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She looked at me, her eyes filled with questions. “Why aren’t we taking off?” she whispered, the soft fabric of her cloak brushing against my arm, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up.
“Patience,” I murmured back, drawing her close. Her warmth felt comforting against the backdrop of our chilly surroundings. “We can’t just fly out of here. I’m dead, remember.”
Peeking through the narrow windows, I watched as different species moved about, checking cargo and communicating in a myriad of languages.
Their voices formed a low, constant buzz, punctuated by the occasional shout or laugh.
Somewhere nearby, I could hear the sizzle and aroma of street food being cooked, making my stomach growl in response.
Soon, the ship’s ramp began to rise, sealing us inside.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the vessel, and I pressed Isla closer to the shadows, my fingers brushing the delicate curve of her ear, feeling its softness. “Stay quiet,” I breathed into her ear.
Minutes felt like hours.
I could hear the pilot performing his checks, the beeps and clicks of machinery and controls being tested.
Then, as suddenly as the noises began, they ceased.
The ship roared to life, the unique feeling of inertia pushing us back slightly.
The powerful engines vibrated through the floors, resonating with my heartbeat.
We were moving.
Isla clung to me, her face buried in my chest.
I could feel the warmth of her breath through my shirt, and her hair tickled my chin.
The sensation of take-off was exhilarating.
The gentle hum of the ship’s engine resonated with the tension in the air.
As the ship gained altitude, I could feel the familiar, albeit muffled, sensation of airlessness pressing against the exterior.
It was a welcome feeling, something that reminded me of countless adventures among the stars.
However, this time, we were stowaways.
Isla’s grip on my hand tightened as the muted thrum of voices echoed from the ship’s cockpit.
Every muted footstep felt like a countdown.
The unique combination of grease and cologne took me by surprise.
There was something familiar about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
In the cockpit, I heard muffled banter, but I could pick out words here and there.
Words that spoke of their eagerness to be away from Ikmal, the prison planet.
Once the ship settled into the smooth void of space, the silence deepened, punctuated by the occasional beep or murmur from the ship’s communication systems.
It was time.
Gently nudging Isla to stay hidden, I stepped into the dimly lit corridor.
I picked up a wrench and approached the hatchdoor.
