You were alone. Had been for a long time now. Long enough that the quiet had stopped being quiet and started being a presence.

Then the proximity alarm screamed.

The ship in front of you was ugly. Not in the way of human ships — all sharp angles and desperate engineering. This thing looked like a stalagmite. A massive, greyish-brown spike of a vessel, impossibly alien against the starfield.

And it was moving.

Not like it should. Not like a dead rock or a drone. It adjusted its trajectory in small, almost playful corrections. Like it was curious.

Then it extended a tunnel toward your airlock.

The metal of your ship groaned as something connected with a soft, definitive thunk.

Airlock pressure equalizing. The universe outside your door was no longer empty.

The inner door unlocked with a hiss.