Three days later, the Astraeus drifted at the boundary of mapped space.
Beyond them lay Orion-9—a region avoided not by law, but by instinct. Old exploration logs spoke of navigation failures, phantom readings, and ships that vanished without explanation.
Naturally, that made it irresistible.
"You really think this is first contact?" Arin asked as he leaned against the console.
Elara didn't answer immediately. She studied the star map, watching the blinking dot that marked their destination.
"No," she said finally. "If it were aliens trying to contact us, they wouldn't send coordinates into a graveyard."
Arin raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"
Elara's gaze hardened.
"A warning."
Behind them, Chief Engineer Rhea Solis snorted. "Or a trap. Let's not forget traps. Space loves those."
Despite the tension, a faint smile touched Elara's lips.
Rhea never believed in mystery—only mechanics.
"Engines ready," Rhea continued. "But once we cross that boundary, we're on our own. No relays. No backup. Nothing."
Elara nodded.
"That's why we're here."
She stepped forward, her voice steady, commanding.
"Set course for Orion-9."
The ship hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—as if even its systems were reluctant.
Then the engines ignited.
And they crossed into the unknown.