He tries to move cautiously, but one of the creatures snaps its head toward him, as if it sensed his intention before he even acted on it. It watches him with those bottomless eyes. Intelligent. Too intelligent.

—Can you understand me? —he dares to ask.

Silence. Then, a larger creature steps forward and raises a long, knotted limb. Its hand—or whatever passes for one—moves in the air, forming a gesture Mickey doesn’t understand. But there’s something in the way they look at him that chills him more than the planet’s frozen winds.

They didn’t save him out of compassion. They expect something from him.

Hours later, when they finally let him go, Mickey7 runs. He scrambles across the ice, staggers through the storm until he sees the colony’s dome in the distance. A pale glow—his artificial prison. Home.

When he stumbles through the decompression airlock and collapses onto the metallic floor, the door hisses shut behind him. His breath comes in ragged gasps. He made it.

But as he pushes himself to his feet, frozen to the bone, the real terror strikes him.

Mickey8 is there.

He’s staring at him, eyes wide. Confusion and fear written all over his face. Like he’s looking at a ghost.