Nighthollow powered down the nav console and checked the station logs one more time. Six cycles alone meant six cycles of quiet, and she'd built that quiet into something solid. No more explaining why she cataloged fragments of dead Earth's music. No more patient nods that meant they didn't understand. But the metallic craft that landed outside her station wasn't asking permission. Its hull caught the light wrong, all ornate scrollwork and that particular shimmer only hemophage vessels carried. She watched through the viewport as another navigator emerged, moving with the deliberate purpose of someone who'd crossed systems to find her. The visitor carried a data core that pulsed with encrypted star charts. Nighthollow's jaw tightened. Whatever information was locked in that core, it had brought her past back to her doorstep, and now she'd have to choose between staying hidden or admitting what she'd spent six cycles trying to forget.