Chapter 52 · Back to the noise

Pesfavri hadn’t changed.

The docking queues were still tangled, the comm chatter still an argument in a hundred languages. Cargo haulers drifted across lanes like drunk leviathans, and the same neon haze glowed over the merchant ring. Even the same advertisement for Grell’s Genuine Reactor Sealant still flickered above the customs terminal—one corner burned out.

Eli watched it from the viewport and muttered, “Didn’t we just leave this circus yesterday?”

“Twenty-six hours ago,” Stent said. “Local time.”

“Feels longer.”

“Because we are tired,” Stent said flatly.

Eli smirked. “You’re the one who never sleeps.”

“Fatigue is a human indulgence.”

“Then you must be starving for it.”

The Mynock settled into an outer berth this time, one of the freight docks below the commercial ring. The docking clamps caught with their usual indifference, and the pressure equalizer gave a long, metallic sigh.

Eli peered at the status screen. “Docking fee’s lower out here. I’m shocked.”

“The lower the fee,” Stent said, “the greater the inconvenience.”

He wasn’t wrong. The freight section looked nothing like the gleaming merchant ring above. It was half-lit and humid, full of old haulers patched with their own rust. The kind of place where cargo and crime blurred together, and nobody paid enough attention to ask questions.

They disembarked anyway. The air was warm and smelled faintly of oil and yeast. A service drone whirred past dragging a cart of coolant canisters. Voices echoed from the catwalks above—workers, gamblers, vendors yelling about docking permits.

Eli tapped the datapad against his palm. “We’ll need to catch the inner shuttle if we’re going anywhere near the tech quarter. That’s five credits each way.”

Stent gave him a sharp look. “You are cataloguing expenses?”

“Yes,” Eli said, “because the ship’s broke, I’m broke, and your idea of financial management is glowering until people offer discounts.”

“It is effective,” Stent said.

Eli snorted and bought two shuttle tickets from a cracked terminal anyway. The machine spat them out with a clatter that sounded like laughter.

The ride across the station took them through the veins of Pesfavri’s underbelly—maintenance tunnels, vendor corridors, and stretches of transparent tubing that looked out over the planet below. From this altitude, the world was nothing but storm bands, pale and endless.

Eli sat with his head tilted back, watching the lights smear across the shuttle’s window. “Same planet, same noise,” he said softly. “Guess we’re the only ones who feel different.”

Stent didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His reflection in the glass was enough—expression tighter, eyes harder.

They found Nora on the third try.

Her name was on the registry of a hostel built into one of the mid-level habitation rings—cheap beds, cheaper food, and air scrubbers that wheezed like sick animals. The front desk droid greeted them without enthusiasm. “Room 12-B,” it said. “If she’s awake, she’s probably in the kitchen.”

She was. Sitting at a table with a cup of something pretending to be caff, her dark hair tied back, the same worn mechanic’s jacket slung over the chair. She looked up as they entered, surprise flashing into a grin.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” she said. “What, miss me already?”

Eli dropped into the chair across from her. “Something like that. We ran into a technical problem.”

“Uh-huh. What kind of problem?”

“The kind that tried to eat our ship’s brain.”

Nora blinked. “You what?”

“Dead relay,” Eli said. “Out near the dwarf belt. Looked normal. Then it wasn’t. Now the Mynock’s core is carrying something I can’t even begin to understand.”

She whistled softly. “Sounds above my pay grade.”

“Mine too,” Eli admitted. “That’s why we need a slicer. Someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Nora leaned back, thinking. “That depends on how desperate you are and how quiet you need it done.”

“Both,” Eli said.

“Then I know just the kind of people.”

She stood, draining her cup. “Come on. I’ve been hanging around the dockside terminals looking for work. I’ve met a few folks who specialize in fixing ‘complicated problems.’”

Eli glanced at Stent. “She means criminals.”

Stent adjusted his gloves. “If they are competent, I do not object to their classification.”

Nora grinned. “Good. Because the guy I’m thinking of is definitely competent—and definitely criminal.”

She motioned toward the corridor. “Come on, traders. You want your ship’s brain back, you’ll have to buy this one a drink first.”

Eli sighed and stood. “Just when I thought we’d hit rock bottom, we start networking.”

“Consider it maintenance,” Nora said, already walking. “You’re welcome.”

“Speaking of maintenance,” Eli intervened “How good are you at plumbing?”

They found the shop tucked away near the end of a long maintenance corridor that smelled faintly of ozone and boiled lubricant.
The sign over the doorway flickered between VEDDAN TECH and EDDAN T C, like it couldn’t commit to advertising.

Inside, the air was warm, almost clean. Rows of stripped-down consoles lined the walls. A single workbench dominated the center, covered in neatly ordered tools and a disassembled astromech that looked halfway between death and enlightenment.

A Quarren hunched over the bench, long fingers moving delicately among wires. He didn’t look up until Nora cleared her throat.

“You Veddan?” she asked.

The Quarren’s respirator hissed softly before he answered. “Depends who’s asking.”

“We’re told you’re the best slicer who doesn’t ask too many questions,” Nora said.

“That narrows it down to half this ring,” he muttered. His eyes shifted toward Eli and Stent. The tentacles at the corners of his mouth twitched. “You brought a Chiss.”

Eli smiled easily. “He’s housebroken.”

Veddan straightened a little, his voice sharpening with amusement and something like distaste. “There’s usually more than one of you. Funny, I always imagined they traveled in packs.”

“Budget cuts,” Eli said.

The Quarren made a noise that might have been laughter. “Fine. What’s broken?”

Eli stepped forward, resting his hands on the counter. “Our ship’s systems got hit with something out there—a corrupted relay. We flushed the core, hard rebooted, burned the logs, and it’s still in there. Now it’s rewriting itself into the memory buffer like it’s squatting rent-free.”

Veddan’s head tilted, the mechanical whine of his respirator filling the pause. “What model?”

Eli hesitated. “Uh… small. Angular. The kind of ship that rattles when you think too loudly near it.”

“Designation?”

“Uh…” Eli’s hand made a vague shape in the air. “Starts with ‘M.’ Ends with ‘ynock.’”

Veddan blinked slowly. “So you have no idea.”

“I know she’s got personality,” Eli said. “And that’s usually a warning sign.”

Nora stifled a grin behind her hand. Stent, of course, said nothing.

The Quarren made a low sound through his mask, halfway between a sigh and a bubble. “Old freighter. Probably modular core, off-brand systems. You could have anything from a fried capacitor to a haunted nav array.”

“Let’s assume the haunted option,” Eli said. “We need a full purge. Quietly.”

Veddan finally looked at Stent again, eyes narrowing. “And you’re fine letting someone like me poke around your ship, Chiss?”

“If you are competent,” Stent said evenly, “your species is irrelevant.”

“Flattery,” Veddan said dryly. “That’ll cost extra.”

Eli stepped in before the temperature could drop further. “Look, we can pay. Half now, half when she’s clean.”

“Credits?”

“Straight credits,” Eli confirmed. “No barter, no Imperial script.”

The Quarren nodded slowly, clearly recalculating them in real time. “Reasonable. Two thousand for the job. If I have to replace modules, that’s extra. If it starts speaking in tongues, you’re paying hazard rates.”

Eli glanced at Stent. “Fair.”

Stent inclined his head once, the Chiss equivalent of a handshake. “Acceptable.”

Veddan exhaled through the mask—a sound that might’ve been satisfaction. “Docking bay?”

“Seventeen-A,” Eli said. “Outer ring. It’s the one that looks like it’s seen things.”

“They all have,” the Quarren said. “Fine. Give me an hour to close up here, and I’ll bring my tools.”

He turned back to his bench, already ignoring them, long fingers resuming their careful work. It was clear the deal was done.

Outside, in the noise of the corridor, Eli blew out a breath. “See? Easy.”

Nora gave him a sidelong look. “You notice he didn’t blink when you said your ship might be haunted?”

“Yeah,” Eli said. “That’s the part that worries me.”

Stent was already walking toward the lift. “We will prepare the Mynock.”

Eli followed. “For what?”

“For exorcism,” Stent said without turning.

Eli stopped dead in the middle of the walkway, blinking. Then a laugh broke out of him—sharp and surprised. “You—was that a joke? You made a joke!”

Stent didn’t slow down. “I do not make jokes.”

“Oh, you absolutely just did,” Eli said, grinning as he jogged to catch up. “You’re evolving. This is terrifying.”

“Evolution implies inefficiency in the prior form,” Stent said smoothly.

Eli laughed again, shaking his head. “Fine. You win. Let’s go perform an exorcism.”

Behind them, Nora muttered, “You two are going to get haunted just on principle.”

Veddan arrived with the same quiet inevitability as bad weather.
He turned up at the Mynock’s ramp an hour later, a compact toolkit slung over one shoulder, his respirator hissing steadily. He didn’t ask permission before walking aboard—just ducked his head under the hatch and took in the interior with a slow, professional glance.

“Seen worse,” he said.

That was generous.

The Mynock looked like someone had tried to fix her using the principles of hope and creative swearing. Panels were off, cables trailed across the floor, the cockpit access plate lay open like a wound. The air still smelled faintly of solder and recycled humidity.

Nora was halfway through replacing a set of circuit housings near the fresher unit, sleeves rolled up, a smear of sealant across her cheek. “Hey,” she said, looking up from the open panel.

The Quarren gave her a curt nod, then glanced at Stent, who was methodically sorting tools beside her. “So the Chiss fixes plumbing now?”

“Temporary reallocation of skill,” Stent said without looking up.

Nora grinned. “He’s a good assistant.”

“I am thorough,” Stent corrected.

Eli appeared from the cockpit, wiping his hands on a rag. “We’re all working on personal growth today.”

Veddan ignored the exchange and crouched beside the main systems access under the cockpit console. “Power down the primary core,” he said. “I’m not slicing a live circuit.”

Stent moved to the control board, fingers sweeping across the interface with the precision of muscle memory. “Core offline.”

“Good.” Veddan opened his case. It was a beautiful piece of work—modular slicer rig, coiled cables, narrow dataprobes, and a portable screen with half the buttons labeled in languages none of them could read. He started connecting leads without preamble.

Nora leaned against the bulkhead, watching him work. “So, what do you think it is?”

The Quarren’s mask hissed once. “If your story’s right, probably a corrupted ghost file.”

Eli frowned. “Ghost file?”

“Junk data that doesn’t die when you tell it to,” Veddan said. “Gets buried in redundant memory. Feeds off updates. You reboot, it learns.”

“Like mold,” Nora said.

“Exactly,” the Quarren replied. “Except mold doesn’t reprogram your navigation grid.”

Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “We did a full flush, hard memory wipe, and it still came back.”

“That’s because you didn’t isolate the drives,” Veddan said. “Standard rookie mistake.”

“I’m not a rookie.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Eli sighed. “Fair point.”

Veddan’s tentacles flexed slightly as he worked. “These old freighters—especially whatever brand this one is—love to crosswire their buffers. I’ll clean it properly. Might as well patch your system architecture while I’m in there.”

“Is that included in the price?”

“No,” Veddan said.

Eli turned to Stent. “Please tell me navigation’s worth the cost of a small moon.”

“Navigation accuracy is non-negotiable,” Stent said, exactly as he had the day before.

Veddan gave a faint clicking sound that might have been amusement. “At least you two agree on priorities.”

Two hours passed like this: tools moving, data streaming, the ship humming faintly under their feet. Nora and Stent finished reattaching the fresher’s new fixtures. The sound of the reconnected water pump gurgling to life echoed faintly down the corridor.

Eli leaned in the doorway, watching them. “You didn’t have to help, you know,” he said to Nora.

She shrugged without looking up. “You saved my life. Least I can do is make sure you don’t die of bad plumbing.”

“That’s a noble cause.”

“Someone’s got to care about the essentials.” She tightened a bolt with a grunt and added, “Anyway, keeps my hands busy. Beats waiting around for luck to find me a job.”

“You could’ve asked for pay.”

She snorted. “For what? You’ve got more debt than gravity.”

Eli grinned. “True. But the company’s good.”

“Don’t get sentimental, Vanto.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“A drink would settle it” she offered, her eyes carrying a subtle promise.

“Deal.”

In the cockpit, Veddan’s screen pulsed green. He sat back, valves clicking softly. “There,” he said. “Got your core open.”

Eli leaned over his shoulder. The projection showed the Mynock’s central data flow—spooling lines of code, clean and uniform except for one region that shimmered oddly, like heat distortion.

“What’s that?” Eli asked.

“That,” Veddan said, “is your infection. It’s been replicating through your power management logs and sensor history. Smart—hides where nobody looks.”

“Can you clean it?”

The Quarren nodded slowly. “I can. But it’s deep. Couple hours minimum. If you’re smart, you’ll replace your core modules while I’m at it. Fresh firmware. Less chance of re-contamination.”

Eli and Stent exchanged a look.

Stent nodded once. “Approved.”

Veddan reached for a different tool, something thin and needle-tipped. “Good. I’ll purge and reinstall. When I’m done, this thing will fly like she’s just been born.”

Nora laughed softly. “Try not to erase the personality. I think they’re attached.”

Veddan’s eyes flicked up, expression unreadable behind the mask. “If that thing ever starts talking back, don’t answer.”

Eli forced a grin. “Noted.”

By the time Veddan began the purge, the Mynock had fallen into a hush so complete that even the station’s distant noise felt miles away.
The Quarren worked without commentary—gloved hands a blur over his terminal, the soft click of interface relays keeping rhythm with the hiss of his respirator.

He’d connected half a dozen slender cables to the access ports under the cockpit console, each one pulsing faint green. The portable screen projected a lattice of data across the bulkhead: streams of code, overlapping, shifting, reforming as he isolated the corrupted segments.

Eli leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, watching the dance of light. “You make it look like art.”

“It’s uglier than it looks,” Veddan said. “Infected systems fight back.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Not meant to be.”

Stent stood near the hatch, hands clasped behind his back, eyes half-hooded as he watched the data stream. “What are you observing?”

“Your ship’s brain is arguing with me,” the Quarren said evenly.

Eli frowned. “Arguing?”

“She’s running counter-instructions. It’s a self-healing protocol, but not one I’ve seen before. Keeps trying to reassert old command lines, overwrite my access.”

Stent stepped closer. “Can you contain it?”

“Yes. But I’d prefer she not start transmitting while I’m in her head.”

Eli blinked. “Transmitting? You mean broadcasting?”

The Quarren didn’t answer, which was its own kind of answer.

A low hum built under their feet, rising slowly until it pressed against the ribs of the ship. Lights dimmed across the bulkhead. The air smelled faintly of heated metal.

Veddan muttered, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Eli asked.

“She’s cycling subsystems. Rerouting my access points.” He snapped his fingers once. “Shut down your secondary power relay.”

Eli moved fast, flipping the switch on the wall panel. The hum dropped an octave, steadied.

“That’s better,” Veddan said. “She’s not happy, though.”

Stent’s voice was calm but sharp. “Can an artificial system be unhappy?”

The Quarren didn’t look up. “Depends on what’s living in it.”

Eli shot Stent a glance. “We are never buying secondhand software again.”

“Agreed,” Stent said.

Minutes bled into an hour.
Veddan moved with surgical precision, deleting, isolating, patching. He replaced one of the core modules entirely, sliding it into place with a decisive click. “New firmware’s cleaner. You’ll notice faster response time.”

“I’ll take alive over fast,” Eli muttered.

The Quarren’s screen flickered once, and the code lattice folded inward, reforming into a steady pulse. “Almost done,” he said. “Just need to clear the ghost registry.”

“Ghost registry,” Eli repeated. “Why do you people keep calling it that?”

“Because it’s where dead data goes to whisper.”

He keyed in one final sequence.

The lights dimmed. The ship’s hum faltered.

Then, for an instant—so quick it might have been imagined—the internal speakers crackled.
A single sound emerged: not static, not a word, but something shaped.

It was soft, distant, almost like breathing.

Eli froze. “What the hell was that?”

Veddan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the data projection, which had started to ripple, text looping over itself in patterns that weren’t code.

“Old habits,” he said finally. “Sometimes systems don’t like being erased.”

“Are you saying she’s haunted again?” Eli asked.

“I’m saying,” Veddan murmured, “she remembered.”

Stent moved closer. “Can you remove it entirely?”

Veddan exhaled through his mask. “It’s clean enough. She’ll fly. But whatever that was—it wrote itself deep. There’s no wiping something you can’t define.”

He powered down his rig. The lights came back in stages—first the overheads, then the soft glow of the navigation board. The ship exhaled, the recycled air sighing through the vents.

“There,” he said finally, standing. “Your core’s new, your firmware’s solid, and your ghost is mostly gone. Try not to catch another.”

Eli gave a tired laugh. “We’ll add that to the list of things to fail at.”

Veddan packed his tools with the same methodical care he’d shown in everything else. Each cable coiled precisely, every interface cap sealed before going back into its slot.

“I’ll leave the nav install running overnight,” he said, voice steady through the respirator. “When you wake her up tomorrow, she’ll be cleaner than when you found her.”

He paused at the hatch, one gloved hand on the frame. “She’s a strange one, though. For an old ship, she’s got a long memory.”

Eli tilted his head. “That supposed to be comforting?”

Veddan’s tentacles flexed slightly, maybe a shrug. “Depends what she remembers.”

He turned to go, then hesitated. “I’ll come back in the morning to calibrate the navigation array. If you want to upgrade the astronavigation computer—one that plays nice with your new firmware—I can source one. It’ll cost you less than losing yourself in hyperspace.”

Eli nodded toward Stent. “He handles the finances.”

The Quarren’s gaze slid toward the Chiss. “Figures.”

Veddan left them there, the ship humming quietly in its half-dormant state. The air smelled faintly of coolant and warm circuitry.

Stent leaned against the console, studying the diagnostic lights as they blinked in slow succession. The rhythm was cleaner now—smoother—but still somehow unsettling.

Eli, meanwhile, found Nora sitting cross-legged on the ramp, boots off, running a rag over her hands.

“So,” she said, looking up at him, “you really think this thing’s fixed?”

“Define ‘fixed,’” Eli said.

She smiled faintly. “As in, not going to explode.”

“Oh, then yes. Probably.”

She laughed, low and easy, and Eli found himself grinning back. “You hungry?” he asked. “I owe you a drink, remember?”

“You said that last time.”

“And now I’m saying it again. I’m a man of my word, eventually.”

She tilted her head, mock thoughtful. “Fine. You’re buying. Somewhere that doesn’t serve coolant as garnish.”

“That narrows it down to two places on this station,” Eli said. “I’m feeling extravagant.”

He offered his hand, and she took it, warm and sure.

Behind them, Stent’s voice came from the cockpit, smooth and distant. “Mr. Vanto.”

Eli turned. “Yeah?”

“You intend to leave the ship unattended while the patch runs?”

“Veddan said it’s safe.”

“That was not my question.”

Eli hesitated, caught. “You mind staying aboard? Just in case.”

Stent’s red eyes met his for a long moment, unreadable as ever. Then: “Go. I would listen to my own thoughts for a change.”

Eli blinked. “Was that a complaint?”

“It was an observation,” Stent said.

“Same thing.”

“Not precisely,” Stent replied, already turning back to the console.

Eli grinned and called down the corridor, “Try not to philosophize too loudly, or you’ll wake the ship.”

Stent didn’t respond. The sound of systems humming filled the silence where his voice should have been.

Eli glanced once more at the cockpit, then at Nora waiting by the hatch. “He’s the quiet type,” he said.

“Good,” she said, smiling. “I like a quiet ship.”

Together they stepped out into the corridor, the light of the station spilling across their backs.

Behind them, in the dim cockpit, Stent remained at the console. The Mynock’s lights pulsed once—softly, like a breath drawn in—and settled again.

He watched the reflection fade across the viewport and said softly, to no one in particular, turning the old core module in his hands. “We’ll see what you remember.”

Veddan showed up early.
Not just early for a slicer—early, period. The freight ring’s lights were still cycling from night to false dawn when the Mynock’s ramp gave a short hiss and lowered to reveal his stocky silhouette in the doorway.

He didn’t knock. “You left the access unlocked,” he said, stepping inside.

“I was expecting you,” came Stent’s voice from the cockpit.

The Chiss looked as if he hadn’t moved since the night before—immaculate, calm, and surrounded by the soft blue glow of the console’s completed diagnostics. The hum of the ship had changed. It was cleaner now, somehow more present, like a creature breathing evenly for the first time in weeks.

“She’s clean,” Veddan said after a glance at the displays. “No ghost code. No feedback loops. Whatever that thing was, it’s gone.”

Stent gave a single nod. “Your work is efficient.”

The Quarren’s eyes flicked to the fresh diagnostic lights. “You don’t look like someone who’s slept.”

“Efficiency,” Stent said, “is not restful.”

Veddan let out a short, amused click through his respirator and started unpacking his toolkit again. “Well, let’s finish her up. I brought the new nav module.”

Eli returned half an hour later, carrying a small paper box that smelled faintly of cinnamon and starfruit glaze.

“Morning,” he said as he climbed the ramp. “Brought breakfast.”

Nora followed behind him, hair still damp from the hostel’s shower, her expression halfway between amusement and exhaustion.

“Tradition,” Eli said. “Back on Naporar, there was this vendor who showed up once per week—made something almost exactly like this. Stuck to your fingers for days, but worth it.”

Stent looked over from the console, one brow arching. “I was unaware you possessed sentimental attachment to carbohydrates.”

“It’s a new development,” Eli said, offering him a bun. “Consider it cultural outreach.”

Stent regarded it for a moment before taking it with the same care one might handle unstable ordnance. “Sticky,” he said.

“Authentic,” Eli corrected.

Veddan didn’t comment. He was already deep in calibration, the new astronavigation core half-installed, thin light from his portable rig flickering against the walls. The screen scrolled with perfect order—lines of numbers that looked almost soothing after the chaos of the day before.

“System’s stable,” he said finally. “No trace signatures. Your hardware’s fresh, your software’s clean, and I gave your nav computer an ego. She’ll correct for drift before you even know it’s there.”

Eli leaned on the console beside him. “You saying she’s smarter than me?”

“Smarter than most of you,” Veddan said, unplugging his rig.

Eli chuckled. “We’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not,” Veddan replied, but there was no bite in it. He powered down his gear and sealed the new panel. “All right. You’re done. You’ll fly straight, provided you don’t go touching any more cursed machinery.”

“No promises,” Eli said.

“Didn’t think so.”

The Quarren paused at the hatch, his respirator clicking softly. “Credit transfer cleared. If she starts talking in her sleep again, don’t come back.”

“We’ll try to resist the temptation,” Eli said.

Veddan tilted his head toward Stent. “You’re a quiet one, Chiss.”

“I prefer results to conversation,” Stent said.

“Then we understand each other.”

He left without another word. The ramp sealed behind him, leaving the three of them in the low hum of a ship that felt, for the first time in weeks, utterly alive.

Eli tore off a piece of his bun, chewed thoughtfully, and said, “So—clean ship, clean start.”

Nora smiled faintly. “You always this optimistic after an exorcism?”

“Just on the good ones.”

Stent brushed the last of the glaze from his fingertips, expression unreadable. “Let us hope,” he said quietly, “that this one remains permanent.”

The Mynock hummed softly in answer, like a creature content—at least for now.

The Mynock felt different.

Her hum was steady, her systems bright and clean. No echoes in the comms, no flicker in the lights—just the quiet confidence of a ship that had been scrubbed of ghosts.

Eli sat in the pilot’s chair, running the pre-flight checklist. “Never thought I’d miss the rattling,” he said. “She sounds almost civilized now.”

“Do not anthropomorphize the vessel,” Stent said from the co-pilot’s seat. “It encourages dependency.”

Eli glanced over. “You realize that’s what normal people call affection, right?”

“I am not normal people.”

“That,” Eli said, “is increasingly obvious.”

He eased the throttle forward. The Mynock lifted free of the dock, the lights of Pesfavri spilling across her hull. Outside, the freight ring’s clutter fell away into the dark.

“Docking clamps released,” Stent said. “Engines nominal.”

“Feels good to say that,” Eli murmured.

“Then we should leave before the sentiment fades.”

Eli chuckled and keyed the jump sequence. “Destination: wherever the hell this trail ends.”

“Course set,” Stent confirmed. “Engage when ready.”

Eli glanced one last time at the shrinking lights of the port. “Goodbye, Pesfavri. Don’t change.”

“It won’t,” Stent said. “You will.”

The hyperdrive engaged with a low, resonant thrum. The stars stretched into blue.

The Mynock slipped into hyperspace, carrying only two voices again—and the faint, sweet smell of the buns Eli had left on the console, just to prove there was still room for small, human comforts in the cold.