Chapter 9
- Xander Jade
- Nov 19
- 4 min read
The emergency hangar was not a chamber so much as a wound in the architecture of the station. Its doors, once meant to slide open in silence, now shuddered on warped runners, scraping the hush to ribbons. Inside, the lighting failed at intervals, leaving pockets of strobing illumination interspersed with regions of near-total black. The floor was stained with oil, plasma scoring, and at least one dark spill that Marlowe knew was neither.
