Vera stood alone on the bridge of the control room, her purple hair spilling loosely over her shoulders, framing a face carved with a seriousness that seemed to weigh the air itself. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her fingers digging into her sleeves as her gaze fixed on the vast holographic display before her—a map of dots and trajectories glowing faintly against the dark expanse. The day had been a brutal reckoning— some of her crew died, their blood staining her hands while laughter and celebration had masked the danger lurking overhead.
She'd let her guard down, lulled by the joy of Syn's return, and the shapeshifters had struck, a dagger through her moment of weakness. Her jaw clenched, her lips thinning into a hard line as she bit back the frustration clawing at her throat.
