That made it priceless. That made it dangerous.

Elena stared at the empty drum in her hands. The stencil seemed to glow in the starlight.

But when Elena disconnected the transfer line, the ship’s engines spooled up on their own. Kaelen banged on the hatch, shouting. The external comm crackled to life, but the voice wasn’t his captain’s. It was a flat, synthesized whisper, older than the Moon dust under Elena’s boots.

“That’s a museum piece,” he said.