These weren’t words, but they had meaning. Concepts, alien and foreign and yet somehow teasing the borders of my brain with significance.

The aliens were searching for their ship. And if another ship found us, if more aliens were on the way . . . if, God help us, they realized that Mia had ejected hundreds of their unconscious siblings into space . . .

It took every ounce of my decade of Omnistellar training not to run from the room in terror. I’d recoiled from the board when the first wash of meaning hit me, and I felt Rune’s gaze boring into me. I used an old trick my dad had taught me and stared at a spot on the floor until the world stopped spinning, set my jaw, and returned to my task. My fingers found the raised symbols and I closed my eyes, striving for stillness around the rampage of my heartbeat. Doing this came easier now, as I grew more familiar with my power, but I didn’t think the alien language would ever feel natural, even for me.

I brushed the symbols and their significance washed over me, simultaneously benign, almost routine, and yet menacing enough to send a chill down my spine. There was no mistake.

The aliens were coming.

I’d known they would. I’d known it. But I hadn’t let myself consider the idea with any seriousness. I’d hoped we had time, time to plan and think and figure out what to do next. Now, only weeks after we’d escaped Sanctuary, here they were. And if they responded this quickly, who knew what they planned? What sort of firepower they had? What they would do to us?

My eyes fluttered open and found Rune’s anxious gaze. “We have to get off this ship.”

*  *  *

Ten minutes later we huddled in the control room with what I’d come to think of as our core group. Reed watched with his characteristic quiet wit dancing in his eyes, like he was sketching each of us from the sidelines. Mia paced. Nearby, Alexei folded his huge form against a wall and monitored her with growing concern. Imani sat on the floor near Rune, working her fingers through her long braids. Like Reed, Imani had healing powers, but hers were the mirror image of his. Reed could heal anyone except himself, and Imani could heal only herself. Now, she frowned at her fingers and wiggled them. “Hangnail,” she explained to no one in particular. She caught my eye and winked. I think I was the only one who saw through Imani’s cheerful demeanor. Understanding passed between us, unspoken but never unfelt.