The designation was . It wasn’t a name. It was a log entry, a line in a spreadsheet, a ghost in the machine.
She found it wedged inside the crumpled cockpit of a lifeboat. Not a drone.
"Sloane," she said, her voice steady for the first time in years. "I’m not coming back to the Rake . I’m taking the long way home." ATID-60202-47-44 Min
Min closed her eyes. For three years, she had needed to know if Jae had suffered. Now she knew. She had been afraid. She had been brave. And she had been murdered by the very corporation that signed her paychecks.
Tonight, Min was done staring.
"Min… don’t come. They told me it was a salvage run. It’s not. The company… ATID… they’re using us to map the gravitational anomalies. They knew the star was going to collapse. Don't let them wipe the logs. Tell everyone. 47-44 is the proof. I love—"
She cut the channel and set a new course. Not toward the salvage vessel. Not toward the nearest spaceport. Toward the relay station on Titan, where a journalist was waiting for proof of the ATID cover-up. The designation was
It was a name. And her name was Jae.