Argo and Ennis moved down the softly lit corridor, the familiar cold metal walls softened by new touches—a patch of synthetic greenery here, a cozy nook with cushions there. The ship was shedding its old skin, one careful step at a time.
Ennis paused beside a repurposed cargo bay now filled with comfortable bunks and storage lockers neatly arranged. "You ever think it's strange? How fast the ship's changing, yet some of us still can't shake the old image?"
Argo grunted, rubbing his jaw. "It's more than strange. It's unsettling. Silver Lining was Grib's weapon. A prison disguised as a ship. I don't know how much of that's really gone."
Ennis nodded, eyes scanning the gentle glow of the hall. "Yeah. I get it. But after what happened at the supply stop? The ship saved us. Not once, but twice. Maybe it's not the same anymore."
Argo stopped, looking down at a corner where the floor hummed softly—the ship's life beneath their feet. "Maybe. But I'm not ready to call it 'one of us' yet."
Ennis smiled faintly. "You're stubborn, Argo."
He smirked back. "Keeps me alive."
They walked on, passing a small garden area where synthetic flowers swayed gently—an odd but peaceful reminder that even a slave ship could find a way to nurture.
Ennis glanced at him again. "What if the ship is healing, just like us? What if Silver Lining wants to be more than her past?"
Argo's eyes softened for the briefest moment. "If that's true, I want to see it. I just want to be sure we're not walking into another trap."
Argo and Ennis continued down the softly glowing corridor, the hum of Silver Lining a constant undercurrent beneath their footsteps. Around them, the ship's transformation was clear—walls once cold and bare now bore subtle touches of warmth: softly textured panels, ambient lighting that shifted to soothe rather than warn.
Ennis glanced toward Argo, voice quiet. "Have you noticed how the ship's adapting? Not just to us, but… especially to her?"
Argo frowned. "You mean the Captain?"
She nodded, stepping into one of the new living quarters, where the air felt lighter, fresher. "Yeah. These rooms weren't here before. Look." She pointed to a corner where a small hearth-like panel radiated gentle warmth, and a window simulated a slow sunrise—things none of us expected from a ship built for chains."
Argo's gaze lingered on the hearth, skepticism mingling with something softer. "It's like the ship's learning what she needs… maybe even what we need."
Ennis smiled, brushing a hand over a smooth console now etched with delicate patterns, almost like art. "It's starting to feel less like a prison and more like a home."
They stepped into another crew cabin, where personal touches—photos, small plants, a patchwork blanket—sat beside gear and weapons. "Silver Lining's changing us too," Ennis added. "Slowly."
Argo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not fully sold, but… I admit, it's something. Maybe it's not just the Captain's bond pulling at the ship. Maybe this whole crew is part of it."
Ennis gave a gentle nod. "Maybe that's what freedom feels like."
Argo looked out a viewport, stars streaking past. "I'll watch it. Make sure this freedom lasts."
Ennis gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "We'll watch it together."