The hum of the gate chain bleeds faintly into the White Void.

  Sarah lowers the bow, violin tucked against her shoulder, eyes drifting toward the glowing horizon.

  “You’re quiet again, Arthur,” she says, flipping through the pages of notes on the piece she’s writing.

  Arthur doesn’t answer. He hears her. He just doesn’t answer.

  The Greko shudders — a tired animal breathing through pain. Pipes rattle. A hiss leaks from a cracked valve.

  Arthur crouches beneath a flickering light, sweat sliding down his temple. He tightens a plasma coupler — movements sharp and practiced. The vibration eases. The ship exhales.

  Back in the Void, Sarah reclines on the red couch. The world softens around her. Sand forms beneath her feet; waves crash and pull away in steady rhythm. A translucent menu flickers to life above her palm. Soft piano brushes against the sound of surf.

  “So what’s wrong with it?” she asks as saltwater swirls around her ankles.

  “Nothing major,” Arthur answers. “Just a broken coupler.”

  Sarah walks along the shoreline, gaze far away.

  “You fix ships like you were born doing it.”

  Arthur adjusts the last bolt. “I just don’t like exploding.”

  Sarah smiles. “Most people frown on that, yes.”

  “That’s true,” Arthur says. “Though most people haven’t experienced it.”

  He fastens the last clip, sealing the panel. “Finished,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow — the feeling of accomplishment holding off the feeling of unease.

  The word hits Sarah like a door unlocking — relief disguised as impatience.

  “Come talk to me. Here. Where I can see you.”

  Arthur leans back, eyes closing.

  When he opens them, he stands in the Void.

  The ocean brushes his feet — piano and violin lifting into the air. Sarah waits at the shoreline, a yellow summer dress sweeping around her legs. She turns, smiling.

  Arthur looks down at the coin drive in his hand.

  INTEGRITY: 42%

  His jaw clenches.

  “That’s not good.”

  Sarah raises her hand — and the ocean stills. The world melts into rows of towering bookshelves glowing pale gold.

  “Look at that handsome worry line,” she teases, moving closer.

  Her fingers find his — smooth warmth against rough, trembling skin.

  With her other hand, she calls the menu again. Reality reshapes.

  Steel arches unfurl overhead.

  Coal smoke drifts through shafts of light.

  A train station emerges from memory.

  They stand together in the haze.

  They begin to sway — then dance — moving slow and close.

  Sarah smiles, kissing him deeply.

  “This is what matters.”

  Arthur chuckles against her lips.

  “We’re terrible dancers.”

  She pulls back, scandalized.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Speak for yourself, sailor. I am dazzling.”

  He laughs — a real one — and they tango.

  Then —

  A jagged violin screech tears through the moment.

  Sarah gasps, stumbling.

  The station cracks apart, dissolving into endless shelves.

  “That wasn’t me,” she whispers.

  Arthur pulls her close, protective.

  “It’s slipping,” he says quietly.

  The Void trembles.

  Shelves rise — flicker — collapse into dark water.

  Static boils across the horizon.

  Darkness presses in.

  The water reaches their ankles.

  The piano falters — half a beat off — then slowly finds its footing.

  They kiss — gentle, desperate — holding onto stillness as long as they can.

  Time moves like breath.

  Together.

  Arthur’s eyes grow heavy.

  Dreaming —

  The Void darkens into storm.

  Lightning fractures the horizon.

  Arthur kneels in rising water, surrounded by blurred faces —

  everyone he’s lost.

  They press in. Shelves splinter.

  The world collapses inward.

  Arthur jerks awake at a table.

  An empty mug before him.

  A faint smell of burning.

  Sarah’s voice floats in — soft, worried.

  “Wake up, Arthur!” she shouts. Then, more controlled:

  “Are you okay?”

  Arthur stands and crosses the room. He presses a button — metal grinds, belts squeal — and a yellowish liquid fills a fresh mug.

  “Just an old dream,” he says. “I’m fine.”

  He takes a sip — grimaces.

  “Yum.”

  In the Void, static tears at the edges. Sarah sprints along a rain-drenched forest trail. Short shorts. Cut-off band tee. Mud on her legs.

  “I wish I could taste that,” she breathes.

  Arthur dumps the mug into the recycler.

  “No, you don’t.”

  She bends over, laughing between breaths.

  “That bad?”

  Arthur loads the mug into the washer.

  “I’d say I’ve had worse, but… I can’t be sure.” A small smile forms as he remembers how horrible she was at making coffee.

  The speaker crackles painfully — Varhee’s voice mangled by age and wire:

  “Approach vector locked. Orbit in ten. Strap in.”

  Arthur buckles into his seat — and his mind slips softly back into the Void.

  Sarah stretches by a wooden fence post — the breeze rushing through tall grass like water.

  She sees him appear and smiles.

  “Almost there?”

  Arthur rests a hand on the fence. Hope mixed with fear.

  “Almost.”

  He looks out over the hills.

  “I used to love this place. The view…”

  He glances back at her, stretching.

  “Still love the view.”

  He steps closer, hands on either side of her along the rail.

  “I love you.”

  A gentle kiss.

  He spins, leaning back against the rail, checking the coin drive.

  INTEGRITY: 40%

  He slips it into his coat, careful — terrified — pretending not to be.

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