The early morning mist curled along the ocean cliffs like phantom waves, quiet and haunting. JB Dersch stood shirtless on a rocky overlook, breathing in the mineral-heavy sea air as the twin suns began their slow rise. His skin glistened with sweat from a brutal, self-imposed training regimen—pushups, combat rolls, terrain sprints—but his heart had finally slowed to a steady thrum.

This wasn’t his usual idea of “leave.” No bars. No noise. Just cliffs, isolation, and time.

He’d spent the first three days avoiding his team. Not because he didn’t like them—he did—but because silence gave him something he couldn’t get onboard: space to think.

Freya’s last message played on a loop in his head. Kate had smiled into the commscreen, babbling something in toddler-gibberish. JB had watched it a dozen times, trying not to get too emotional.

This morning, after sparring with a local Andorian martial artist in the sand, he finally let his thoughts rest. No battles. No regrets. Just the sound of waves.

By midday, he had found a rustic, open-air noodle café near the cliffs. The chef didn’t speak Federation Standard, but that didn’t matter. The food was hot, the beer was cold, and for the first time in a while… JB laughed.

Tomorrow, he’d link up with Fox and Hanes for a wilderness trail. But tonight, beneath a crescent moon, he sat alone in a hammock strung between two gnarled trees, whispering to the stars:

“I’m still here. I made it.”