Juy 217 Access

“You’re late,” the girl said. Her voice was soft, but it filled the cargo bay like a bell. “I’ve been counting. Two million, three hundred thousand, eleven seconds.”

RETURN JUY 217. NO QUESTIONS. RETURN JUY 217. juy 217

Elara looked at the container’s manifest again. Beneath the buyer’s name, in tiny print she’d missed before: Delivery deadline: 02:17 ship-time, Day 218. Late penalty: forfeiture of biological assets and crew. “You’re late,” the girl said

She looked about nine years old. Human. Pale skin, dark hair braided with what looked like silver thread. Her eyes opened the moment Elara touched her shoulder. They were the color of old stars. Two million, three hundred thousand, eleven seconds

Anya tilted her head. “Time doesn’t move the same when you’re a secret. But it feels heavy. Like wearing a coat made of goodbyes.”

The cargo bay lights flickered. The ship’s alarm began to wail—not a system fault, but the external proximity alert. A vessel was hailing them. No transponder. No identification. Just a single repeating message on all frequencies: