Loro Vega stared at the engine core.
It was humming.
Too perfectly.
He'd spent half his career repairing clunky, half-melted relics salvaged from war zones. But the Peregrine's core wasn't just intact—it was pristine. Cleaner than the Demiurge's. Better.
And definitely not built by humans.
Ship ID: Human-class. Engine design: Not even close.
Its pulse was rhythmic. Hypnotic. He ran a hand along the surface of the containment chamber. Warm to the touch.
It pulsed once—
And the sound of the room doubled. Like an echo from the future.
He blinked.
The clock on his wrist stuttered.
14:33:2114:33:1714:33:24
"Okay," he muttered. "Now I know I'm not imagining it."
The engine's radiation wasn't standard. It wasn't lethal, but it was doing something. Space inside the ship was beginning to bend—a soft warping, like air over fire.
Or time.
Loro tapped his comms.
"Elise, you there?"
Silence.
"Mira?"
Nothing.
Just the low hum of the core and the faint clicking of wires moving inside the walls.
He backed away from the core chamber—and stopped.
The door behind him was no longer a door.
Now it was a hallway.
Same metal. Same curvature. No transition point.
Did I walk without realizing? No. I didn't move.
He took a deep breath and turned left.
Walked.
Turned left again.
Walked.
Turned left one more time—
And ended up exactly where he started.
A perfect loop.
No. No no no. I mapped this. This corridor doesn't loop.
He pulled out his scanner.
It pinged once.
Then again.
Two signals.
Same frequency. Same registry code.
The Demiurge.
Twice.
He ran to the nearest viewport.
And froze.
Outside the Peregrine, docked in the void, was the Demiurge—his ship, where they'd arrived from.
But there was another just above it.
Identical.
Docked at a different airlock. No lights. No movement.
We only brought one ship.
He zoomed in.
The second Demiurge had hull damage—scorch marks, torn plating.
And near the nosecone… something else.
Wording etched in charred letters.
He wiped at the viewport glass, heart pounding.
It read:
"DON'T BOARD. WE NEVER LEFT."
The viewport flickered.
Suddenly, his own reflection was staring back.
But it wasn't him.
The face looking out had his eyes—but older. Paler. Twitching. Smiling.
It raised its hand.
Loro didn't move.
The reflection waved.
What the hell is happening…
Behind him, something clicked.
He turned—nothing.
Then again—
Click. Click. Click.
Metal panels shifting in sequence.
Coming closer.
He ran.
Down the corridor. Left. Left again.
Only—now the hallway was different.
Shorter. Dimmer. Alive.
The lights overhead pulsed like blood.
When he passed a mirror panel, his reflection didn't follow.
Instead, it stood still and pressed its hands against the glass.
Mouth moving silently.
Repeating a phrase.
He leaned in.
Watched.
And read its lips.
"This is your third time."