Page 116 of Red Scale Daddy
He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Then we take the tight path.”
I glance at him.
“You agree with the assessment,” I say.
“I agree with not letting those things crawl all over your ship again,” he replies.
My ship.
The phrasing registers, but I do not comment on it.
“Then monitor external movement as we adjust course,” I say instead. “If anything approaches within breach distance, I need immediate notification.”
“You’ll get it,” he says.
I input the final command.
The ship responds.
The engines shift output, the vector adjusting with a smooth, controlled motion that threads us into the narrower corridor of warped space. The distortion outside intensifies, light bending harder along the edges of the viewport, the stars stretching into elongated arcs that slide past in slow, unnatural motion.
The signal comes again.
Stronger.
Closer.
My heart flutters, not from the pressure of the environment but from something deeper, something that has been building steadily since the moment I first confirmed the pattern.
“He’s there,” I say, the words leaving me before I can filter them.
Dux’s gaze shifts to me.
“You’re sure,” he says.
“Yes.”
“How close?”
I refine the triangulation again, narrowing the convergence point with each pass as the signal stabilizes against the background interference.
“Within two standard sectors,” I reply. “Possibly less.”
“That’s close,” he says.
“It is.”
The data updates again.
Closer still.
A flicker of something sharp and electric moves through me, cutting through the fatigue, the residual tension from the breach, the controlled detachment I have maintained for years.
I lean forward, my hands moving faster across the console as I refine the model again, pushing for greater accuracy, tighter resolution, more precision.
“Roma,” Dux says.
“Not now,” I reply, already recalculating.
