"Keep quiet," Youri said in a low voice, pulling the three pilots inside. "They're still on the ship."
The door hissed shut behind them just in time. Moments later, three more guards passed by in the corridor outside, drawn by the faint sound of voices. They found nothing but a sealed door and silence. Inside, everyone held their breath until the footsteps faded away.
The emergency deck was cramped. Besides Youri, there were ten other crew members packed into it, and as the pilots' eyes adjusted to the dim light, they began to recognize faces they had not seen since the raid.
The first was Anita, the head chef — in her mid-thirties, with striking white hair tied back in a loose braid and deep brown eyes that always seemed to be studying whoever she was talking to. She had the kind of calm that could still a storm and a quiet authority that made people listen. She was more than just a cook. She was the soul of the ship. Her galley had always been the place where the hum of the engines faded beneath laughter and the smell of spices, where stories were traded and tired shoulders found comfort. Though she had a sharp tongue for anyone who walked into her kitchen without washing their hands, her scolding always came with a wink.
Beside her sat Blair, her quiet shadow, in her late twenties, with straight black hair framing a pale face and eyes as dark as the void outside the hull. Blair's calm had a colder edge than Anita's warmth — not unkind, just precise. She spoke rarely, saying only as much as was needed, letting her steady, graceful hands do the rest. Then there were Luna and Yuna, nineteen and the youngest of the crew, twin sisters to Chris, with the same shimmering copper-brown hair. Luna had eyes as bright as a summer sky. She was the heartbeat of the kitchen, always moving, always humming old tunes as she worked, bringing laughter into places where it did not belong and making it feel as though it did. Yuna's eyes were deep and black. She was the anchor, quiet and precise, keeping everything in its place and answering her sister's chatter with a faint smile and a nod.
But the galley staff were not alone. Huddled with them was part of the medical team, led by the ship's chief doctor, Tyler. He was in his early forties, with curly brown hair that never stayed down and sharp green eyes that missed nothing. He had the weary grace of someone who had seen far too much and refused to let it harden him. There were shadows under his eyes from carrying the weight of every life aboard the Tartarusios. He was not a soldier, but he had stitched up more battlefield wounds than most army medics ever would. When alarms rang and chaos flooded the medbay, he never once raised his voice. His calm was command enough. The crew trusted him not just because he was good, but because he always treated them like people instead of patients.
With him were four nurses. Maria and Selena were the youngest, opposites who worked like a single mind. Maria was fire, a redhead with blazing blue eyes and a voice that cut through noise like a siren, who always seemed to know what Tyler needed before he asked and who had a stubborn streak that told dying men to hold on, and somehow they did. Selena was water, still, deep, soothing, with neat blonde hair and dark eyes that made people feel safe. Zara was older, the ship's first nurse and its anchor in the darkest hours, in her late thirties, with gray-streaked black hair in a tight braid and green eyes that cut straight through panic and excuses. She was Nolan's wife, and he was the only person alive who could make her laugh as if time had never touched her. And then there was Nova, who was not really a nurse in the usual sense at all. Her hair was an electric blue that shimmered faintly in the dim light, her eyes were solid black, and she was Tyler's protégé, though that word did not do her justice; she absorbed knowledge the way fire takes in oxygen. She rarely smiled and rarely joked. Some people were afraid of her silence, but those who worked beside her knew she was driven not by ego but by a fierce need to earn her place beside the man who had taught her everything.
The last two were Quin and Daniel, both from engineering. Quin was new — tall, charming and still rough around the edges, his blond hair always a mess from crawling through vents and engine shafts, his green eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of rebellion. Daniel was shorter and quieter, with singed black hair and calm brown eyes. He had been working on engines since he was fifteen. He did not talk much. He did not need to. He could feel the ship's rhythm the way other people felt their own heartbeat. The two of them had spent most of their lives in the engine corridor, among the humming plasma coils and the smell of warm metal — Quin cracking jokes while he patched coolant lines and Daniel passing him tools before he even asked for them. It was not glamorous, but it was theirs.
For a while after the pilots arrived, nobody said much at all. Luna was crying quietly into her sister's shoulder, the way people cry when they have been holding it in for hours and someone finally gives them permission to stop. Anita pressed a cup of water into Tom's hands, then another into Preston's, before either of them could protest. Tyler checked a graze on Marek's arm without asking, and Marek let him. Somewhere above them, boots crossed the deck again and faded away. Everyone in the room went still until they were gone.
Youri leaned against the wall by the door and watched all of it with an expression none of them could quite read. He had locked these people in here himself when the soldiers came. For hours he had listened to them breathing in the dark and wondered what he would do if the door opened and it was not friends on the other side. Now it was, and he found he did not know what to do with the relief. So he did what he always did, and smirked.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Now that we're all here, somebody tell me how we get our ship back."