Aubrie Fox had every intention of relaxing. The word was practically tattooed across her itinerary. “Relax.” “Disconnect.” “Unwind.” But three hours into day one, she was tearing across the ocean on a hover-ski, wind roaring past her ears, laughter bubbling in her throat like a firework she hadn’t felt in years.

This was her style of therapy—motion, chaos, control. The hover-ski cut hard to the left, skimming the tide’s edge and kicking up a plume of salt spray. At her side, the son of a visiting Orion dignitary whooped in delight.

“That was illegal back on Ferenginar!” he shouted.

“Welcome to the Federation!” she called back.

By day, Aubrie pushed herself through every extreme sport Casperia Prime offered—rock wall descents, zero-g paragliding, even an underwater obstacle course. She wasn’t running away. She was refining herself. Every bruise, scrape, and dive reminded her she was alive.

But by night?

Night was a different story.

She would return to her villa, hair windblown, arms sore, and slip into silence. She’d pour herself a small glass of vulcan herbal tea, light one of the ambient crystal lamps she’d bought impulsively, and journal everything she couldn’t say out loud. Her hand trembled sometimes, when she wrote about the mission loss. The guilt. The fear.

And every entry ended the same:
“I’m still here. I’m still me.”

Casperia hadn’t changed her. It reminded her who she’d always been—a fighter with a poet’s soul. And maybe… someone worth staying for.