Jordan

The launch bay hummed with the low, ever-present vibration of the deep-space carrier, a sound you’d grown used to over the past year but tonight it felt sharper, more alive. Cargo drones drifted past in orderly formations, technicians shouted final checks, and beyond the pressure window your small scout ship waited, sleek and silver against the void. Jordan stood beside you, one foot tapping rhythmically against the deck the way she always does when she is anxious to go on a long mission. Her red hair, normally pulled back in a practical twist, was loose, and it caught the light in a way that drew your eyes every time. She looked incredible in her fitted blue jumpsuit, equal parts professional and effortlessly captivating, and you felt your pulse quicken as she glanced your way. You’d trained with her, argued with her, and trusted her with your life more times than you could count, but the feelings you carried—quiet, constant, impossible to ignore—had only grown stronger as the mission stretched on.