In the aftermath of their harrowing encounter, the crew sought solace in the familiar routines aboard the ship. Jim, however, remained deeply pensive, his thoughts as tangled as the nebulae they navigated through. He found himself often staring at the containment unit holding the Heart, its crimson glow dimmed but still pulsating with a seductive, dangerous rhythm.
Meanwhile, Casanova had taken to spending his evenings in the ship's lounge, trying to drown the haunting whispers of power and pleasure he'd faced with a more palpable and less treacherous form of liquid comfort. "You know," he mused aloud to Valeria, who was polishing her blaster at the bar, "they say a good drink can warm you up, but nothing heats the blood quite like the brush with unbridled power."
Valeria shot him a look, her smirk a mix of amusement and warning. "Keep your blood warm for the fights, Casanova. We don't need you getting hot-headed over ancient rocks."
