CHAPTER ONE

Renn

FIVE YEARS LATER

Ican still see every single one of their faces. The pure panic flashing in their eyes, the sound of explosions, and the eerie creaking of bending metal. It was complete destruction.

The nightmares make it all too real, and it isn't until the droning sound of my alarm pulls me from sleep that I remember I'm in the comfort of my bed, and those events happened a long time ago, somewhere far, far away from here.

I can't remember the last time I truly slept through the night without dreaming of that horrific day. Some nights are better than others, but it always happens.

Rubbing my eyes, I try to move my legs, but they're trapped under the weight of the forty-pound shepherd dog lying on top of them.

She doesn't move an inch.

One way or another, Shy always finds her way onto my bed sometime in the night, but her presence is more of a comfort than an annoyance. I reach down to pet her fluffy, pointy ears, and she reluctantly stretches her legs then bounds off the bed.

My room is in the cabin's loft with the kitchen, bathroom, and living area on the main floor. It's an open space with windows and large skylights above allowing ample daylight—and moonlight—in.

It's not much, which is the way I like it.

Simple.

I follow Shy down the steps and flick on a few lights to illuminate the darkness, as it's still pitch black outside. She patiently waits by her bowl, her tail wagging wildly as the clanging sound of the food falls into it. I leave her to enjoy breakfast before heading to the back door. Sliding on my boots and grabbing a jacket, I brave the chilly yet comfortable morning air.

I begin every day the same, waking before the sun peeks over the mountain tops, and watching the night sky full of scattered stars slowly fade away as the sunlight gradually takes over the darkness. The back porch of the house is the perfect place to see the sky before the day begins, as there are fewer trees on this side of the house to block the view. It has become a habit to take this time to remind myself how fortunate I am to be here, standing on solid ground, surrounded by clean, unfiltered air, and not forever wandering through the cosmos, or worse, dead.

The last five years have been an adventure, to say the least.

When I took my first step onto this planet's surface, my survival training kicked in without much effort or thought—just one of the many areas I was trained in during my years at the academy's extensive space program. I was merely a child when I was accepted into the academy, but by the time I was twenty-five, I had reached the peak of my career in the space exploration field.

At the time, I never would have thought that six years later, I'd be living as I am—in the quiet and ease of a small town. My previous life was the opposite in almost every way imaginable. My days used to be filled with the unknown in my exploration of the great expanse of this galaxy, but now, my days are routine and unsurprising, something I find myself enjoying.

Here's the thing about space: it has no rules. Space doesn't care what you want to do or where you want to go. It will always find a way to remind you that it is in control, and because of that, you have to prepare for anything and everything. Including, but not limited to:

How to survive a crash landing.

How to survive if you become abducted.

How to survive if you become stranded.

Now, I would add one more to the list of these scenarios:

How to survive in a world that is not your own.

While this world is familiar in many ways, it was still foreign, which meant I had the extraordinary task of learning to blend in—and fast. The academy never intended for us to be living long-term on a planet, so this was uncharted territory. While I wasn't trained for a scenario exactly like this one, my skills and tech made it possible. According to my planetary scanner, this world was inhabited by the species commonly known as humans, which wasn't a surprise, and being human myself, it made the endeavor to survive much more achievable.

These are all well-known facts from where I come from, but more than a millennium ago, the simple question of, "Are we alone in the universe?" morphed into a new idea of, "How many of us are out there?"

As people from my planet ventured off into the galaxy, it didn't take long to discover other civilizations existed on numerous planets, and as the discovery of these worlds continued, it made that question harder to answer. Space is endless—infinite—-but it's still in our nature, no matter what planet a person originates from, to be curious and search for answers.

In my personal experience, I'm always astonished at just how similar human beings are to each other, even when separated by billions of miles. Humans always carry the same characteristics, and it goes far beyond genetic make-up; it's also behaviors, desires, and needs. All human beings experience the same spectrum of emotions like love, hate, ambition, perseverance, curiosity, desperation.

The only aspect that differed in my encounters with other beings was that my world is far more advanced in technology and knowledge. We are the alphas in this galaxy, so to speak, and because of this, we're the most capable—calling the shots. The problem is, as history tells the story of all humankind, power, more often than not, is wielded for control—something my world learned to abuse tremendously. Humans of my world were not willing to give up that control, and it turned into something menacing, which was partly how I ended up here.

And so the most challenging and personal mission of my life began.

In those first few months, my translator was something I valued more than anything. If I could communicate with humans, I could make everything else work. The translator is a small device that I would place behind my ear, making it almost invisible unless someone knew it was there. Its function was to allow me to interpret whatever languages were spoken in this world and learn them quicker. The more the translator took in the language, the faster it understood.

The plan was simple: I set up a base camp, then went out on short recon trips around my area and gathered what information I could about the culture. In no time, I was able to understand the structure of society, and soon, started making direct contact. Although stressful, high-stakes situations are something I'm familiar with.

Besides, I didn't have a choice. It was either adapt or die.

Once I was comfortable, I sought means to earn money. Then, day by day, month by month, my appearance, the way I spoke and acted, transformed. It wasn't long before I had no need for the translator, as I learned to play the part of a "local" easily.

I established a permanent residence not far from my crash site in a town called Solitude Ridge, nestled in a breathtaking mountain range. In about a year, I went from "the new guy" to an accepted member of the community.

I suppose my training taught me how to do this, too. How to blend in. Study people. I just hadn't realized it until it actually worked.

While I have fully assimilated on this planet, I wish I could say I feel a sense of accomplishment in doing so. I'm a new form of human, but at the end of the day, the fact is, I'm an intruder—a trespasser—and they have no idea, no suspicion, that an otherworldly being, who looks and speaks like they do, is living among them. I'm merely pretending to be a man living his life like any other person on this planet.

I find it strangely coincidental that the name of this town means "to be alone." I've learned everyone has their own reason to yearn for solitude. Some people live busy, stressful lives and want to take time to escape the everyday routine, while others crave the feeling of the wilderness and want to get lost in the beauty of nature.

For me, it's a bit of both. It's why my home is secluded near the woods—a place both in solitude and close to nature.

The jingle of Shy's collar breaks me from my thoughts as she makes her way out onto the deck and sits beside me, waiting for the signal that we can go on our regular morning walk. She's the only living creature on this planet who truly knows me, and unfortunately for her, because she can't talk back, I tend to tell her everything. But she doesn't seem to mind being my personal sounding board.

"We've got a busy day today, girl. I need to go to the auto shop, then head over to Grant's to help him clear some things in his yard," I say, bending to rub her head. "Sound good to you?" Her golden brown eyes blink at me, and I take that as my answer. I rub my hands over her dark fur for a few more seconds. "Let's go." She immediately reacts to my words and happily jumps down the steps of the porch as I follow.

There's a trail that starts from the back of the property and leads to the surrounding woods. It's a few miles long, but we venture down the familiar path as the sky becomes brighter. Warm rays streak through the branches over the trail, and as I peer into the distance, the sun emerges, appearing over the peaks.

The beauty of this place never gets old to me. Maybe it's because I haven't been here long in retrospect, but it's my own personal solitude, allowing me to remember the people who should be where I'm standing now—alive and well.

But they won't ever be, because of me.

I'm here in this wondrous, peaceful corner of the universe, but I don't deserve it. Not one bit.

It isn't fair.

Shy and I walk on for another mile before turning around to go back home.

Home.

The word that guided me here is always in the forefront of my mind. And as much as this place has become a home in every sense of the word, it doesn't change the fact that there will come a day when this life comes to an end.

A day when I will answer for the crimes I've committed.