In the darkness, you feel the deepest chill you’ve ever known. By then, the journey is over, and experienced voyagers know they’re being thawed out. Months could have passed, and mentally you feel like nothing’s changed beyond the fact you’re suddenly freezing and sick to your stomach. But your body knows otherwise. And substance abuse issues make the experience a lot worse. It’s been more than forty-eight hours since the icebox pumped my veins with chemicals to kick-start my metabolism. I’ve been tethered to a bunk ever since, and I have no desire to leave it. Although the Breakaway’s viewports are covered for battle, it’s all I can do to push all the visual cues of space travel out of my head. Honestly, I’d rather be dead than aboard this ship. I fell asleep thinking three things: the annoyance of being unable to control my shaking; that I would absolutely murder Dusty if he was standing between me and a joint; and that Vladric Mors was nearby, plotting to kill me. Inexperienced travellers panic when they wake from cryo because that’s when the reality of their commitment hits.
