Hope lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
Jimmy knew this because his heart had just begun to settle after Vex's hand left his—just enough time for his pulse to return to something resembling normal—when the Stellar Nymph shuddered like it had remembered a very old, very personal grudge.
The hum of hyperspace warped. Not an alarm. Not yet. Just a subtle dip in tone, the kind you felt more than heard. Like the universe clearing its throat before saying something deeply unpleasant.
Jimmy swallowed.
His heart sped up again, and this time it wasn't just the ship.
Sparky's lens flicked from calm blue to warning amber.
"Ah," the drone said cheerfully, because Sparky was incapable of emotional tact, "that's unfortunate."
Vex was already moving.
She turned toward the forward console in one smooth, predatory motion, dark hair shifting across her shoulders. The soft glow of her tattoos sharpened, lines along her collarbone and arms brightening into alert whites and electric blues. Jimmy felt his chest tighten, a familiar, unwanted warmth blooming beneath his ribs.
It annoyed him that danger made her look like that.
It annoyed him more that his body noticed.
"Define unfortunate," Vex said, voice level, controlled.
"We are no longer alone in the corridor between points," Sparky replied. "Something large is pacing us. And by 'pacing,' I mean sampling."
Jimmy grimaced. "I really wish you'd stop using food metaphors when I'm involved."
The forward display distorted, hyperspace light bending like glass under pressure. A shadow pressed against the fabric of reality ahead of them—vast, slow, curious. It wasn't shaped like a ship. It wasn't shaped like anything that belonged.
Vex's tattoos flared brighter, crawling down her arms in defensive sigils. Jimmy's enhanced senses picked up the hitch in her breathing, the way her shoulders tensed. His heart kicked harder at the sight—not fear, not exactly. Something sharper. More personal.
"Void predator," she said.
His stomach tightened—not with hunger, but recognition. "Like the stuff I drank."
"Related," Sparky confirmed. "But this one still possesses ambition."
The Stellar Nymph lurched sideways as if caught in a tide. Lights dimmed. Power drained—not violently, but willingly, like the ship was being gently convinced to give up pieces of itself.
Jimmy pressed a hand to his chest.
The new power stirred.
Not hunger.
Attention.
"It's not hunting us," he said slowly.
Vex turned toward him.
Her eyes locked onto his, and for a split second the rest of the cockpit fell away. Jimmy's pulse spiked painfully. Her tattoos shifted again—warmer hues bleeding into the glow, reactive not just to threat, but to him.
"Then why is it following?" she asked.
Jimmy swallowed. "Because it thinks I'm a door."
The shadow surged closer.
The ship groaned, alarms chiming softly now.
Vex didn't look away from him. "Can you stop it?"
"I can pull it into realspace," Jimmy said, voice tight. "Make it… solid."
"And if you don't?"
"It follows me forever."
For a heartbeat, she just watched him. Then she nodded once—decision made.
"Can you choose where?"
He nodded back.
She grabbed the controls and cut hyperspace.
Stars exploded into existence.
Reality tore.
The void predator screamed—not with sound, but with pressure—as it collapsed into normal space, its impossible form writhing, veins of light fracturing across its translucent body. Jimmy dropped to one knee, gasping, pressure slamming behind his eyes like his skull was too small for what he was holding.
The creature felt him now.
So did Vex.
She was beside him instantly, one hand braced on the wall, the other hovering near his shoulder. Close enough that he could feel her heat, her presence anchoring him when everything else felt like it was slipping.
"Jimmy," she said, low and steady. "Stay with me."
His heart hammered so hard it hurt—not just from strain, but from the way she said his name like it mattered.
"I can't hold it," he rasped. "Not like this."
She fired through the viewport, plasma tearing into the creature, then leaned closer, her voice fierce and unyielding. "You don't have to hold it alone."
Her tattoos blazed, brilliant and alive, reflecting fear, resolve, and something else—something dangerously close to belief. Jimmy felt it slam into him harder than any power surge.
He wasn't being used.
He was being trusted.
He shifted his grip on reality—not pulling inward, not consuming.
Anchoring.
The stars flared.
Space folded.
The void predator froze mid-thrash, crystallizing into a massive inert husk, drifting silently like a broken god.
The silence afterward was absolute.
Jimmy collapsed backward, shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls.
Vex caught him before he hit the floor.
Her hands were solid on his shoulders, grounding him. Real. Her face was close now—too close for comfort, too close to ignore. Jimmy's heart raced again, traitorously fast, and he was suddenly very aware of how alive she felt under his hands, how warm.
"You did it," she said softly.
His laugh was breathless. "You're… really bad for my heart, you know that?"
One corner of her mouth lifted, tired but genuine. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."
Outside, the frozen husk drifted through the void.
Inside the ship, Jimmy's hunger watched quietly.
And for the first time since all of this began, it wasn't the loudest thing in his chest.
Jimmy woke up to the smell of burnt circuitry and regret.
Not metaphorical regret—actual regret, thick in the air, mixed with ozone and whatever Sparky used as coolant. His head throbbed like someone had tried to reboot his brain using a crowbar.
He blinked.
Metal ceiling. Flickering lights. The Stellar Nymph's medbay—if you could call a repurposed cargo nook with a fold-out cot and one mildly judgmental diagnostic arm a medbay.
"Please tell me I didn't die," Jimmy muttered.
"You did not," Sparky replied immediately. "Though you came distressingly close. I had already prepared a eulogy. It was very moving."
Jimmy groaned. "Delete it."
"Absolutely not."
He pushed himself upright and immediately regretted the decision. His vision fractured—not painfully, just… layered. He could see the room as it was, but also beneath it: power lines glowing faintly inside the walls, stress fractures in the bulkhead, the faint electromagnetic ghost of the ship's last jump still echoing like a bruise.
And—there it was again.
Vex.
She stood just outside the medbay doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. Jimmy could see her normally—combat-worn jacket, calm posture, eyes sharp as ever.
But beneath that—
Energy.
Not the hungry void-stuff this time. Something cleaner. Purposeful. Her tattoos pulsed faintly, mapping themselves deeper than skin, threading into muscle and bone, into a structure that was beautifully, terrifyingly precise.
Jimmy sucked in a breath.
His heart started racing like it had somewhere important to be.
She noticed instantly.
"Stop looking at me like that," Vex said.
"I—" He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not trying to. My vision's doing a thing."
"That 'thing' better not involve stripping me down atom by atom."
He opened one eye. "Good news: not atom by atom."
She stared at him.
"…Jimmy."
"Bad news," he added quickly. "My brain is currently a badly supervised science experiment."
She sighed and stepped into the room. The closer she got, the worse it became. Gravity seemed to shift around her, like the universe leaned in when she moved. His pulse spiked again, loud enough that he was sure she could hear it.
She stopped a few feet away.
"Describe what you're seeing," she said, professional. Careful.
He swallowed. "Layers. Energy pathways. Structural weaknesses. And—" He hesitated.
"And what?"
"And you're glowing like a threat assessment married a war goddess."
Her brow twitched despite herself.
"That's… not the worst description I've heard."
He let out a breathy laugh. "I'm not saying this to be weird."
"You are being weird," she said. "But continue."
He risked meeting her eyes again. The moment he did, something in his chest tightened painfully.
"It's like," he said slowly, choosing words, "every time you're near me, my body thinks we're about to either die or do something incredibly stupid."
Silence.
Sparky cleared its nonexistent throat. "For the record, those two outcomes are not mutually exclusive."
Vex shot the drone a look. "Mute."
Sparky dimmed. "Temporarily sulking."
Vex turned back to Jimmy. For a moment, her mask slipped—not fear, not softness, but something raw and unreadable. Her tattoos shifted, colors warming just slightly, responding to something neither of them was saying out loud.
"You scared me back there," she said quietly.
Jimmy blinked. "I nearly turned a god into furniture. That seems fair."
"That's not what I meant."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
Jimmy's breath caught. His enhanced perception went into overdrive—he could feel her presence like a pressure gradient, could sense the steady strength in her stance, the coiled readiness beneath her calm. And underneath all that—
Restraint.
She was always holding back.
"I've seen a lot of people gain power," she continued. "Most of them lose themselves within days. You didn't."
He swallowed. "I almost did."
"But you didn't," she said firmly. "You anchored. You listened. You trusted."
He laughed weakly. "I was mostly terrified."
"Courage is just fear that decided to stand its ground."
He looked up at her. Really looked.
And realized that whatever was making his heart race wasn't just attraction.
It was awe.
"So," he said, voice softer, "what happens now?"
She exhaled, slow. "Now we figure out what you're becoming. And whether the universe notices before we're ready."
As if summoned by those words, the ship shuddered.
Alarms chimed—real ones this time.
Sparky unmuted itself instantly. "Apologies for the interruption, but several factions have detected the void crystallization event. Including one that has put a price on Vex's head."
Vex sighed. "Of course they have."
Jimmy swung his legs off the cot, steadier than he expected. Power hummed beneath his skin—not loud, not hungry. Waiting.
"How bad?" he asked.
"Multiple ships," Sparky replied. "Well-armed. Poorly patient."
Jimmy cracked his neck. "Okay. So… bad, but manageable?"
Vex studied him for a long second, then nodded once. "You sure you're up for this?"
He grinned, tired and crooked. "I mean, my heart's already trying to escape my chest whenever you're nearby. Might as well give it a reason."
She snorted despite herself.
"Try not to die," she said, turning toward the cockpit.
"No promises," he replied, following her. "But I'll aim for dramatic survival."
As they moved down the corridor together, the ship humming beneath their feet, Jimmy felt it again—that strange pull between them, heavier than gravity, sharper than fear.
Whatever he was becoming…
It was already changing more than just him.