Maerin's hand moved toward the knife at her belt, but she did not draw it.
Rohan barely noticed.
"No," he muttered.
The word came out low.
He turned away from the table and paced three steps before stopping because the room was too small and his body hurt too much.
"No, that's…"
He dragged a hand over his face, then winced when the bandage tugged at his burned palm.
Of course there was no ship.
Of course there was no easy way off.
He had known that the moment Maerin said crashed. Maybe even before that. The settlement itself had told him the truth. If Veyrhold possessed a working vessel capable of leaving this planet, no one would still be here scraping ash from corners and fighting ember-mouthed monsters outside the walls.
They would have left.
Anyone would have left.
This was not an isolated village choosing to remain in a harsh homeland. This was a cage built from accident, distance, and exploitation.
Rohan laughed once, without humour.
Maerin watched him carefully.
