Chapter 25

Cyrus counted the approach of the ships by the way the starlight bent around their hulls. There were three, each running dark, but their ion signatures stitched neat, blue furrows across the black, as if they were ships of the dead come to ferry something across the threshold. Cyrus adjusted the focus on the viewport, his left eye—corrected by old surgery and cheap neuralware—registered the Lumen vector before the vessel’s transponder dared speak.

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