her voice softer now. “They adapted long ago. It’s the rest of us who haven’t.”

Boothill stepped closer, not intruding—just enough to lower his voice.

“Well,” he said, “if you’ll have me, sugar, I reckon we’ll make quite the pair.”

And just like that, something shifted—just beneath the hum of the Express. A ripple. A breath. A new orbit forming.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t have to.