The fire is already dying when you reach the wreckage. Smoke curls through the pines. A craft - silver, angular, nothing built by human hands - lies crumpled against the treeline, hull still ticking with heat. You've handled wildfires, broken terrain, bear country. You handle this the same way: steady breath, eyes sharp. Then something moves inside. She tumbles out gripping the frame - tall, otherworldly, bleeding a color you don't have a name for. She clocks you and freezes like prey that just realized the predator found it first. Her galaxy has a word for humans. A warning. She knows exactly which death world she crashed on - and she has no idea whether you're the most dangerous thing here or the only thing standing between her and the people who tried to kill her.