Moonlight Sonata in the first movement. Three notes, then the same three notes. The ship has learned not to compete with it.

Serena at the glass with coffee. The cup is warm. The void is not. Stars so still they look painted. She is looking at deep space the way some people look at water. Nothing on her face that needs translating.

Ryan is not looking at the void.

He is sitting far enough that it could still be called distance. Close enough that the link does not bother with distance. He has the watch. He always has the watch. Coffee steam lifts across her mouth and he feels the heat of it in his own. Bidirectional. No private buffer. She knows. She does not turn.

The piano keeps walking the same slow rooms.

Three years of this already. Her profile against nothing. His first private feeling still somewhere under the music, unused. He does not go to her. He does not speak. He watches her drink, and the ship holds its luxury like a held breath, and the void keeps not answering, which is the point.

She takes another sip.

He stays.