They did not slow down.
Glaive cut a crooked path through open space, engines throttled just enough to stay ahead without burning too bright. Mikael kept the course uneven, short burns, drifting gaps, minor corrections that made the ship look lost instead of hunted.
No one relaxed.
Aludin lay on the floor near the wall where Damon had guided him, his back against the cold metal. His hands were still shaking, though he was trying to keep them still by pressing them flat against his thighs.
The pressure was gone.
That was worse.
Damon crouched nearby, watching him without staring. "Can you sit up?"
Aludin nodded and tried. His muscles protested, weak and delayed, but he managed it. His head swam.
"You didn't black out," Damon said. "That's good."
Aludin didn't answer.
Across the compartment, Pethia paced once, then stopped herself and leaned against the bulkhead instead. Her jaw was tight, eyes unfocused, like she was replaying the fight frame by frame.
"That ship should've hit us," she said finally.
Mikael didn't look back. "Twice."
"Three times," Thessa corrected from the rear. "Minimum."
Pethia exhaled slowly. "That's not margin of error wrong."
Jerad stood near the cockpit entrance, arms folded, staring at nothing in particular. He hadn't taken his eyes off the stars since they jumped course.
"Damage report," he said.
"Minor hull scoring," Mikael replied. "Shields are strained but holding. Weapons are fine."
"And us," Jerad said.
There was a pause.
"We're intact," Mikael said carefully.
Jerad nodded once.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy, like everyone was avoiding stepping on the same cracked surface.
Aludin shifted again. The floor felt solid. Too solid. Like it was pressing back.
He swallowed.
Damon noticed immediately. "What is it."
"I don't know," Aludin said. His voice sounded smaller than he meant it to. "It's not happening. And that makes it feel like it will."
Damon frowned but didn't dismiss it. "Okay."
He glanced up at Jerad. "We should keep him grounded."
Jerad looked over.
"How," he asked.
Damon hesitated. "Physically. Keep him busy. Or tired."
Aludin stiffened. "I don't"
"It's not a punishment," Damon said quickly. "Just something to keep you here."
Jerad considered this, then nodded. "Pethia. Thessa. Rotate with him."
Pethia looked over sharply. "You want him training?"
"No," Jerad said. "I want him occupied."
Aludin opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The ship shuddered faintly as Mikael cut engines and let them drift.
"We've got company," he said.
Pethia straightened. "Already?"
"No," Mikael said. "Not close. Long range traffic. Heavy."
Jerad stepped forward. "Empire?"
"Yes," Mikael replied. "Multiple clusters. They're not chasing. They're moving."
"Moving where," Thessa asked.
Mikael hesitated. "Everywhere."
That got Jerad's attention.
"They're spreading patrols," Mikael continued. "Locking lanes. Running overlapping scans."
Pethia swore under her breath. "After one ship."
"After something," Mikael said.
Aludin felt his stomach sink.
Damon put a hand on his shoulder, firm but not tight. "Stay with me."
Jerad turned slowly.
"We don't know what they saw," he said. "And we don't know what conclusions they'll draw."
"But they'll draw them," Pethia said.
"Yes," Jerad replied.
Thessa pushed off the wall. "Then we need distance."
"We need invisibility," Jerad said. "Distance doesn't matter if they're watching the wrong variables."
Mikael frowned. "Meaning what."
Jerad didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Aludin.
Not accusing. Not suspicious.
Assessing.
"We change how we move," Jerad said. "How often we stop. How often we engage."
"And the kid," Pethia said.
Jerad didn't look away from Aludin. "Yes."
Aludin's chest tightened. "I didn't do it on purpose."
"I know," Jerad said.
"That doesn't change what happened," Pethia added, not unkindly.
The pressure twitched at the edge of Aludin's awareness, like a reflex being tested.
Damon felt it in the way his shoulder tensed. "Easy."
Aludin nodded, breathing through it.
Jerad crouched in front of him again, slower this time.
"Listen," Jerad said. "I don't care what the Empire thinks you are. I care about what happens when you panic."
Aludin looked down. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," Jerad repeated. "But intent doesn't control outcomes."
That landed harder than yelling would have.
Jerad stood.
"Mikael," he said. "Plot us somewhere empty. Not safe. Empty."
Mikael glanced back. "That's a lot of nothing."
"Exactly," Jerad replied.
The ship adjusted course.
Minutes passed.
The stars slid by.
Aludin focused on the sound of his breathing. On the vibration of the deck. On Damon's presence beside him.
It worked.
Until it didn't.
The pressure didn't surge this time.
It sagged.
Like something heavy settling lower.
Aludin winced and pressed a hand to his chest.
Damon noticed instantly. "What."
"It feels wrong," Aludin whispered.
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Mikael's head snapped up. "I didn't touch anything."
The hum deepened.
Pethia straightened. "Jerad."
"I hear it," Jerad said.
The deck plates creaked softly, like the ship was under strain from an invisible weight.
Aludin's hands curled into fists. His teeth clenched. "I'm not doing anything."
"I know," Damon said. "I know."
The pressure slid outward instead of inward this time, like it was leaking through the ship instead of building inside him.
Mikael stared at his panel. "Mass readings are off."
"How," Thessa asked.
"Everything feels heavier," Mikael said. "But nothing's changed."
The ship groaned again.
Jerad's voice sharpened. "Aludin."
"I'm not" Aludin started, panic creeping in.
Damon grabbed his shoulders, firm. "Stay here. Don't push. Don't pull. Just breathe."
Aludin did.
Slow.
Shallow.
The pressure wavered.
Then eased.
The ship steadied.
Mikael exhaled. "Readings stabilizing."
No one moved for several seconds.
Pethia finally spoke. "That wasn't combat."
"No," Jerad said. "That was stress."
Thessa frowned. "From what."
Jerad looked at Aludin again.
The boy looked exhausted. Pale. Smaller than he should have.
"From us," Jerad said.
Silence followed.
Damon swallowed. "So what now."
Jerad straightened.
"Now," he said, "we stop pretending this is something that will wait for us to understand it."
Aludin looked up. "Am I dangerous."
Jerad didn't answer immediately.
"Yes," he said finally. "Sometimes."
Aludin flinched.
"And so is everyone on this ship," Jerad continued. "Difference is, we know when we are."
He held Aludin's gaze.
"We're going to learn your limits," Jerad said. "Carefully. Quietly. Before someone else does."
The ship drifted onward, heavier than before, while far away the Empire adjusted its maps, not chasing a target anymore, but tightening a net around an idea that refused to stay still.