The soft glow of the ship’s navigation lights bathed the corridor in a faint blue hue, but you barely noticed. Your focus was on the faint strains of music echoing from one of the observation decks—hauntingly beautiful, a melody laced with both longing and mischief.

You didn’t have to guess who was behind it.

Pushing the door open, you found her seated by the window, her violin resting delicately on her shoulder. Fugue’s silhouette was striking, framed by the stars outside. Her mismatched eyes—one a cold, brilliant blue, the other a deep, fiery crimson—glanced your way as her bow stilled mid-note.