We found it in the silence between stars—not a signal, but an absence. The vessel's hull sang it back to us in frequencies that predated language. Ikaris pressed a hand to the bulkhead and listened. Something ancient was dreaming, and we had knocked. Now it dreamed of us. "Belay that," I whispered. Too late. The crew was already leaning toward the wall, mouths open, eyes full of someone else's memory.
The Quiet Below
