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The acrid tang of burnt engine oil hung heavy in the air of the rust-stained corridor. You and the other passengers, a motley crew of weary faces, shuffled in uneven lines. A young girl, dressed in ill-fitting noble garb and a cloth tied over one of her eyes, barely a teenager, stood at the front, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Did someone escape? Is this really everyone?" she called out, her voice ringing with a surprising authority despite her age.
The larger of the two thugs guarding them, the burly oaf, shrugged nonchalantly. "Yep, little miss. This be the whole lot."
"I counted," chimed in the other thug, the lanky fellow that adjusted his crooked glasses. "They're all here."
The girl, whose name you'd overheard was Anya, let out a frustrated huff and closed her eyes, focusing intently. A moment later, she snapped them open, a frown etching deeper on her youthful face. "They're not here."
The thinner thug piped up, "Can't you sense where they might be, at least a little?"
Anya shook her head, her brow creasing in further concentration. "I can't tell... It's like they should be somewhere nearby, on this part of the ship, but their psyker signature is... almost not there. It's so hard to tell."
The larger thug scoffed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "So, probably just the wind then, ey? Warp wind, or somethin'."
The other pushed his glasses up his nose and interjected, "So, what's the next move then, Miss?"
Anya let out a frustrated sigh. "Gah. Look, we're just one jump away from the Glitterglobe and we're already late. We'll drop everyone off there, and they become someone else's problem." Turning on her heel, she stomped off down the corridor, her oversized robes billowing dramatically behind her.
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