Captain Blitner hunches his shoulders and stares at the open document on his workstation. “I suppose we should continue.”

Three hours later—three hours of tapping and reading and highlighting—Captain Blitner lets me leave. Again, I try not to rush until the door shuts behind me, at which point I head down to Floor 10 and grab lunch. Once I’m back in my living quarters, I lay down for a quick nap. My mind buzzes with Captain Blitner’s story, but soon it fades and I go with it…

…until I snap back awake.

I sit up. No sleeping. I took a nap yesterday stayed up half the night as a result. Stay active. No naps.

I change out of my uniform and head to the fitness center. This will be my routine: work, eat lunch, take a short break, go to the gym.

Nice and busy.

I ride an elevator to Floor 4 and find an empty treadmill. Not long after, I realize how out of shape I am. Sweat drips down my cheeks. My shoulders and legs ache, more than they did during the Hologis tournament. Fortunately the bruise from Glacia’s tackle is gone, so my ribs don’t hurt as much anymore. I stopped breathing through my nose several minutes ago and resorted to wheezing through my mouth even though sweat mixes into my saliva. Of course I forgot to bring water.

Stupid mistake.

After a mile, I slow to a walk. My forehead is slick with sweat. I wipe it off with my wrist and dry it on my shorts. Water. There has to be water somewhere in the fitness center. I step off the treadmill—legs shaking—and weave through the machines. Other sweaty men and women brought their own water bottles from who-knows-where. I was never given one.

There: on the wall. I slip out a cup and fill it to the brim. I drink it in three gulps, stick it back in the dispenser, and fill it a second time. I keep drinking until I don’t taste blood in my throat anymore.

Well, that was rough.

Shower. Dress. Walk around the station. Hang out in the observatory. Go back to my room. At dinnertime, there’s a knock on my door.

Yup, it’s Orcher.

Captain Fallsten joins us tonight. It’s clear from the moment she opens her mouth that Victoria and Officer Remmit don’t want anything to do with her. Like this morning, she goes off on Orcher and won’t listen to anyone else.

“The engine reports were incomplete,” she’s saying now. She doesn’t direct the comment at me, but I’m the one who wrote up the reports. “Nothing in there about their raised internal temperature—”

“By less than half a percent, Miranda,” Orcher points out. He swirls the water in his cup, looking both annoyed and amused at the same time. “Hardly worth fretting over.”