Another morning unfolded with a slow grace, the kind that settled between the ship's beams and echoed faintly through its steel bones. The Typhoon stirred with life but not urgency. Crew moved with a quiet rhythm, exchanging nods and shared tasks without speaking more than necessary. Arthur walked the corridors with his usual quiet steps, but his gaze was sharper today, drawn forward by a particular idea. A little spark of mischief.
He was thinking about Rynna, the Vice-Admiral. She'd flown from the Dead Sheep without warning, danced around every protocol he respected, and somehow still managed to fix Fedlimid's spiraling soul. Arthur couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed. Not truly. But he did owe her something. Not in words. In action.
A favor for a favor. A lesson for a lesson.
