I knew you were there, I project back, leaning my head against his shoulder. I knew you’d pull me back. We are the Anchor and the Shield. We hold the line together.
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my bandaged knuckles. Always, he projects. Always.
Thirty seconds, Morgan’s voice crackles. Twenty. Ten. Mark.
The hum of the gravity drive shifts from a deep rumble to a high, piercing whine.
There is no G-force. There is no violent shake. Instead, there is a sickening, visceral shift in reality. My stomach drops into my throat. The lunar surface, the crater, the stars—they all stretch, elongating into blinding streaks of light. The air in the cabin tastes of ozone and copper.
And then, the streaks of light snap back into focus.
The Moon is gone. The blackness of space is
