Juc-877 🔖

She looked at him with infinite pity. “You don’t. You just choose which side of the glass you want to be on when it breaks.”

Kael never spoke of Seven again. But sometimes, in deep night, he’d hear a faint hum from the empty engine bay—a single, perfect frequency.

She smiled. It was a terrible thing to see. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” juc-877

She didn’t move. “Do you know why they exiled me, Kael? Not because I drifted through time. Because I came back.”

When the pod hissed open, the woman inside didn't gasp or shiver. She simply opened her eyes—two chips of flint in a gaunt, sharp-boned face. The guard, a man named Kael, tapped the frost off his datapad and read her file aloud. She looked at him with infinite pity

And he’d wonder if she was still drifting, still smiling that terrible smile, still keeping the door closed with her own quiet, impossible weight.

The designation was simple: . No name, no history, just a barcode on a cryo-pod and a slot in the penal fleet’s ledger. But sometimes, in deep night, he’d hear a

JUC-877.