The Wraith glided through the rust-colored clouds of the dead sector, approaching the fractured hull of what remained of Seed Station Delta-7. Once a key node in the Architect network, the station now floated like a skeleton its long corridors dark, its outer structure twisted, like something had tried to escape from the inside.
No lights.
No movement.
Only the whisper of a signal still broadcasting from deep within.
Elara stood on the lower deck, strapping on her suit. Her fingers moved with calm precision, but her heart felt like it was wrapped in static. Every breath seemed to pull her closer to something old. Familiar. Wrong.
Nova tapped her earpiece. "Signal's still stable. But it's… glitching. Not like a loop. Like it's… thinking."
"Thinking?" Damien frowned from the console beside her. "Since when do dead AI stations think?"
"Since the day one of them bonded with Elara," Aeron said, stepping into the gear bay, armor sealed and dark.
