S01E06 · The Chip (Kai)

(Chapter Five of Legacy, Book One of the Orriona Universe)

ORRIONA: S01E06 · The Chip

Kai Kyros has survived eight years on Edgepoint Station by being invisible. Every night he deals cards at Lucky 9 casino—except he doesn't actually work there. The casino just never noticed an extra dealer who never appears on payroll. Magnets in his gloves. Marks who think they're skilled. Credits that keep him fed one more day.

It's a system. It works. And systems are safe when you have nothing else.

Tonight should be like every other night—run the con, read the marks, disappear before security notices. But then Ieoa walks in. The only person who knows who Kai really is beneath the careful masks and calculated angles. The only person who's ever really seen him.

When Kai retreats to the shadows he calls home, he has a choice to make. The notification glows on his screen: crew contract, position gunner, vessel Orriona. Three hours to respond.

He could ignore it. Keep running the tables, keep surviving in the spaces between notice and consequence. It's worked this long.

But in his pocket sits a reminder that some people believe he's capable of more than survival. And the clock is ticking down to a decision that will either carry him beyond Edgepoint's stagnant orbit—or prove that some shadows are too comfortable to leave.

WHAT TO EXPECT:

1. Audio drama adaptation of Legacy with cinematic sound design
2. A queer-norm galaxy (no homophobia, no coming-out angst—just space adventures)
3. A con artist facing an honest choice
4. Found family origins and fractured connections
5. The weight of survival and the cost of hope
6. Grand, hopeful adventure with a massive heart

CONTENT NOTES: Survival themes, implied poverty, gambling, deception, isolation

WHERE TO PURCHASE THE BOOK: Currently in Kindle Unlimited. Visit https://www.orriona.com/ and subscribe to the newsletter for more information about wider availability and free content.

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Welcome aboard. The Driftline awaits.

#QueerSciFi #AudioDrama #SpaceOpera

ORRIONA - Book 1 - Legacy - Chapter 5 - "The Chip" - Kai - Outside Lucky 9 Casino - Edgepoint Station.

Sweat, perfumes, food remnants, and species specific pheromones created an invisible fog that settled in Kai's lungs with each breath.

Level 9 occupied an awkward social tier within Edgepoint's vertical hierarchy. Not wealthy enough for genuine luxury, not desperate enough for honest squalor. Instead, it cultivated a carefully maintained illusion.

Smuggled synthetic wood panels covering corroded metal. Lighting designed to hide stains rather than illuminate them. Drinks served in actual glass rather than recycled materials.

People with just enough credits to pretend they belonged somewhere better.

Hey baby, wanna party?

Oh, he is hella cute!

Right? Damn.

Security cameras rotated overhead in program pattern, their subtle movements masked by the throbbing bass from three competing lounges nearby. Kai claimed an empty table positioned exactly 17 meters from the nearest functional camera.

He settled into the dealer's chair, shoulders rounded with practiced weariness, head tilted at the angle of someone completing a 12 hour shift. Every movement contributed to the illusion, from his slightly loosened collar to the faint coffee stain on his left cuff.

His position offered dual advantages. Visibility to potential marks exiting the casino, yet strategic blindness to security systems.

Two months of observation had mapped the station's surveillance gaps to the minute. Camera 16B suffered from a damaged servo that caused a three second freeze every rotation.

Camera 19C couldn't accommodate for the light refraction from the corridor's curved ceiling. And tonight Greven manned the security desk, a man whose attention spanned exactly as far as the IMZ Hover Brawl semifinals.

Playing on his personal screen, Kai's hands moved through familiar patterns with the deck, cards slipped between his fingers with ease, each shuffle creating satisfying acoustic signatures that drew attention without demanding it. The worn pasteboard felt warm against his skin, the metallic threads embedded within responding to the magnets concealed within his gloves.

To any observer, he appeared as nothing more than an off duty casino employee extending his workday with unofficial games, extra credits through unofficial channels, a practice tacitly permitted by management who understood their dealers earned more from after hours play than sanctioned wages. Except Kai had never worked a legitimate shift at Lucky 9. Never applied, never interviewed, never clocked in.

The casino had simply failed to notice an extra dealer who never appeared on payroll. Kai's hands moved through shuffling routines without conscious thought.

The cards felt worn against his skin, casino stock with enough history to fool those who thought they knew quality. People trusted the unremarkable.

A group of Cherra mineral miners lumbered past, their thick fur coated with gray residue from asteroid belts light years away. The distinctive smell of Torvinium dust followed them, a scent no station scrubber could fully remove.

Kai adjusted his posture with subtle intent, shoulders angled at 20 degrees, head tilted with just enough deference to acknowledge their physical dominance without suggesting submission.

Their peripheral vision registered him as non threatening, a background element, while their conscious attention remained on the off duty pleasures waiting ahead. Care for a game? He asked, his voice balanced between casual invitation and professional courtesy.

The question hung in the recycled air, a hook cast with invisible line. Three separate marks paused, then gravitated toward his table, their approach as predictable as planetary orbits pulled by forces they couldn't name.

The trader arrived first, settling his bulk onto the chair with a soft wheeze. His uniform jacket strained across a stomach cultivated through years of business dinners and stress drinking.

Behind the false confidence in his eyes lurked something desperate a need to prove his competence through victory. His fingers tapped rhythmic patterns against credit chips worth a week's honest labor.

Next came the mechanic, tension evident in the muscles bunched beneath his coveralls. A stim stick crackled between his teeth, releasing small spurts of blue vapor with each nervous bite.

His eyes tracked each card's movement with obsessive attention. Someone who'd studied just enough theory to believe they could beat a rigged system.

The spacer completed the trio, dropping into her seat with a sense of nonchalance. Engine lubricant smeared her wrists and embedded beneath fingernails no scrubber below level 12 could clean.

Her posture suggested familiarity with risk who'd navigated asteroid fields and smuggling runs. Yet her eyes revealed inexperience with the particular danger.

Sitting across from her perfect alignment, Kai shifted into a more casual stance, shoulders lowered, spine curved, the posture of someone seeking companionship rather than profit. His entire body told a story contradicting his intentions. The game began in this silent negotiation, long before the first card touched the table.

Cards, huh?

The Mechanic couldn't hide his skepticism. His gaze bounced between Kai's face and the deck, searching for tells.

"Sector sweep," Kai explained, placing the cards at the exact center of the table. F"ive credit buy in face cards count as zero. You aim for 17.5 credits a swap. Two swaps maximum. Winner takes the pot."

The trader's eyebrows knitted together.

Seventeen's an odd target.

Kai tilted his head, allowing a hint of challenge to curve his lips. "Keeps things interesting. But if that makes you uncomfortable, nobody's forcing you to play."

Pride worked faster than logic. The trader's jaw tightened, one hand already depositing a credit chit onto the table's surface.

The mechanic hesitated three seconds. Kai counted them silently before joining. The spacer added her contribution. Eyes narrowed with analytical focus.

They weren't just buying into the game. They were buying into him. Kai matched their bets, then dealt with unhurried movements. Each card settled exactly where he intended.

The players revealed themselves through micro expressions. The mechanic's stim stick vibrated against his teeth, its crackling intensifying.

The traitor's index finger tapped an accelerating rhythm against his card edges. The spacer held still, only her eyes moving, Years of hard losses evident in her restraint. She exchanged one card, then requested a second.

Kai fulfilled both requests, the hidden magnets in his gloves steering the outcome with invisible certainty. The mechanic discarded his worst card, immediately, snatching the replacement with raw eagerness.

The traitor held his cards, satisfaction radiating from his posture. The reveal unfolded like theater. The spacer turned over 15 points with a resigned exhale.

The mechanics 14 prompted a curse that snapped his stim stick in half. The traitor displayed his perfect 17 with exaggerated triumph, turning each card with smug flare.

Kai shaped his face into artificial yet believable disappointment as he pushed the modest pot toward the winner. Early victory ensured deeper investment. Another round. Kai kept his expression welcoming. Open.

The mechanic squinted with suspicion, but dropped additional credits onto the felt. The hook set deeper than his doubts. Hand after hand blended together. Credits accumulated and shifted in mesmerizing patterns.

The spacer won just enough to maintain hope. The traitor's losses mounted, feeding his determination to recover.

Two casino employees emerged from the main entrance, their argument about shift assignments echoing across the promenade.

I ain't gonna work that.

Oh, you gonna have to, girl. Otherwise, Lola gonna get your ass.

Kai's heart rate spiked, but their dispute consumed their attention as they moved past without a glance in his direction. The traitor finally slammed his last credits down. Jaw tight with frustration, Kai dealt him a hand meticulously designed to push him beyond reason.

When the cards revealed his Loss. The traitor stormed away, his vocabulary deteriorating with each heavy step.

A cleaning bot paused beside the table, optical sensors sweeping across the scene. Kai exhaled slowly, adopting the indifferent slouch characteristic of genuine employees.

Angling his face away from identification protocols, the bot's assessment routines concluded he warranted no further scrutiny, and it continued its programmed path. The spacer studied her remaining credits, mental calculations clear in her expression. She would return tomorrow.

Convinced she'd identified patterns in his technique, Kai memorized her face.

The scar along her left temple, the distinctive green tattoo of a Veralix kitten on her neck, ensuring he'd be nowhere near this section when she came hunting. The Promenade's atmosphere changed in an instant. Conversations faltered mid sentence. Heads turned.

The ambient noise receded as collective attention shifted to the figure approaching from the main concourse. She moved through the space with such absolute certainty that the station seemed to acknowledge her passage.

Crowds partying without conscious decision. Her attire spoke volumes about her status.

Silver threads woven through white fabric caught the overhead lights, transforming ordinary illumination into something mesmerizing. The material itself hung against her frame without a single wrinkle, defying the physical laws that governed lesser textiles.

Every element, from the asymmetrical collar to the subtle cascade of the hem, announced intentional design and astronomical expense. But her presence transcended mere clothing.

She carried herself with the confidence born from knowing exactly where she stood within Edgepoint's complex hierarchy.

At the very top, looking down, Kai's hand stilled over the cards, his fortified mask slipping for just a moment to allow a genuine smile to break through before he could suppress it. Eight years of friendship compressed into a single heartbeat of recognition.

Ieoa, his oldest ally, confidant and partner in countless schemes, their shared history ran deeper than most could comprehend.

Bonded as stowaways on a freighter they'd believed had toward prosperity, only to be abandoned on Edgepoint like unwanted cargo, she outshone everyone he'd encountered in his life. Her public Persona, the cool, untouchable socialite, revealed only a fragment of her true capabilities.

During standard cycles, she worked as a master cryptolinguist, deciphering quantum encryption patterns that academic institutions would sacrifice fortunes to access. Her movement through Edgepoint's social strata allowed her to harvest opportunities invisible to lesser players.

Station lighting traced familiar patterns across her features as she approached, highlighting the slight upward curve of her left eyebrow, the barely visible scar at her hairline. From their first month on station, time had altered them both, but their connection remained undiminished.

In an instant, he read everything in her stance.

Triumph shadowed by uncertainty, opportunity undermined by risk Some bonds transcended verbal communication forged through shared hunger and strengthened through survival. Credit Chit landed on his table with a deliberate clink.

Ieoa's half smile followed the expression that could dismantle empires given sufficient motivation and opportunity.

Deal me in.

The question rolled from her tongue like expensive synth wine sweetness concealing layers of intent beneath. Their eyes met briefly, she assessed his strategy in seconds. The almost imperceptible pause during his shuffle that indicated deck manipulation.

The slight tension in his left eyebrow when a mark fell into his trap. Instead of exposing his methods, she seamlessly integrated herself into his constructed reality, each gesture reinforcing the illusion he'd created.

The table's dynamic transformed with her arrival. The mechanic's restless movements settled into stillness. The spacer adjusted her posture, unconsciously mimicking Ieoa's poise.

Even the traitor who had sworn off playing returned, dropping new credits onto the felt.

Without meeting Kai's eyes, Ieoa commanded attention like a gravity well, her Level one fashion and controlled tone directing focus exactly where she intended. She became the central point of awareness, allowing Kai to operate within the shadows she cast.

His mouth curved slightly as he dealt her in cards, settling with expert control. Always room for one more, he said, matching her cultured intonation.

Within moments, they'd settled into established patterns, interactions honed in Edgepoint's depths when survival depended on interpreting each other's intentions through subtle cues. Those same skills now served a different purpose, sending Kai's pulse racing with familiar anticipation.

As players settled around the table, Ieoa's influence expanded outward.

Should I swap two?

Each gesture and carefully chosen phrase adjusted the atmosphere. Naughty, naughty. Oh, really? Suppressing doubt while stoking the hungry determination in their opponent's eyes. The credit pile grew with each hand.

Their marks weren't simply gambling anymore. They were purchasing moments in AoA's orbit.

Captivated by this unexpected glimpse of level one elegance in their ordinary corner, Kai maintained the game's momentum, orchestrating strategic losses to disguise the inevitable conclusion. Reading his friend's coded signals between plays. 17. He announced, spreading his final hand across the table with understated satisfaction.

Players responded with collective sighs, but Ieoa rose with smooth composure, offering laughter that somehow softened their disappointment.

The cards proved fickle tonight.

She observed her exit as strategically constructed as her entrance. The remaining players scattered complaints, dissolving into the station's background noise.

Kai tucked his earnings into an inner pocket, though he knew Ieoa's appearance tonight had nothing to do with small time wins. She glanced back over her left shoulder, a signal established years ago, meaning meet at the Usual place.

He navigated through the crowd with anonymity, weaving between station residents absorbed in higher level gossip, and found Ieoa waiting in a service corridor. The cramped metal passage smelled corroded and stale, but he could breathe easier here than at the table.

Away from artificial performances and watchful eyes, she pulled him into an embrace that stretched beyond their usual brief contact. Three seconds became five, then seven, an eternity by their standards of physical connection.

The unexpected duration sent a silent warning through his nervous system. Ieoa never extended such moments. Their physical exchanges were typically as efficient as their verbal ones.

This departure from established patterns told him everything. Before she spoke a word, the warmth of her body against his conjured unwelcome memories.

Huddling for survival in maintenance shafts during security sweeps, sharing body heat when level 22 lost power for three cycles. Vulnerabilities they both work to forget.

As she finally stepped back, Kai caught the slight tensing in her jaw, the fractional softening around her eyes. Bad news always made her features contradict each other.

Sector sweep?

Her voice carried notes of nostalgia. Another deviation from protocol. They never looked backward.

That's an old favorite.

"You're far from your hunting grounds," he said, coding genuine concern with casual inflection.

Ieoa's presence on lower levels had become rare since her ascension to the upper echelons, a deliberate strategy to maintain the status she'd painstakingly constructed.

I tried a few other places first.

She counted off locations on manicured fingers that once bore calluses from picking locks.

The betting circles on 20, the maintenance bay's on 11, where I actually saw Mick getting detained for the third time this cycle. Even that awful noodle place on 15 you pretend to hate.

She paused, eyes assessing him.

You've gotten better at vanishing. Just not good enough to hide from me.

Her statements settled between them, weighted with unspoken truths. Kai had avoided her, deliberately constructing routes and schedules designed specifically to minimize encounters.

He tensed, muscles contracting beneath his clothing as they both recognized this reality. Just as they understood what had driven her to track him down despite his efforts.

I'm leaving, Kai.

The words struck with impact that would leave no visible bruise. Kai's defensive walls activated instantly, mental shields locking into place with practiced efficiency.

His jaw tightened, expression setting into neutral lines that revealed nothing.

But Ieoa had fortified herself, similarly evident in the rigid line of her shoulders, in how her fingers drew abstract patterns against her sleeve, both of them performing, both pretending not to see through the other's constructed barriers. She never spoke the name. She didn't need to. Jorik Senn filled the space between them like toxic gas. Invisible but suffocating.

The station's most notorious information broker, whose operations extended far beyond Edgepoint's metal confines. Ieoa. Had always aimed for stakes beyond their childhood schemes.

While Kai manipulated cards and shadowed corners, she'd transformed herself into a rare commodity, the kind of asset that attracted attention from collectors of dangerous talents. A caustic taste rose in his throat. Was it jealousy watching her achieve the escape they'd once planned together?

Or fear for what that freedom might cost? He buried both reactions beneath a controlled smile, not to deceive her, but to provide the fiction she required.

Some lies became merciful, especially between friends who could read the truth beneath them. Ieoa pressed something cold into his palm. A credit chip.

Enough for passage off station.

Her voice carried gentle insistence that constricted his ribcage. Kai moved to return it, but her expression stopped him. That specific look that had kept them both alive through Edgepoint's darkest moments.

The one that brooked no argument.

Use it. You're worth more than what this station lets you become.

Her fingers lingered against his wrist, skin against skin, carrying years of unspoken understanding.

The galaxy doesn't pause to accommodate hesitation.

Her words penetrated deeper than expected, touching places he wasn't prepared to examine. The credit chip grew heavier in his hand, its edges cutting into his palm.

His throat tightened, potential responses forming and dissolving the before reaching his tongue. He recognized her choice carried danger. It wasn't safe, wasn't right, but remained hers to make. Perhaps that explained his inability to argue.

Their eyes held contact. Eight years of shared survival compressed into silent communication. Everything meaningful existed in that silence.

Concern and pride, affection and resignation. The complex reality of diverging paths.

These truths needed no vocalization, not between people who had learned to interpret entire conversations through subtle shifts in posture and gaze. Stay on the drift line, he said, invoking their oldest survival code, a phrase containing their history and his unvoiced fears.

Her half smile completed her armor. Already have it mapped, she answered, voice pitched just light enough to almost conceal the tremor beneath. Almost.

Her shift back to public Persona transformed her entire body. Shoulders squaring, chin lifting, movements becoming more economical.

Every adjustment announced, conclusions reached, choices made, connections severed. She hesitated at the corridor's threshold, turning for one final look at him.

The harsh overhead lighting struck her at an angle that stripped away years of careful construction. For an instant, Kai saw her as she had been, a fierce child huddled in a freighter's hold, sharing her last protein cube.

Because his hunger seemed greater than hers. Past and present merged like corrupted data, scavenged maintenance coveralls.

Becoming tailored elegance, desperate resourcefulness evolving into refined power.

Yet beneath these transformations, her core strength remained unchanged, the steel that had kept them both alive when survival seemed impossible between one heartbeat and the next, their shared history unfolded, lifting wallets and market crowds, constructing schemes born from desperation and intelligence, sharing escape dreams while watching ships dock and depart. Every con, every narrow escape, every triumph and terror that had shaped them into survivors. Then she blinked and time reasserted its authority.

The woman at the corridor's edge was simultaneously familiar and unrecognizable, forged in identical fires but evolved beyond Edgepoint's limitations.

Their eyes connected one final time, containing everything they'd been to each other, everything they might have become, everything they would never be again. She turned and vanished, her body disappearing into shadow with the efficiency that had saved her life countless times.

The station's mechanical rhythm reclaimed the emptiness. She left recycled air, pushing through corroded vents, failing light panels, counting seconds in irregular sequences.

Kai remained motionless, allowing familiar darkness to settle around him like protective clothing, feeling her absence expand into every available space. The corridor felt colder now, as if IOA had carried away essential warmth.

For a moment he considered pursuing her, saying more, convincing her to stay. The impulse evaporated as quickly as it formed. Ieoa had chosen her path. He secured the credit chip in his inner pocket and pushed away from the wall.

Station noise surrounded him again. People moved past, lights buzzed, and Edgepoint continued its indifferent cycle.

Kai turned toward the lift bank, jabbing at the corroded call button for level 19. The panel sparked beneath his touch, its wiring long extension exposed to the station's perpetual moisture.

Overhead indicators stuttered through a sequence of random numbers before settling on nothing at all. A harsh electronic tone cut through the corridor's ambient noise. Lift C responded.

Of course it would be C. The station's least reliable transport crawled upward with each mechanical complaint transmitted through the shaft walls. Its arrival announced itself with the smell of burnt circuitry before the doors even appeared.

When they finally opened, they caught halfway, jerking three times before surrendering to their full extension. The lift's interior lights pulsed at seizure inducing intervals, illuminating walls marked with handprints of questionable origin.

From hidden speakers, a jaunty tune played at quarter speed, transforming what might have been cheerful into something from a nightmare. The empty car waited, doors obediently open. Kai's muscles locked in place.

His memory conjured the images that had circulated through Edgepoint's underbelly last month, the mangled remains of Lyft C's latest victims, scattered across Level 22 after a catastrophic brake failure. Seven dead parts of an eighth never recovered. He stepped backward as the doors began their stuttering closure routine.

Ten levels of stairs suddenly seemed reasonable. He turned toward the emergency stairwell. A soft, harmonious chime pierced the corridor's background noise.

Lift A's doors parted without sound, revealing an interior bathed in even light. The soft glow reflected off polished surfaces untouched by the grime that coated everything else on Level nine.

No mysterious stains marked its floor, no exposed wiring threatened from its ceiling. Kai hesitated, scanning the access panel for errors. Lift A served the station's upper echelons exclusively.

Corporate representatives, station administrators, security officials with actual authority. Its biometric scanners rejected Anyone below level 5 clearance automatically, often with an accompanying security alert.

Yet here it stood, open and waiting, like an aristocrat who had inexplicably wandered into the wrong neighborhood. He glanced at the camera mounted above the lift bank, but its status light remained dark. Whatever the glitch, it wouldn't last long.

He stepped inside before the opportunity vanished. Where the other transport tubes rattled and shook, Lift A descended almost imperceptibly. Clean paneling lined the walls.

Instead of graffiti scarred metal, the air carried a faint scent of engineered citrus rather than the sour tang of recycled breath and bodies. The cabin slid downward with a subtle shift in gravity rather than the stomach dropping lurch of the standard cars.

Digital indicators tracked their passage with actual accuracy, not the flickering approximations common to public transport. Even moving downward through the station's hierarchy, Lift A maintained its composure, as if reluctant to acknowledge the decay waiting below.

The lift's climate controlled bubble burst against a wall of dense air thick with cooking grease and industrial runoff. He navigated pathways committed to memory, each turn calculated to avoid security sensors and territorial residences alike.

Shadow pooled in doorways and crevices, transforming mundane objects into lurking threats. Nothing moved as he passed. The predators recognized one of their own.

His home waited behind a section of wall where three maintenance pipes converged, creating a natural barrier.

Water leaked from corroded joints in steady metronomic drops, a sound that had accompanied his sleep for years, marking time when chronometers failed. The small alcove existed on no station, diagrams rendered invisible by corrupted schematics and strategic bribes.

Inside waited the sum of his existence, a mattress with compression dips that matched his body salvaged from Level 5's quarterly purge. A three legged table balanced against the wall. The weight distribution a perpetual puzzle. Torn images from shipping catalogs and travel brochures.

The towering spires of Meridian prime. Sleek courier vessels with names like Starstrider and Nova's Wake unexplored star systems with impossibly bright nebulae.

Scenes from lives he'd never live, Places he'd never see. His fingers found the holopad's activation strip, its worn surface smooth from thousands of touches.

The screen sparked to life, its cracked corner spreading rainbow distortions across the loading image. The gate holo network appeared, welcoming Void Runner117 back to its gleaming digital empire.

His avatar stood center screen, trophy raised high above his head, teammates flanking him in celebration. Tournament Champion Champions Quadrant Finals. Virtual confetti frozen mid fall.

Around them, his character War armor he'd earned through 200 hours of specialized missions. Sleek black plating with crimson inlays that marked him as one of the top players in the Quadrant.

The memory of winning that match surged through him. The rush as his final shot took down the opposing ship. The surge of genuine pride as teammates shouted congratulations through his headset.

For those moments he'd been someone who mattered, someone whose actions changed outcomes. The stark contrast between screen and surroundings struck him with renewed force.

Light from the wealthy digital world spilled across his threadbare blanket, casting its pitiful state into high definition. Ieoa's departure had cracked something fundamental in his perception.

How many nights had he hunched over this same screen while she'd built real connections, leveraged actual skills, transformed herself from station trash to someone with options?

The credits he'd spent on tournament entry fees and virtual gear upgrades could have purchased passage to three different systems all his supposed strength.

The ability to track multiple targets, coordinate team movements, analyze patterns in seconds amounted to nothing but colored lights on a scratched screen. His victories evaporated the moment he set the holopad down.

While Ieoa's efforts had culminated in genuine escape, the credit chip burned against his leg through his pocket this morning. It would have meant extensions for his premium account, perhaps the limited edition weapon skins he'd been eyeing for weeks.

Now it sat heavy with accusation, a physical reminder of eight years spent chasing shadows while real opportunities slipped past. His index finger slid across the message icon where Streaker, Webb, and Harley waited in team chat.

These digital companions knew his strategies, his preferences, his gaming history. But none would recognize him passing on the street.

None knew about the alcove behind leaking pipes, or how he marked cards when credits ran low, or why he avoided lift C even when the others had hour long queues.

For the first time that realization landed, he closed the chat window, plunging the alcove into darkness, broken only by the faint status light on his holopad's edge. The darkness pressed against him no longer the comforting shroud that had protected him all these years. But something suffocating. Active.

The silence screamed questions he couldn't answer. Message received. He half expected it to be one of his virtual crewmates. Instead, it was an employment opportunity.

Crew contract offer. Gunner position. Edgepoint Station, Level 12, Hangar Bay C. The Orriona offer expires in three hours.

His fingers hovered over the screen, inches away from accepting or dismissing what might be his only genuine chance.

The steady drip of the leaking pipes kept time with his thoughts, each drop another second of his life trickling away on a station that would never remember his name. The Orriona. Three hours.

He closed his eyes, picturing the ship, A vessel with potential to carry him beyond Edgepoint's stagnant orbit, beyond card games and false identities, beyond the shadows he'd mastered but never escaped. Ieoa hadn't abandoned him tonight. She'd cut his last excuse. Sam. Sa. Sam.