Thorne's Twisted Curiosity

The hum of the *Stardust Drifter* had become a lullaby of unease, a constant thrum beneath the surface of their strained interactions. Captain Eva Rostova watched the main viewscreen, the derelict orbital station a skeletal silhouette against the star-dusted black. It was a tomb, she thought, and they were the unsuspecting mourners, sent to pay their respects to a mystery they weren't privy to. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the command chair's armrest. Duty was a heavy cloak, and today, it felt suffocating.

“Anything, Sharma?” Eva’s voice was steady, a practiced calm that belied the knot of anxiety tightening in her gut. She’d known Sharma long enough to recognize the subtle tremor in his voice when he was holding something back, or when fear was beginning to fray his edges.

Sharma, hunched over his console, his brow furrowed in concentration, shook his head. “Still nothing, Captain. The station’s comms are dead, utterly inert. No power signatures beyond the residual, no life signs, no automated diagnostics. It’s a ghost.” He paused, his fingers hovering over the holographic displays. “Except… there’s an anomalous energy reading. Faint, intermittent. I can’t identify the source.”