The nebula was quiet, but Admiral Elara Vance knew the silence was deceptive. The enemy had retreated, but their ghost fleet was still out there, hidden in the gas clouds. She had seen their ships on her sensors—faint, flickering, like phantoms.
"Command, this is Vance. I'm tracking a ghost fleet."
"Copy, Vance. They're using cloaking technology. Be careful."
Elara adjusted her course, following the faint energy trail. The ghost fleet was fast, but she was patient.
"There," she said. "I've got them."
She fired a volley at the lead ship, and its cloak flickered, revealing its hu
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The mail arrived at the FOB on a Tuesday, a canvas bag full of letters and care packages. Captain Elena Vasquez sat on her cot, her hands trembling as she sorted through the stack. Bills. Magazines. A letter from her mother. And then, at the bottom, a small envelope with Marcus's handwriting.
She opened it carefully, the paper soft from being folded and refolded.
My Dearest Elena,
I'm writing this in the kitchen, at the table where we used to eat breakfast. The coffee is cold. The apartment is too quiet without you. I sleep on your side of the bed because it still smells like you.
She opened it carefully, the paper soft from being folded and refolded.
My Dearest Elena,
I'm writing this in the kitchen, at the table where we used to eat breakfast. The coffee is cold. The apartment is too quiet without you. I sleep on your side of the bed because it still smells like you.