INTERLUDE2//Is Letting Go

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“I am back.”

The lighthouse stood against the sky, its whitewashed walls weathered and peeling, a relic from a time when its beam was the only thing between sailors and the rocks below. Now, its purpose was ornamental. A memory preserved on a cliff where the wind carried whispers of salt and brine.

It was also her home.

Elise leaned against the rusted railing of the balcony, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The ocean stretched out endlessly, its grey-green waves tumbling over each other.

The sound was constant, layered—the crash of the surf against the rocks below, the distant roll of waves farther out, and the hiss of foam dissolving into itself.

She loved staring into it.

The waves didn’t care who she was or what she had done. They didn’t care about stumbles onstage or the weight of an audience’s expectations. They just moved, pulled by the moon and the tide, indifferent to the world that watched from the shore.

The wind tugged at her jacket, cold and sharp. Earth air had a density to it that Mars never could—thick and textured, carrying the tang of salt and the faint, earthy smell of seaweed. 

It clung to her skin, settling in her chest, grounding her in a way that nothing else had since she left.

Since she quit.

Quitting had felt like tearing something out of herself, but now, standing here with the wind on her face and the sea sprawling out before her, she wasn’t sure what she’d lost. Or if she’d lost anything at all.

“Do you remember the first time we came up here?” Maya’s voice drifted through her memory, clear and bright.

Elise could almost see it: the two of them, sitting on the edge of the rocks below, Maya tossing pebbles into the waves while Elise traced patterns in the sand. They had snuck away from rehearsals, their voices still raw from hours of practice, their bodies aching but young enough not to care.

“You think the ocean knows how big it is?” Maya had asked, her voice thoughtful. “Or does it just keep moving because it doesn’t know what else to do?”

Elise had laughed then, brushing sand off her hands. “Do you ever think about something normal? Like what we’re going to eat later?”

Maya had grinned, tossing another pebble into the surf. “You think it gets tired?”

“Tired of what?” Elise had asked.

“Of being pulled everywhere,” Maya had said. “By the moon. By the wind. It’s always moving, but it never gets to go anywhere.”

Elise hadn’t answered then. She didn’t know how.

Now, standing on the balcony with the ocean stretching endlessly before her, she thought she understood.

Elise gripped the railing tighter, her breath catching. For years, she had felt like that—pulled in every direction, moving because she had to, because stopping wasn’t an option. She had been the wave and the tide, the motion and the crash.

A faint whir behind her broke the silence.

She turned to see a small, boxy robot trundling toward her, its treads squeaking softly against the floor. A single blinking light served as its "eye," and a mechanical arm extended, holding an envelope and a tiny package.

“How the hell did you get in?”

Carefully, Elise took the envelope first. The handwriting on the card was unmistakable—Maya’s, looping and warm.

“Dear Elise,

I am sorry. For everything. Nothing I can do will make it up to you but… I hope this comes close. I have been working on this in my spare time on the tour. I forgot to give this to you, before you left.

Love, Maya.”

Elise opened the package, her hands trembling slightly, and found a familiar book. Elise & Maya’s Adventures! The hand-drawn cover showed two stick figures holding hands under a cartoon sun.

Flipping through it, she found clumsy doodles of their childhood—bike rides, hiding in trees, and stealing cookies from Uncle Lee. 

On the last page was a photograph.

Two girls, no older than ten, stood at the edge of a lake. 

Elise’s hair was wild, her grin wide and carefree. Maya held up a tiny fish, laughing like the world had no edges.

The little robot chirped, snapping Elise from her thoughts. She unwrapped the second package, revealing a tiny charm shaped like a lighthouse.

"Maya..."

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she closed the book, clutching the charm tightly in her palm. The robot chirped once more before trundling away, leaving her to bask in reflection of the spotlight.

HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!

...

The transporter loomed on Pluto’s icy expanse. It shimmered under the pale light of the distant sun, its spires reaching skyward like blades tearing into the fabric of the cosmos.

Every surface gleamed with a metallic sheen so pure it seemed to drink the faint light and spill it back, refracted into colours the eye could not name.

It was too large to be understood, too intricate to be real.

Apex’s own spaceship tethered to its base—sleek, monumental—was no mere vessel but an artefact of grandeur, sculpted with the grace of a predator poised to strike. Its edges caught the light like a jeweled dagger, whispering of journeys no mortal hand should attempt.

Lena had never been to Alpha Centauri before.

Margot had never stepped foot outside Earth.

And now, they stood together, staring through the observation window as the transporter pulsed with energy, its vibrations humming in their very bones.

“Amitabha,” Margot whispered, her breath fogging the window.

Lena glanced at her, the corner of her mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Margot didn’t look at her, her gaze fixed on the shimmering transporter as its light flared upward, spilling into the void like molten gold. “I got students who think commas are decorative; theses to review. Etcetera, so on and so forth...”

Lena let out a small laugh, her eyes never leaving the transporter. “They’ll survive without you for a little while.”

“I doubt it,” Margot muttered. But then her voice softened. “Still. I’m glad I’m here.”

Lena blinked, and then, before she could overthink it, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Margot. The gesture was awkward, hesitant, but Margot didn’t pull away.

Instead, she let out a soft laugh, the sound shaky but real. “You’re hugging me,” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Don’t ruin it,” Lena muttered, her face half-buried in Margot’s shoulder.

The ring world hung in the near distance, a shimmering halo of greens and blues, its curvature too perfect to belong to the chaos of nature. Its inner surface pulsed faintly with life: forests draped in golden mist, rivers winding like veins of quicksilver, cities glinting like constellations scattered across a mirrored sky. It was a masterpiece and a trespass, beauty stolen from the gods and bent to human will.

Above it all, the transporter pulsed with light. A faint vibration hummed through the air, resonating in the bones of every onlooker. 

The spaceship gave its first call—a deep, resonant tone that spread like ripples.

The transporter’s spires flared and the light raced upward its spines. 

It was not the cold, clinical brightness of technology but something warmer, richer, as though the machine had taken the last embers of a dying star and woven them into its core.

The transporter roared—then flung!

The spaceship shot forward, a streak of silver ripping across the void, trailing light that shattered into impossible colors. The force bent the air, cracking.

It vanished in an instant, swallowed by the black, leaving only a faint ripple and the breathless awe of those left behind.

HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!

The spaceship was big and foreign and interesting, Cloud thought.

He padded through the sterile halls of the spaceship, his steps soft but unsteady on the smooth, too-perfect floor. 

The hum of the engines resonated faintly beneath his paws and made his insides twist and flutter like a bird trapped in a cage. Interstellar travel had done something to him—he didn’t know what, but his fur felt like it didn’t quite belong on his body anymore, and his insides buzzed with a strange, intangible fuzziness.

Still, he pressed on.

The scent of death lingered, faint but unmistakable. It was sharper here, near her room, mixing with the sterile tang of medical equipment and recycled air. Cloud wrinkled his nose but didn’t stop. His ears twitched, catching the faint whir of machines, the soft murmur of voices that barely broke the stillness.

When he finally pushed his way into the room, the sight of her made him pause.

Lena was propped up in bed. It was wrong. It looked so wrong, it felt it too.

Tubes coiled from her arms and nose, tethering her to the machines that hummed softly beside her. This hadn't happened before... 

"Don't... come in." 

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing her face as she saw him.

"Oh," she breathed. "It's you. Thank God."

Cloud leapt onto the edge of the bed, his small frame barely making an impression on the blankets. 

He approached cautiously, his tail flicking as he sniffed the air around her. She smelled faintly of sweat, of fatigue, of the death that seemed to cling to her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

“Cloud,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath.

He let out a soft purr, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. He stepped closer, nuzzling his head against her arm, his fur brushing the fragile skin there. She lifted her hand weakly as her fingers grazed his ears.

“You’re still here."

Cloud settled beside her and curled into a compact ball of warmth. 

His purring grew louder, filling the room with his sound.

But even as she rested her hand on his back, her eyes fluttering shut again, he could feel the tension in her. She wouldn’t truly rest. Not even now.

There was no point to work if you couldn’t enjoy the fruits of your labor, after all.

Cloud’s ears twitched, his gaze drifting to the machines, the faint green glow of her vitals on the monitor. His insides still felt strange, like they were floating just out of sync with the rest of him, but it didn’t matter. His quest was here. To comfort. To stay.