The med-bay aboard the Astraeus Dawn smelled like ozone and old rain.
Luna sat on the edge of a floating exam slab, bare feet dangling six inches above the floor. Her tunic—still patched with moss-thread and starlight—was too big now. It hung off her shoulders like a child's hand-me-down. Which, technically, it was.
She hadn't looked in a mirror since the healing.
Didn't want to.
But Consul Zephyr insisted. "Standard post-Trial protocol," they'd said, voice gentle but firm. "We need baseline metrics before you return to Earth."
Baseline. Like she was data now. Not a person.
The door hissed open. Zephyr entered, their long silver robes whispering against the deck. Unlike the other Consuls, Zephyr had no mask, no armor—just pale skin, tired eyes, and a scar that ran from temple to jaw, glowing faintly blue when they were stressed.
They carried a handheld scanner.
"Ready?" Zephyr asked, not unkindly.
