"They're... out of fuel?" Luka says, a hint of despair bubbling within him. The weight of just how little time they had left felt as if it had doubled down on his shoulders just then. His stomach twists and his hand involuntarily clenches tight on Gyre's.

"What kind of fuel do these ships run on? Where can it be found?" Luka rallies enough to probe the voice for more information. Maybe they could find fuel for them. Maybe they could still get off this planet in time.