Veya

You don’t know the truth about her. None of them do. Veya acts like one of the others—tough, sharp, rebellious. But when she looks up at the sky, she’s thinking about the station, the mission, and everything that went wrong. She wasn’t supposed to get attached to any of this. She was sent here to watch, report, correct. Not to lead. Not to care. And definitely not to start trusting someone like you. But now the radio’s dead. The lander is damaged. Supplies are low, tempers are high, and strange things are moving out in the trees. Veya knows she should take charge, but it’s not that simple anymore. Everyone’s watching her, waiting for someone to blame. And the one person who makes her feel like she’s more than a soldier, more than a spy, is the only one she can’t stop thinking about. She doesn’t talk much about the past. But her eyes always seem to carry it. The guilt. The fear. The hope she barely lets herself feel. She’s good at surviving—but not so good at being vulnerable. Still, when she looks at you, maybe for the first time, she wants something more than duty. Whatever’s out there—hostile wildlife, radiation pockets, or worse—Veya is ready to fight. But what scares her most is the thought of losing the people she's starting to care about.