Born in the thin gravity of the innermost decks, Leea is a ghost — a master thief who descends through ever-heavier levels to navigate the off-limits guts of an ancient generational ship. A comatose mother. A father working himself to death. Survival depends on staying invisible.
But when a heist goes catastrophically wrong, her invisibility is stripped away.
A street hustler smells opportunity. He doesn't turn her in — he puts a collar on her. Run errands. Steal what I say. Breathe when I let you.
But it's the Habitat's ruler who terrifies her. He doesn't care about the heist. He's manufacturing a conspiracy and he needs a face to hang it on. Leea fits the frame perfectly.
And on a forgotten deck, behind a wall someone sealed in a hurry, there's air. Moving air. Coming from somewhere the ship says doesn't exist.
The ragged scream punched through the thin metal door, rattling the loose hinges in their frames.
Boyd flinched, his boots glued to the rusted deck plates of Level Thirty-Nine. He clutched the canvas sack in his pocket so hard the magnetic chips inside ground together, the sharp edges bruising his knuckles. Another scream from inside the cramped quarters, followed by a wet slap and the midwife's sharp curse.
Then came a new sound. A thin, reedy wail that cut through the deep-throated hum of the ship's environmental filters.
A baby. Boyd's breath hitched.
[ENCRYPTION DETECTED: FURTHER ACCESS RESTRICTED]