The quiet stretched on, thick and heavy, a solitude so complete it felt almost suffocating. My ship drifted, half-breathing, tethered to a razor-thin line between life and death. The seconds ticked by, each one laden with weight. I had survived the crash, the violent launch, the chaos of space. But now?
Now, the waiting was unbearable.
I stared at the controls, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the console. I hadn't slept. Not really. Not since the crash. And the days before that had been a blur of adrenaline-fueled action. The leftover rations I'd scavenged were gone, the last of my water sloshing in a plastic bottle I hadn't touched in hours. The thought of food made my stomach twist, but there was no point in worrying about it anymore. My body was on autopilot now, moving from task to task, focusing on the immediate survival. The rest of the world could wait.
I had waited long enough.
