The descent through the atmosphere is a brutal, bone-rattling plunge through fire and friction.
I am strapped into the acceleration couch in the front cabin of the Artemis VII, my heavily bandaged hands gripping the armrests. My ribs scream with every shallow breath, the heavy tape shifting against my bruised skin, but the physical pain is entirely eclipsed by the profound, heavy exhaustion in my marrow. The hull groans, the metal shrieking under the physical stress of the re-entry, the temperature in the cabin spiking to a sweltering, suffocating heat.
In the rear compartment, Elara is slumped against the medical cot, her small head lolling against the bulkhead. She is eight years old, but right now, she looks ancient. Her dark hair, usually braided with neat silver wire, is messy and t
