Inside, the compartment was thick with exhausted bodies and heavier silences. Blood had dried in smears across uniforms. Bandages were fresh white against dark fabric. Someone was laughing—shakily, disbelievingly—near the front.

The celebration felt wrong. Too light. Like they'd forgotten the bodies still scattered in Liberio's streets.

And then—

A muffled thud. Something solid hitting the deck behind you.

Sasha's laugh died mid-breath.