Bian stormed out of the control room like a crack of thunder had torn through the calm, the doors hissing shut behind him. His boots hit the alloy floors with force, every step reverberating like a warning shot across the corridors. He didn't care who saw his fury. The facade was gone. What burned inside now was terror—ugly, primal, and growing more poisonous by the second.
They had vanished.
Two humans—weak, defenseless, utterly average humans—had escaped a fully sealed Farian warship while it was adrift in deep space. It was impossible. And yet here he was, teeth clenched, eyes wide with a paranoia that scraped at his brain like glass.
"They can't stay hidden forever..." he muttered under his breath, his lips pale as he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The coppery taste of blood grounded him for a moment. He welcomed it.
Because underneath all the fury was fear.
Not fear of the Graylings. Not fear of some faraway enemy.
But fear of the old man.
