"Thought you'd died," she admits. "Glad to see you're still breathin', intruder or not. This place ain't like my other dreams. There's someone I was lookin' for, an intruder." Her brow furrows as she tries to remember. "He hid here. On Serenity?"

A wave of emotion connected with the name hits her and she grips one of the few railings available, staring down. Serenity is family, laughing, fear, danger, death, joy, empty, full, hope, pride, regret, and so many other things. Most of all, the feeling of belonging is here. It's not the Keeper's house, his hand. It's this place; it's Serenity.

"This is my home," she says to the typewriter. "Someone's in my home that ain't friendly and don't got an invitation." As if on cue, a woman screams from somewhere in the corridor leading off from the cargo bay below them.