Hearth
One reactor. No sun.
The road between the stars broke, and space tore into pockets that curve back on themselves. Your pocket has no sun — only Hearth, a station with one reactor and four thousand people to keep warm. Everything the reactor eats is out in the dead worlds. So Hearth builds small ships and sends out pilots. You are one of them. Wren is the voice in your helmet; Kettle weighs what you bring back; the ships hunting you were ours, once.