The anti-slip treads on Cade’s boots scraped against the cold steel ridges of the “Iron Coffin” prison starship’s hull. The interstellar escapee’s knuckles were white as he gripped the handle of this cobalt blue dagger🖐️—a “legal weapon” he’d printed in the scrap recycling bay using a stolen industrial 3D module, classified by the ship’s AI scan system as a “hull repair chisel”🛠️. The faint layer lines on the blade, a flaw from the printing process, had been the key to grinding through his cell’s alloy lock core the night before, and the crevices still held tiny shards of the shattered lock🔩. Crouched at the fork in the ventilation duct, he listened to the electromagnetic footfalls of the patrol mech thudding against the pipe above him🔊. The pattern carved into the dagger’s handle was a replica of his old Federal Fleet insignia, the only memory fragment the prison ship’s memory-wipe protocol hadn’t erased🧩. A dull thud echoed outside the duct suddenly, and the mech’s infrared alarm blared sharply🚨. Cade’s grip tightened on the dagger, and he noticed a faint, eerie blue glow emanating from the blade—he had no idea that the dagger, printed from scrap starship reactor hull material, had already absorbed dark matter particles in the scrap bay, particles powerful enough to tear through the ship’s shield matrix🌌. He slammed open the vent grate, driving the dagger straight into the mech’s hydraulic joint; the sharp crack of metal splitting was followed by the mech’s massive frame crashing to the floor. But Cade didn’t notice the tracking chip implanted at the base of his neck, flickering in sync with the dagger’s glow📡. In the prison ship’s control room, a woman in a gunmetal gray combat uniform stared at the blinking dot on her screen, a cold smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth: “The prey finally took the bait.”