Zeta-3 was quiet in the wrong way.
Not dead. Not abandoned. Just… listening.
The streets were clean, overgrown only at the corners where maintenance drones hadn't passed in weeks. Streetlamps flickered through low fog, casting soft halos across cracked walkways and biotech signage choked with moss. Every step echoed too far. Hernan didn't like the rhythm of it. It sounded staged.
"Signal sweep's clean," Nico said, eyes on the readout flickering across his forearm display. "Thermals flat. No movement since we entered the sector grid."
"Then why does it feel like something's breathing down my neck?" Gemini muttered.
Her voice didn't sound like hers. The sharp syncopation — the confident cadence that always mirrored her twin — was off. Scratchy. Uneven.
Hernan heard it instantly. So did Nico.
"You okay?" Nico asked, attempting levity. "You sound like you gargled copper."
She didn't respond.
