The world on edge

Kelda held still and waited as the Imperials beamed away, listening to the open comms chatter as she slipped out of her hiding place and headed for her room.

Tyri was alive.

She shucked her communicator, dumping it on the engine room bench as she passed. Not wishing to be disturbed.

Tyri was alive.

She needed to be alone.

The sound of distant battle echoed through the ship and the engine jerked to life. Kelda compensated without thinking, like someone born to a life on a ship. Even as the Shark accelerated, Kelda barely needed to shift her weight.

Tyri was alive.

The door to her room opened to her touch and she closed it silently behind herself, her instinct for stealth still high.

She reached for the first bottle that came to hand, not caring what it was and popped the lids, sculling it without thought. The rough alcohol burnt her throat and she coughed, wiping her sleeve over her mouth as she slammed home the lock of her door.

She fell back to the bed, the bottle at her lips.

Tyri was alive.

And it would end in blood.

As it had before.

She closed her eyes and drank.