The corridor leading to the counselor’s office felt longer than it should have. Luna’s boots struck the deck with a measured rhythm, each step deliberate, quiet. Her wings were held close to her back, tension tightening across her shoulders with every stride.

Routine evaluation, they’d said. Nothing serious. Nothing she hadn’t done before. But that was the problem—it was serious. And this time, the person waiting behind that door wasn’t someone she knew.

The new counselor had only been aboard for a few weeks. Just enough time to settle in, not enough to earn Luna’s trust. She didn’t like the idea of opening herself up to someone she hadn’t had the chance to observe—someone who hadn’t proven themselves. Someone who hadn’t seen what she was capable of surviving.

Luna’s gaze flicked to the deck’s smooth lighting, then to the bulkheads—subtle, subconscious checks of her surroundings. Habits she couldn’t shake, born from a time when every step could be her last. When silence had been both survival and shield.

As she neared the door, her wings twitched slightly. Her arms stayed loose at her sides, but her jaw was set, and her eyes were sharp. She didn’t slow her pace, but when she stopped in front of the door, it was with all the grace and rigidity of a soldier approaching a checkpoint—not a patient arriving for a conversation.

You’re not the same girl they locked in a lab. You volunteered for this. You chose this uniform.

The thought was meant to be grounding. It didn’t quite land.

She stared at the small chime panel for a breath longer than she needed to. Her hand hovered over it, fingers flexing once. Then, without ceremony, she tapped the control.

Let’s get this over with.

The door remained closed, the silence stretching just long enough to let the weight of the moment settle on her shoulders again. Luna inhaled through her nose, spine straight, wings still tight. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t pace.

She waited.

Ensign luna