The crash rumbles throughout the ship as the groaning of metal rings in my ears. Howard’s mouth moves yet sound doesn’t follow. He points to the back of the docks. His eyes are wide and glossy with fear. I bang my fist against the glass of his fighter, ignoring the sight of the monster, whose tentacle reaches for us.

I scream. I tell Howard not to go. As I take a step forward, and try to open the hatch, four strong arms hold me back. Luenos’s words find their home in my mind. < Please, do not be lost with him, > he says.

And I hate it. Because Howard is right in front of us. He isn’t lost yet.

But Luenos is right. Nobody could survive that thing. Howard won’t survive that thing.

I take one last look at Howard, at the emergency pod detaching itself from the dock, before turning around.

Luenos’s hold on me softens. A low growl slips past his sharp teeth. < Sorry, > he says.

From behind him, the headlights blink.

Someone has sounded the alarm.

Blinds dangle and fall over windows surrounding us as the emergency lockdown begins. A loud roar erupts from the outside. The ship shakes. Howard’s fighter turns into a speck amongst others as he flies into a nearby sun, urging the Kraken far from our ship.

A faint explosion—an ominous cloud in the distance—is the last thing I see before we are cut off from the rest of the world and thrown into darkness.

Luenos’s breaths brush the nape of my neck as he tries to stifle small grunts with two of his hands pressed to his jaw. And I wonder if this is his way of grieving. If this is how aliens cry when they have no eyes.