Chapter 57: The Rhythm of the Wraith
Back in the present.
The steam curled like silver ghosts across the edge of the glass, swallowing the sleek lines of the private bath chamber. Showers aboard Confederacy vessels weren't indulgent. They were pressurized, water-efficient, and tuned to keep soldiers clean without wasting time or resources.
But Orion wasn't thinking about any of that.
He had both arms braced against the tile wall, head lowered, water rolling down his spine like a slow current. His breath came slow. His mind wasn't here.
It was back in the training hall. Back in the blur of bruises and movement and memory.
The six forms looped in his thoughts like old combat data stuck on replay: Veiled Fang. Phantom Spiral. Descent. Return. Mirage. Severance.
They were amazing movement for a five years old to come up with.
But they were still missing.
And then—mid-shower, mid-thought—it just clicked.
His eyes flicked open. Water streamed off his lashes.
He whispered, "Wait..."