The transport ship was cramped.
Two hundred prisoners packed into a cargo hold designed for freight, not people. Metal benches lined the walls. No seats. No comfort. Just the cold steel and the hum of engines.
Owen found a spot near the rear where he Sat and Watched.
Gorvax took the space beside him when he sat Silent, staring at nothing.
Around them, prisoners sorted themselves instinctively. Hierarchies forming without words.
The strongest claimed the best positions—near ventilation, away from the waste recyclers. Tier 4 prisoners radiated pressure that kept weaker ones at distance.
Varkoth stood at the hold's center. Four arms. Stone-like skin. Tier 4, three-stars. His presence alone commanded space. Other prisoners gave him a wide berth.
Zhen coiled near a corner. Serpentine. Iridescent scales. Tier 4, two-stars. She watched everyone with unblinking eyes.
The Tier 5 prisoners clustered in groups. Thoss. Vrinn. Yalira. Korvan. Others Owen didn't know.
