Between Stars and Steel
Prologue:
What is raw brutality, if not nature trying to survive? The bar bustled with disorder and drunken dialogue. Luna Liquor doesn’t last long in the Saloon—people need escape. The world has crumbled under weaponized fear; each day is spent praying wilting mercy will be given. Plitherin Representatives already took over the Southern Sector of Saturn. But the people have gotten used to observation and numb to the authoritarian violence. Rules. Structure. Fear. Silence. Survival.
Clink…clink…clink…squeak. The doors to the saloon open with an unexpected assertiveness and the metal clinking gets matched to a robotic figure. Not some service robot…no, worse. A cold chill spreads across each body in the area and the robust noise is silenced immediately. Because everyone knows about Project ADAM. The Plitherin weapon; their executor.
A sheen of light blue across the metal that encapsulates the large suit of armor. Unlike the well-known green and black theme that Plitherin’s dawned on, the suit commands a different attention. Because it is unlike any normal soldier. The unknown metal is impenetrable; rumors are spread across the galaxy as to what god gave him this strength. Some say Zeus, for the powerful blast from the suit can only be compared to a lightning strike from the God of the Sky himself. He looms above everyone at eight feet tall, truly a weapon of destruction created in a lab, some say. Project ADAM is an enforcer of theirs, a machine, unhuman like droid—that’s what most people call him. The enforcer.
Chapter 1: The Roux
The Roux always reeks of desperation. Luna Liquor, sweat, and the kind of fear that clings to skin long after departure. Stepping through the saloon doors, boots hit metal with a rhythm that silences the room. They know the sound. They know me. Or at least, they think they do. Project ADAM. The enforcer. The Plitherin weapon. Eight feet of engineered terror wrapped in a suit they’ll never understand. Let them believe I’m a machine. It makes things easier.
My visor scans the room—heat signatures, movement patterns, threat levels. The usual chaos. But something’s off. Too quiet. Too still. Like the air forgot how to breathe. I move toward the bar, ignoring the way people shrink into their seats. One man drops his glass. It shatters like a warning.
“Who called it in?” I ask, voice modulated to sound like gravel and thunder. The bartender doesn’t meet my eyes; he just nods toward the back. “Storage room. Said he saw someone tagging the walls.” I don’t thank him. I don’t speak again. Gratitude is a weakness. I learned that the hard way.
The hallway is narrow, dimly lit. My sensors flicker, magnetic interference. Unusual. I pause, recalibrate. The readings spike. Trap. I pivot, but the floor groans beneath me. A pulse hits—sharp, targeted. My suit locks. Arms, legs, core…immobilized. I reached for my weapon, but it’s already gone, yanked from its holster like a toy. I hit the ground hard. My helmet flashes red, override attempt. I snarl, fingers clawing at the emergency release. Nothing. Whoever set this up knew my tech. The visor goes dark. And I’m alone again.
Chapter 2: Garden Snake
I haven’t moved in hours. Not because I’m tired. Not because I’m scared. Because I can’t. They got the suit but not me. Rookie mistake. Project ADAM doesn’t open unless I say so. And I haven’t said a damn thing.
The room is quiet. Sterile. I can hear the hum of their systems through the suit’s audio sensors. They’ve tried everything: heat, pulse disruptors, even a sonic override. Cute. But this armor was built in a mechanic shop by a girl who knew she’d be hunted. It doesn’t break.
Footsteps. Finally. She walks in like she owns the place. Captain Jess Mars. I know her face. Plitherin briefings called her a “strategic nuisance.” That’s code for “too smart to kill easily.” She stops a few feet from me. I can’t see her clearly through the visor, but I can hear her breathing. Calm. Controlled.
“You’re stubborn,” she says. I don’t respond. “I disabled the lock system. No one’s coming in. No weapons. Just me.” Still nothing. She circles me slowly, like she’s inspecting a statue. “You’ve been in there for two days. No food. No water. No sleep.” I crackle the modulator. “I’ve had worse dates.” She laughs. Not forced. Not mocking. Just… amused. That’s new. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she says. “I want to talk.” “Then talk.” “I want to know who you are.”
I pause. That’s not the question people usually ask. They ask what I am. Not who. She steps closer. “You’re not Plitherin. Not really. You built this suit yourself. It’s not standard-issue. It’s personal.” I say nothing. But my fingers twitch inside the gauntlets. My breath catches. Just for a second.
She notices. “I’m offering you a choice,” she says. “Come out. Talk to me. No tricks. No weapons. Just two people.” I hesitate. Not because I trust her. Because I’m starving. And because curiosity is a dangerous thing. I initiate the release sequence. The suit hisses, decompresses. The helmet lifts. She blinks.
“You’re… a girl.” I step out, slowly and deliberately. “Disappointed?” “No,” she says. “Impressed.” Her eyes drop to my forearm. I follow her gaze. The tattoo—A flower wrapped in a snake. Her voice softens. “Garden Snake.” I flinch. “You know it?” “They were my idols,” she says. “Before Verdena fell.”
I don’t speak. That symbol is all I have left of Ada Rose. Of honor. Of home. Jess steps back, giving me space. “We’re rebuilding. Lady Lucianna isn’t just a ship. It’s a promise. We want you with us.” I laugh, bitter. “You want the enforcer.” “No,” she says. “I want Lyra Ada.” I don’t answer. Not yet. But I don’t say no.
Chapter 3: Lady Lucianna
They call it Lady Lucianna. Sounds like a perfume ad. Or a myth. Something soft. Something noble. It’s a ship. But not just any ship.
Jess walks me through the main corridor like I’m a guest, not a prisoner. I don’t buy it. The walls are too clean. The crew was too quiet. Everyone watches me like I’m a loaded weapon and they’re not wrong. I keep my steps measured, my posture tall. Even without the suit, I know how to loom. “This ship used to be a Plitherin transport,” Jess says. “We gutted it. Rewired everything. Now it’s ours.” I glance at the panels. Modified tech. Efficient. Smart. Not Plitherin-standard. That earns her a sliver of respect.
She leads me into a room that smells like metal and ozone—command center, probably. Screens flicker with star maps and encrypted messages. “So, what are you even trying to do here? To play hero?” “To restore order,” she says. “Before the Plitherins weaponized everything. Before they turned peace into control.” I snort. “Peace is a myth.”
She taps the screen. “We’re building something here. A resistance. Not just soldiers: strategists, engineers, thinkers. People who remember what honor looks like.” I don’t respond. My fingers twitch. I want my suit. I want my tools. I want to stop feeling.
Jess turns to me. “You built Project ADAM. You survived Plith. You’re not just a fighter. You’re a creator.” I narrow my eyes. “You want me to join your little rebellion?” “I want you to choose,” she says. “Not obey. Not survive. Choose.” I hate how quiet the room feels after that. Like the ship itself is holding its breath. I look at the screen again.
I don’t say yes. But I don’t say no.
Chapter 4: He-Who-Knows-Nothing
It’s strange being separated from my suit. Like someone peeled off my skin and left me raw in enemy territory. I sleep in short bursts, never deep. My body’s trained to expect betrayal. It’s what I would do. They gave me a uniform—soft fabric, clean seams, stitched with their symbol of “good.” It makes my stomach turn. I wear it because I have to, not because I believe in it. I miss the weight of my armor. The silence it gave me.
I spend most of my time in the lab. It’s the only place that feels honest. Metal doesn’t lie. Circuits don’t pretend. I’ve been calculating the amount of jyno crystal I need to reinforce my boots. Not normally something I care about, but without Project ADAM, I need traction. Adapt or die. That’s the rule.
He walks in like he’s lost…Again. Conrad Mars. Captain’s son. Future leader, supposedly. He’s careful with everything, his steps, his words, his gaze. Like the world might break if he touches it too hard.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. I can see it as I sit across from him, holding a microchip. He’s trying to assemble a basic pulse scanner and somehow manages to cross the polarity wires. Rookie mistake.
“Red to red,” I mutter, not looking up. He pauses. “I thought it was…” “It’s not.” Silence. I glance at him. He’s staring at the wires like they betrayed him. His hands are steady, but his confidence isn’t. I almost feel bad. Almost.
“Didn’t they teach you this?” I ask. He shrugs. “I was trained in diplomacy. Not tech.” I snort. “Diplomacy won’t save you when your scanner explodes.” His smile is soft, genuine. “That’s why I’m here. To learn.” I don’t respond. I don’t trust soft smiles. But I keep watching him. Not sure why. Maybe I’m waiting for him to prove me wrong.
Chapter 5: Echoes of ADA.M
The lab is quiet. Too quiet. I’ve locked the door, rerouted the power, and disabled the surveillance. Jess didn’t ask why. She knows better. This is the only place on the ship that feels like mine. The only place where I can breathe without someone watching me for cracks.
Project ADAM is scattered across the table—my armor, my skin, my silence. I built it with my own hands. Every plate, every wire, every pulse core. Not to be strong. To survive. To disappear. I start with the gauntlets. The plating is scorched from the trap they used to capture me. I’ll need to reinforce it with jyno crystal. I reach for the casing, and my fingers brush a strip of copper wiring—thin, braided, familiar.
I freeze. That wire. I used it once before. Ten years ago. Verdena. The memory hits like a blast charge.
❧
I was ten. The sky was bleeding. The ground shook with the weight of ships descending. My father’s shop rattled like it was trying to escape itself. Blu was yelling, trying to override the security grid. I was under the workbench, clutching a half-built hover boot, copper wire still warm in my hands. Then the scream. Not human. Not animal. Something else.
The Plitherins had arrived. Mutated guards flooded the streets, their bodies twisted and armored, eyes glowing with Plith’s signature green. They weren’t just killing. They were hunting.
My mother’s voice burst into my head. The memory grabbed me, and I grasped a blade into my hand. She said, “Don’t hesitate.” I didn’t understand. Not yet.
Then the wall exploded. Blu shielded me with his body. I saw blood. I saw the look in his eyes—panic, love, goodbye. I’m running. Smoke everywhere. Screams. I duck into the alley behind the shop, clutching the blade like it’s a lifeline. My hands are shaking. My knees are weak. I’m ten. I’m terrified.
Then I hear it. A Plitherin guard, mutated, armored, snarling, dragging a woman by her hair. She’s screaming. I recognize her. She used to sell fruit in the market. Her son played with me once. I don’t think. I move.
I leap from the shadows, blade raised. I don’t aim. I don’t plan. I just act. The blade sinks into the guard’s neck, right beneath the armor seam. He gurgles. Drops her. Turns toward me.
I stab again. And again. And again. Until he stops moving. Until I can’t feel my arms. Until the woman is gone and I’m alone with the body. I drop the blade. And then I saw Plith. Tall. Calm. Smiling. He looked at me like I was a blueprint. Then I pick it back up. Because I know now. This is survival.
❧
I snap back to the present, breath shallow, hands trembling. The copper wire is still in my palm. I drop it. I hate that I remember. I hate that I forget. I stare at the pieces of my suit. It’s not just armor. It’s a graveyard. Every part holds a memory I didn’t ask for. I started rebuilding anyway. Because if I don’t, I’ll disappear. And I promised myself I’d never vanish again.
Chapter 6: Oh, Quiet One
Conrad is in the lab again. He doesn’t knock. Just slips in like silence is his armor. I don’t look up. I’m rebuilding the pulse stabilizer, and I’m not in the mood for soft words or soft eyes. He hovers near the tool wall, pretending to search for something. I know he’s watching me. I let him.
“You modified the stabilizer,” he says. I nod, still soldering. “The original design was flawed. You’re rebuilding it.” “Of course, I am.” He hesitates. “Why?” I pause. Not because I don’t have an answer. Because I don’t want to give it.
“It’s mine,” I say. “And I don’t leave pieces of myself behind.” He nods, like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he wants to. We work in silence. He hands me tools without asking. Doesn’t flinch when sparks fly. Doesn’t speak unless it matters.
Eventually, I ask, “Why do you want to be captain?” He looked up, surprised. “Because I want to protect people.” I scoff. “You think leadership is protection?”
“I think it’s responsibility.” I study him. He’s not weak. Just different. The kind of strength that listens before it speaks. The kind that hesitates. I hate how much I notice. He fumbles with a circuit board, and I reach over, correcting his grip. Our fingers brush. He freezes. I don’t. But something shifts.
He looks at me—not with fear, not with admiration. Just… clarity. “You don’t trust anyone,” he says. I meet his eyes. “Trust is a liability.” He doesn’t argue. Just nods. “But it’s also a choice.” I don’t respond. I don’t know how.
Then he says it. “I read your file. What you did on Korrin-5. You killed six Jupitarian guards. One was unarmed.” I stiffen. “They were resisting,” I say flatly. “One was surrendering.” I turn to him, slow. “And?” He doesn’t flinch. “You didn’t have to kill him.” I laugh. Bitter. Sharp. “You think mercy works when it comes to control?” “I think it defines us.” I step closer. “You think they’d spare you? You think they would hesitate?”
“No,” he says. “But I would.” I stare at him. He’s serious. He believes it. That mercy is strength. That kindness survives. I hate that part of me who wants to believe him. “You’re naive,” I say.
“And you’re angry,” he replies. Silence. I turn back to the stabilizer. My hands are steady. My heart isn’t. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I whisper. “To lose everything and still be expected to play nice.”
“I don’t,” he says. “But I want to understand.” I don’t respond. But I don’t push him away.
Chapter 7: The Plitherin Scar
I wake up choking on air. The dream clings to me like smoke—thick, sour, impossible to scrub out. I sit up, heart pounding, sheets twisted around my legs like restraints. My skin is damp. My throat tastes like metal.
Plith’s voice still echoes in my head. You are mine, Lyra. I hate that I remember the way he said it. Calm. Certain. Like he was naming a possession. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. The ship hums quietly around me, unaware of the war inside my chest. I walk to the mirror in the corner, flick on the light, and peel back the collar of my shirt.
There it is. The scar. A jagged brand etched into my shoulder—Plith’s mark. His signature. His claim. Burned into me during training, when I was thirteen and still stupid enough to think surviving meant obeying. I trace the scar with my fingers. It’s faded, but it never healed right. It pulses sometimes, like it remembers. I remember.
The ceremony was quiet. No audience. Just Plith and me and a room that smelled like blood and sterilizer. He told me I’d earned it. That I was his greatest creation. That I was no longer Verderian—I was Plitherin. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just stared at the wall and promised myself I’d kill him one day.
I don’t go back to sleep. I go to the training room. It’s empty at this hour. Good. I need space. I need silence. I need something to hit. I start with the bag. No gloves. Just fists. The first punch stings. The second numbs. By the fifth, I’m not counting anymore. I hit until my arms shake. Until my breath comes in gasps. Until the pain feels clean.
I switch to kicks. Elbow strikes. Knee drives. I move like I’m back in Plith’s compound, like I’m fighting for my name. I don’t hear him come in. Conrad stands in the doorway, watching. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me burn. I slam my fist into the bag again. Harder. Again. Again. Then I feel it…Warmth. I glance down. Blood. My knuckles are split, skin torn, red dripping onto the floor. Conrad steps forward. “Lyra…”
“Don’t,” I snap. He doesn’t flinch. “You’re bleeding.” “I know.” He grabs a towel from the wall and walks over slowly and steadily. I don’t move. I don’t trust softness. But I let him wrap my hands. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says. I look at him. Really look. He’s not afraid of me. And I don’t know what to do with that.
Chapter 8: Mission Gone Right
They didn’t want me on the mission. Jess said it was too soon. That I hadn’t “integrated.” That I needed more time to “adjust.” I told her I don’t adjust—I adapt. She didn’t argue. Just handed me a pulse rifle and told me not to get anyone killed.
We were sent to scout a Plitherin supply route—low-risk, high intel. The kind of mission is designed to test loyalty, not skill. I knew the terrain. I memorized the patrol patterns. I could’ve done it blindfolded. But then we saw them. Civilians. Huddled in the ruins of a collapsed outpost. Half-starved, half-buried, completely ignored by Plitherin forces. They weren’t part of the mission. They weren’t part of anything. Conrad hesitated. Jess gave the order: “Stay focused. We’re here for data.”
I didn’t listen. I broke formation. Moved fast. Cleared the perimeter with three shots and a blade. The guards didn’t expect me. They never do. I got the civilians out. All twelve of them. One was a child. She had burn marks on her arms and kept staring at my suit like it was a monster. Maybe it is.
Back on the ship, Jess pulled me aside. “You disobeyed orders,” she said. “I saved lives.” “You risked the mission.” “I completed it.” She stared at me for a long time. Then nodded. “You’re volatile,” she said. “But you’re good.” I didn’t know how to respond to that. Conrad didn’t speak to me afterward. Just walked past me in the corridor, eyes unreadable. I wanted to yell at him. Shake him. Ask why he froze. Why didn’t he move when the child screamed.
But I didn’t. Because I knew the answer. He’s still learning how to fight. And I’m still learning how not to.
Chapter 9: Rifts of Fire and Ice
The mission was simple. Secure the relay tower. Extract the signal logs. No combat expected. Which is why I knew it would go wrong. We moved fast. Jess stayed back to coordinate. Conrad and I took the lead. He was quiet, focused, trying to prove something. I didn’t care what. I just wanted it done.
We reached the tower. I breached the door. Inside: Plitherin guards. Not many. But enough. I moved first. Dropped two before they could raise alarms. The third lunged at Conrad. And he froze…Just for a second. But seconds matter. I took the shot. Clean. Efficient. The guard dropped. Conrad stared at the body like it had asked him a question he couldn’t answer.
Back on the ship, I cornered him in the corridor. “You froze.” He didn’t deny it. “I hesitated.” “You could’ve gotten us killed.” “I didn’t.” “Because I was there.” He looked at me. Calm. Controlled. “You always assume people will fail.” “Because they do.” “You didn’t trust me.” “I don’t trust anyone.”
Silence. Then he said it. “You’re not the only one who’s lost something.” I flinched. Just slightly. He stepped closer. “You act like pain makes you stronger. But it’s just armor. And sometimes armor cracks.” I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. Instead, I said, “At least I know how to bleed without breaking.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.
Later, I sat in the training room, staring at the wall. I replayed the moment: his hesitation, my reaction, the look in his eyes. It wasn’t fear. It was doubt. And I hated that I understood it. Because I’ve lived in doubt for years. And I’ve killed to silence it.
Chapter 10: Collapsed Captain
The air smelled wrong. We were mid-transit, heading toward a Plitherin relay station when the alarms hit. Not the usual proximity buzz. This was deeper. A vibration in the hull, like the ship itself was bracing for impact. Jess was already moving. She didn’t hesitate. She never did. “Lyra, Conrad—defensive grid. Now.” We ran.
The ambush was surgical. Plitherin ships dropped from stealth, targeting our engines and comms. They weren’t trying to kill us. They were trying to silence us. I took the lower deck. Conrad followed. He was steady, focused, but I could see it in his eyes: he wasn’t ready for this kind of war. I was. We fought through the breach. I moved like instinct. He moved like memory. Jess coordinated from the bridge, rerouting power, issuing commands, holding the ship together with her voice.
Then the second wave hit. A blast tore through the starboard corridor. Fire. Screams. Static. Jess’s voice cut through: “Lyra, get to the bridge. Conrad, reroute the coolant line.” I ran. I reached the bridge just in time to see her eyes that speak finality. “Jess…” She turned. Calm. Final. “They’re inside. I’ll hold them.”
“No,” I said. “We can reroute…” “There’s no time.” She handed me the data drive. “Get it to the crew. Get them out.” I grabbed her wrist. “You don’t have to…” “I do.” Her eyes softened. “You’re not just a weapon anymore.” Then she smiled. And locked the door. The explosion shook the ship. The bridge went dark. We escaped. But Jess didn’t.
Back in the med bay, everything was quiet. Too quiet. Conrad stood at the console, issuing orders. His voice was steady. His hands weren’t. I watched him from the doorway. He looked like a shadow of Jess trying to fill a shape that didn’t fit. “You froze,” I said. He didn’t turn. “She made a choice.” “She made it because you couldn’t.”
He turned then. Eyes sharp. “And you think killing everything in sight makes you better?” “I think surviving makes me useful.” “She believed in more than survival.” “She died for it.” Silence.
We stared at each other—two halves of a broken command. “You don’t get to lead just because she’s gone,” I said. “And you don’t get to grieve just because you finally feel something.” That cut deeper than I expected. I walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.
But the truth was already bleeding through me. Jess was gone. And I felt it. For the first time in years…I felt it.
Chapter 11: Ghost of the Locked Bridge
We reach Plith’s warship just after midnight cycle. It’s massive—black steel, no insignia, no light. Just a shape in the void. I know it like I know my own bones. I trained here. Bled here. Became something else here. The crew is tense. Conrad’s voice is steady, but his eyes flicker. He’s trying to lead. Trying to be Jess. I don’t blame him. But I don’t trust him to make the call I won’t.
We dock. I move fast: connecting the bridge, overriding the lock codes, prepping the infiltration route. Jess taught me how to breach without triggering alarms. Plith taught me how to do it with a smile. Conrad steps beside me. “We go together.” I look at him. Really look. He’s brave now. Changed. But still soft in ways I’m not. “A softness I must preserve,” a voice in my head that I don’t recognize whispers.
“I’m not risking you,” I say. He frowns. “You don’t get to decide that.” “I do.” I hit the override. The bridge door slams shut between us. He bangs on the metal. “Lyra!” I turn around in my suit. The light flickers green. My pulse stabilizer hums. “I’m not losing you,” I say. “Not after Jess.” He’s shouting. I don’t hear the words. I hear the silence.
Inside, it’s too familiar. The corridors are clean. Cold. Efficient. I move like a ghost—silent, lethal, precise. The guards don’t stand a chance. I know every blind spot, every weak seam in their armor. I built half of it. I reach the central chamber in under six minutes. Plith’s throne room. It hasn’t changed. Neither have I. Except now: I’m not his.
Chapter 12: A Choice
Plith is waiting. He stands in the center of the command chamber, hands clasped behind his back, like he’s hosting a dinner party instead of a war. “Lyra,” he says, smiling. “You came home.” I don’t speak. My suit hums around me, pulse stabilizer synced, targeting system locked. I could kill him in three seconds. Two if I aim high. But he keeps talking.
“I always knew you’d return. You were my finest creation. My legacy.” I step forward. “I’m not yours.” He tilts his head. “You wear my tech. You walk with my training. You kill with my precision.” “I survived you.” He laughs. “Survival is just obedience with better timing.” I raise my weapon. Then I hear it. A crash. A shout. Conrad.
He stumbles into the chamber, bruised, breathless, bleeding. He found his own way in. No suit. No armor. Just stubbornness and heart. “Lyra!” he shouts. I freeze. Plith smiles wider. “Ah. The captain boy,” emphasizing “boy” in a way that criticizes his lack of power in this room. Conrad looks at me…really looks. “You don’t have to do this.” “I do.” “No,” he says. “You want to.” That’s the difference.
The ship groans around us. Systems failing. Fire in the walls. We have minutes. Plith steps back. “Kill me, Lyra. Be what I made you.” I aim. Conrad steps closer. “Or choose something else.” I look at him. He’s good. Not soft. Not weak. Just… good. And I realize something terrifying. I need him to live. Even if I don’t.
I lower the weapon. Plith’s smile fades. I grab Conrad’s arm. “We’re leaving.” He hesitates. “What about…” “I’m choosing you.” We run. The ship collapses behind us. A blast catches my leg. I scream. Metal tears. Blood floods my suit. Conrad doesn’t stop. He lifts me—carries me between stars and steel. I black out in his arms.
Chapter 13: Fated Souls
The med bay lights are too soft. I blink against them, disoriented. My body feels wrong…heavy, unfamiliar. I try to sit up. Pain flares through my side. My leg… It’s gone. In its place: metal. Sleek. Functional. Not mine. I stare at it. No panic. Just silence.
Conrad enters. He’s wearing the captain’s badge now. It doesn’t look out of place. “You’re awake,” he says. I nod. He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just stands there, like he’s waiting for permission to feel something. “You saved me,” he says. “I didn’t plan to.” “I know.” We sit quietly. He tells me the crew’s recovering. That Plith’s network collapsed with the ship. That Jess’s name is etched into the new command protocols. I listen.
Then I ask, “What happens now?” He shrugs. “We rebuild. We keep moving.” I look down at my leg. Flex the joint. It responds. “I don’t know if I’m staying,” I say. “I know.” He doesn’t ask me to stay. He doesn’t ask me to go. He just sits beside me, steady and quiet. Outside the window, stars drift past—cold and constant.
I don’t know where I’m going. But I know who I’m not. And for now, that’s enough.
Payton Rock is a junior at Penn State Beaver in Monaca, Pennsylvania, pursuing a degree in Business with a focus in accounting. While she may spend most of her time with debits and credits, her passion lies with reading and writing. Her favorite novel is Emma by Jane Austen. She also loves cinematography, and she will spend hours dissecting a film.
