PROLOGUE

Home .

Home is all he can think of as he slides on his pressurized helmet. It's been months since he's put it on, and while the fit remains unchanged, he can't say the same for his space suit, which hangs loosely on his limbs, reminding him he's lost more than a few pounds since he last wore it. What once allowed for effortless movement is now more of a hazard than anything.

Powering up the pod, he checks the systems with steady hands. The escape capsule is still fully operational, despite the state of the rest of the ship. A vessel this size is meant to be operated by a crew of at least six. Alone, he has been keeping it functioning to the best of his abilities. A task that has become more difficult with each passing day.

He deemed many systems throughout the ship "not critical," saving only those that will keep him alive for at least a few more weeks. One of those more critical items is the maintenance of the escape pod. The capsule was designed to survive an assortment of disasters, but nothing is ever a guarantee, and he wanted to ensure it was in the best condition should he need it.

This pod can hold two people if needed, but even with the extra space, he still feels claustrophobic as he climbs inside and seals the hatch, hissing as it closes. The air inside is stale, the thick metal walls are cold and dull, but as he slides into the pilot seat, an overwhelming sense of calm washes over him.

Perhaps that should be credited to his years of training and experience. After spending half his life preparing for all kinds of scenarios, sitting in a pilot seat is second nature for him, but a year on the run has taken a toll, draining him, not only physically, but mentally, too. Trying to remain hopeful, a once simple task, now wears him down piece by piece.

He knows he can never go back to the way things were or who he once was. He's tried to accept his fate—one he hates to think about. He often finds himself mourning the people he'll never see again and the luxuries he took for granted back when he thought he was serving a purpose for the good of all mankind.

It all seems like a lifetime ago.

When his thoughts wander into those dark moments, he wishes he could still be blissfully unaware of the things he now knows, especially because, as things become more bleak, he has accepted he will not survive the vastness of space much longer. Either by starvation or capture, the reality facing him is, soon, he will be dead. And he would rather die by his own hand than at the hand of those traitors who have already murdered millions.

He escaped them once, but there's no way they would let it happen again. If captured, before being put to death, he knows there would be torture—used first as a punishment, and second to gain the information they so desperately want. He would never tell them though, withholding would be the only way he could atone for what he did.

In those first few weeks on the run, he was certain he'd find another survivor, or at least a place to lie low for a while. And yet, he's still running—well, technically, floating, as he shut off the autopilot a couple of weeks ago to keep the ship pressurized and the oxygen flowing. He tries not to think about the fact that he's drifting through an endless abyss with no direction or idea of where he's going.

Asleep in the control room, he's startled awake by an insistent pinging. Blinking away the dreariness, his gaze lands on something he thought he'd never see again.

A planet.

An inhabitable one, he notices from the stats on the screen before him.

He observes the shades of greens and blues making up the surface with peaks, valleys, and oceans. It's similar to his home planet and the inhabited worlds he came across during his exploration of this galaxy. He can only assume he must be somewhere along the outer rim in an unknown solar system. But since he shut off navigation two weeks ago, he can't be sure.

Now, staring at what could be a haven, he prays this will be where he finally finds peace. A place where he can once again feel solid ground beneath his feet, breathe fresh, clean air, and not worry every day may be his last. He dreams of beginning again—finding somewhere to build a new life, and trying to amend all the mistakes he made, perhaps even fixing everything so it won't feel as though it had all been for nothing.

He secures his safety harness, then runs through a well-practiced series of buttons and switches, ensuring the pod will be guided into the gravitational pull of this world that is calling to him like a beacon of hope. Laying his head against the seat, he takes a deep breath, repeating the one word that has given him solace on the days when he had none.

Home.

He's going home. With a grin, he presses the pod's release button to venture into the expanse of the unknown, once again.