I reached the lift without incident: a large black circle on the floor. I stepped onto it and passed Dad’s omnicard by the screen on the wall. The circle descended, another instantly sliding into place above my head. I plummeted through a solid tube, track lighting crossing the walls, clear plexiglass preventing me from touching anything on my sides. I closed my eyes against a burst of claustrophobia. I used to like tube lifts. Now they felt like a prison.

The ride wasn’t long, though, and a moment later, a rush of cool air told me I’d left the tube behind. I opened my eyes as the disc lowered into place on the floor below. When I was a kid, my parents were stationed on a prison with a tube lift, and two other girls and I used to make a game of jumping off the disc at increasing heights, until we got caught and grounded. Now I found myself afraid to leave the disc at all.

The computer chimed, and its pleasant androgynous voice advised me to vacate the space. I leaped into action, my heart thrumming. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I waited with bated breath for a shrill alien scream to respond to the computer.

Nothing.

I stood in another empty, sterile hallway. Medical was ahead on my left, the command center’s lower domain on my right. According to the map, most of this level contained dormitories and living quarters, but I was willing to bet my friends were here too, in the holding cells at the rear of the ship.

Assuming they still lived.

I took three steps toward the stern of the ship, and the emergency lights vanished, plunging me into darkness.

Half a scream escaped me before I clamped my lips together. Sheer terror overwhelmed me. I scrambled in the blackness until my hand reached the wall. I clung to it like a lifeline, cringing, making myself as small as possible. My heart drummed in my ears, impossibly loud, as I waited for sight to return the way it does when the lights go out.

But that was on Earth, where your eyes only needed to adjust to a lower level of illumination. This was space. There was not even a glimmer or gleam, and my eyes had no way to adjust. I was completely blind.

The reassuring thrum of the ship’s systems continued in the background, telling me the life support still functioned. But why had the lights gone off? And how?

Did I dare risk reconnecting my wrist comm, or would the command to trigger its luminous function send agony tearing through my brain? I’d definitely used it after leaving Liam’s hideout, but he could have triggered a virus remotely. Either way, I didn’t want to try it. The pain had been worse the second time I’d triggered my comms. If I activated it a third time, it might very well knock me out, leaving me lying unconscious on the floor for whoever—or whatever—happened along.