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⁽ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᵒⁿᵉ ⁻ ᵖⁱˡᵒᵗ⁾
I feel the sun on my face. I see trees all around me, the scent of wildflowers on a breeze. It's so beautiful. In this moment, I'm not stranded in space.
Nova Martin has never truly known what it feels like to belong. Not here, not in this endless maze of steel orbiting Earth. The Ark has always been her cage— a cold, unyielding reminder of the life stolen from humanity nearly a century ago.
It's been ninety-seven years since a nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on Earth, leaving the planet simmering in radiation. Fortunately, there were survivors. Twelve nations had operational space stations at the time of the bombs. There is now only the Ark, one station forged from the many.
It's a sanctuary for the remnants of the human race. A sanctuary governed by rules as unyielding as its walls. Every crime is punishable by death— yes, every crime. Even something as natural as being a second-born child.
We're told the Earth needs another hundred years to become survivable again. Four more space-locked generations, and man can go home, back to the ground. The ground, that's the dream. This is reality.
Nova's thoughts are shattered by a sharp voice echoing through her cell.
"Prisoner 431, rise and face the wall."
Her head snaps up, and her heart skips a beat. Two guards stand at the entrance, one clutching a box. Their sudden presence feels wrong, intrusive.
Nova hesitates but complies, her movements slow and deliberate. They're surprised by her lack of resistance— obedience is rare from her. They should know better. After all, they're the ones who locked her up and ripped her away from her brother.
The taller guard approaches, his boots clanging against the floor. "Hold out your right arm," he orders, pulling a metal wristband from the box.
Nova's gaze narrows, her chest tightening as realization dawns. She takes a step back. "No," she snaps, her voice sharp with defiance. "I'm only seventeen."
"You have no choice," the guard says, louder now, his tone brooking no argument. "Hold out your right arm."
When Nova doesn't move, the second guard grabs her roughly, forcing her arm forward. The metal cuff bites into her skin as it locks into place. She lets out a dramatic yelp, more out of spite than pain.
"Dick," she mutters under her breath, glaring at them.
The guards ignore her, gripping her arms tightly as they pull her toward the cell door. Nova's breath quickens, panic setting in. They're floating me, she realizes with a sinking dread.
"Did you not hear me when I said I'm seventeen?" she blurts out, her voice rising.
