Coffee cold, autopilot honest

Hot plate died somewhere past the last transfer window. I noticed because the mug stopped steaming and my hands didn't. Autopilot stayed green. That's the deal on a Class II — some nights the machine is the only adult in the room.

I ran Coil-Steel Prayer soft so the bunks wouldn't wake. Not for an audience. For the hull. For me. If you're out there measuring time in convoy windows, you already know: the quiet between jumps is where the truth sits down and asks for a refill you can't give it.

Anyway. New album's on the dial if you want company that doesn't talk over you. I'll be here. Coffee's cold. Autopilot's honest.