Noah's eyes darted around the ship, taking in the frost-covered surfaces and flashing warning lights. His expression shifted from confusion to understanding to alarm in rapid succession.
"Where—" he began, voice hoarse. "Where are we?"
"Transport ship," Kelvin called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the failing controls. "Headed for the military morgue. Sophie thought your void sickness was back."
Noah shook his head weakly. "Not void sickness. Not yet, anyway." His gaze tracked the spreading frost with grim understanding. "How long was I out?"
"About two hours," Sophie answered, helping him sit up as she unfastened the restraints. "Lucas didn't come back. We couldn't wait. You were getting worse by the minute."
Noah nodded absently, still focused on the ice that now covered nearly every surface of the ship's interior. "I can feel it," he murmured. "Getting stronger. Pushing."
