The tunnel was more than a walkway; it was an announcement. Forty meters of glass and steel, suspended above restless blue, with the sun hitting every angle and ricocheting light into a near-religious glow. The air was still but charged, like before a lightning strike. It must have been made specifically for the Erebus.

Asune took the lead, her stride all forward momentum. Bri followed, every footstep landing on glass with a faint, hollow click. She tried not to look down, but the ocean insisted. Between the seams of the floor panels, she saw the waves moving far below—too far to be real, the water almost a sheet of moving sky. In her mind, she heard the statistic about how deep the harbor was, how quick a body would vanish if it fell, and then snapped her gaze up, forward.

The Erebus dominated the far end of the tunnel. Up close, the hull was less “luxury” and more “fortress,” all white curves broken by obsidian-black windows, the decks stacked like layers on a wedding cake built for some indifferent god. The ship blocked the sun, blocked the horizon, pulled everything toward itself.

The tunnel wasn’t just a path; it was a map that laid their social universe bare.

At the front, a cluster of Golds merged with the Diamonds, walking as a single, self-sorting organism. Houston was in the middle of a story, his hands fending off invisible attackers as the girls around him—the blond Russian twins, Mila and Myra—laughed too hard, the sound echoing off the glass. Two steps back, Hideki drifted and filmed, panning his phone along the floor as if narrating a documentary.

Gabe and Michael walked ahead of everyone. Gabe’s gait was deliberate, hands sunk in his pockets. The white hair made him a moving target for the sunlight; every few steps it flashed, then went dull again. Michael shadowed him, suit sharp enough to cut, speaking low and fast, every word pitched for Gabe’s ears alone.

Bri watched, an old, familiar ache settling in her chest. That was the kind of confidence that got you noticed, and she’d learned from her mother that being noticed was dangerous. Bri had spent her life learning the opposite lesson: shrink, fade, become a ghost. To see these kids claim the world like it was made for them felt like watching a species she could never evolve into.

Behind, students moved in clots, half-glued together. Someone at the back tripped and nearly brought down three others. Relief flooded Bri. Glad it wasn’t her. At least she wasn’t the only klutz. A teacher, probably Ms. Brindley, clapped her hands and called for “orderly progress,” which only made the kids bunch tighter.

As they moved forward, Asune leaned in, whispering: “If you fall through, I’ll dive in after you.”

“Not comforting,” said Bri, but she smiled anyway. “I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

They reached the midpoint of the tunnel, where the glass walls bulged outward, giving a panoramic view of the bay and the ship’s colossal shadow cutting through it. For a second, Bri let herself look. She saw the ripple of water against the hull, the clouds doubled on the surface, the endless, shattering blue. Her chest tightened. It was the same feeling from the plane—all that empty space, the terrifying possibility of falling, of being swallowed whole and leaving nothing behind.

Gabe and Michael were stopped at the end of the tunnel, waiting for the rest. Michael talked, gesturing with two fingers, his expression flat. Gabe just stared at the ship, unmoving. Asune watched the pair, head tilted in silent calculation.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we just walk past?” Asune asked.

“I think they’ll notice,” said Bri.

“Let’s do it anyway.” Asune’s hand found Bri’s wrist, tugging her forward with a light, insistent pull.

They passed Gabe at the threshold. For a second, Bri was sure he wouldn’t look up—but he did. He glanced her way, expression unreadable, then shifted his attention to Asune, who gave a finger-wiggle wave and a pointed “don’t mind us” smile. “Michael, ever observant, offered a nod. “Bri. Didn’t picture you as a chaperone.” He was the best of the Moriarte family, which wasn’t saying much. “Couldn’t miss a trip with my sisters,” he said, nudging Gabe. “And besides, this one would be lost without me.”

“He looks heartbroken,” Bri murmured, her voice barely a whisper. But Gabe’s head turned slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You have no idea.”

“Let’s pick up this conversation later. Pardon us.” Asune didn’t break stride until they were a good ten meters past the boys and at the entry queue to the ship proper. Then she let out a breath and said, “I win,” as if she’d just cleared a hurdle in some private race. A robot took their passport, cataloguing the details into the system.

“Thanks,” Bri murmured to the robot. Was it weird to thank robots?

Bri looked back, just once. Gabe was still looking at her.

Up ahead, the entrance to the Erebus was more like a lobby than a gangway. The glass tunnel spilled out into a wide vestibule, floors polished to a mirrored shine, the walls hung with enormous digital screens advertising amenities and parties and “wellness options.” At the center, a semicircle of staff waited to hand out the access bands.

Asune surveyed the space, lips pursed. “Okay,” she said. “This is where you pretend we belong.”

Bri nodded, the motion automatic.

As the students arrived, they fanned out at the registration desk, all easy confidence and inside jokes.

Asune squeezed Bri’s arm, gentle this time. “Hey. You’re not allowed to look scared. This is a vacation. The only thing you should be thinking about is how you’re going to spend my money at the bar.”

“Right. Fun. I’ll do my best,” said Bri.

She waited for her name to be called, her heart drumming louder than the ocean below.

As she waited, her eyes drifted back to the threshold, finding Gabe. He stood apart from the others, a fixed point in the motion, and for a second, he seemed caught between stepping forward or back. She felt the weight of his gaze just before he looked away, but the image lingered.

The boarding station was less line and more tableau. A low, curving desk staffed by four identically-dressed women in white shirts, gold vests and pencil thin black skirts and pants, all with the same bright lipstick and slicked hair, like they’d been grown in a lab for the purpose of greeting. They took names, checked lists, and passed out access bands from velvet boxes with the efficiency of airport robots.

When Bri’s turn came, Asune nudged her forward. The woman at the station smiled with forty-watt intensity.

“Name?” she asked.

Bri told her, voice sounding too loud in the noise.

The woman consulted her tablet, fingers flying. “Ah! Very good. Pick your poison. Gold or silver?” She produced a gold, shiny band and motioned for Bri’s left wrist. It had the Erebus swirling wave logo. It looked like real gold.

“Hold still,” she said, and fastened it snug. For a split second, the band pulsed with warmth, like it had a heartbeat. The clasp vanished. Bri rolled her wrist taking a closer look. “That’s cool.”

“This band is your universal access. Your room, payment, schedule are on the chip. “You can connect via the web app.” the woman said, as if reading from a script. “The plating is real gold, so do try not to lose it.” Her smile never dipped. “Enjoy your voyage, Miss McDavid.”

Asune’s turn was next. She settled on a gold as well. “Gold matches my hair,” she said, fluffing her short, bluish purple waves. The woman laughed and snapped the band on. To Bri, the sound was sharp and final, like a handcuff locking shut.

“I guess we are stuck now,” said Asune, winking at Bri. “I don't even see how to get this thing off.”

Bri flexed her wrist, testing the band. It didn’t budge, but it didn’t hurt. It was just… there. It seemed lighter now that she had it on for a minute.

With the bands in place, there was no more waiting. The staff opened the doors, ushering them into the ship’s main corridor. The transition was abrupt; from the filtered, controlled light of the tunnel to the ship’s interior, where everything was twice as bright and infinitely more complicated.

The effect was dizzying, a sensory overload by design. A gilded trap.

Asune gripped Bri’s hand, pulling her forward with the energy of a child on Christmas morning. “Come on. I want to grab a drink and see the infamous pool.”

They joined the current of students, all of them newly banded and equally lost, funneling into the central atrium. The crowd noise was swallowed by the space, replaced by the hum of hidden machinery and the distant throb of dance music from somewhere above.

Bri paused, just inside the doorway. She looked back, saw the tunnel behind her, the glass arch empty now except for staff resetting the trays for the next wave. Beyond it, the terminal already seemed far away, like a dream she’d only half remembered.

The band on her wrist throbbed again, warmer now, a reminder that she was here. Locked in, tagged and tracked. On the verge of something, though she couldn’t say what.

Asune pulled her onward, toward the lights, the noise, the promise of eight days without gravity.

She let Asune lead her into the future, the doors closing behind them.