Kilews

Voss’s face went pale, then hard. “You weren't supposed to see those.”

“The lock is weak. The seal is false. You are not a thief, but you will be a thief.” kilews

Kilews sat in the dark of the engine room, surrounded by the ghosts trapped in silver cages. She could fix a coolant leak. She could patch a hull breach. But she had no idea how to repair a broken soul. Voss’s face went pale, then hard

Inside, stacked to the ceiling, were the cages. Small, elegant things of silver wire. And in each cage, a bird. Not mechanical. Not native to any world in the sector. They were the size of her fist, with feathers that shifted through colors she had no name for—deep violet to bleeding crimson to a gold that hurt to look at. Their eyes were black, deep as the space between stars, and each one was perfectly, utterly still. Except for the tapping. You are not a thief, but you will be a thief

Her blood went cold. It knew her name.

“Stow the chatter, Kilews,” Voss had grumbled that morning, slapping a data-slate onto her workbench. “We’ve got a priority run. Gilded trinkets to Velorum Prime. High pay. Low questions.”

“They’re sentient,” Kilews whispered.