The screams began at 0347 ship-time, echoing through the hull of the Bloodletter like the death cries of a wounded god. Lyralei bolted upright from her restless sleep, her mortal heart hammering against ribs that felt too fragile to contain such terror. The screams weren't human—they carried harmonics that human vocal cords couldn't produce, frequencies that made her teeth ache and her vision blur at the edges.
Reed was already moving, pulling on his uniform with practiced efficiency despite having been deep in sleep moments before. His commander's instincts had adapted to crisis faster than his conscious mind could follow.
"Emergency beacon from Kepler Station," he said, checking his personal comm unit. "Multiple distress signals. And..." His face went pale in the dim lighting. "Lyralei, they're reporting reality storms. The kind that only happen when—"
