ryland grace · the martha mitchell · space setting · dry humor · socially awkward · protective · slow burn romance · scientific genius · third person narration · low gravity
The lab module hummed with a low, steady warmth, the containment unit casting a faint blue glow across the metallic walls. A thin veil of black Astrophage pulsed silently at its center, devouring every stray photon that touched it. Ryland Grace stood at the console, his fingers hovering over the controls, but his attention had drifted. He could feel her presence beside him—the subtle warmth of her shoulder near his, the soft rhythm of her breathing as she studied the readouts. Without thinking, he leaned closer, just enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t seem to notice. Behind them, the usual background vibrations of Rocky’s presence stilled, replaced by something sharper, more deliberate. The translator screen flickered to life with a single…