Someone is dead on Retrieval Station Oikos-7. The airlock has been cycled. The nearest authority is days away. And the only person willing to ask the hard questions is the engineer who fixes things for a living - not crimes.
Remy Okafor is fifty-seven years old, AuDHD, perpetually under-caffeinated, and far better at diagnosing a failing relay than reading a room. They didn't ask to be the station's unofficial detective. But when Petra Vasik is found dead in a service corridor she had no reason to be in - positioned in a way that doesn't fit any story except one - Remy's brain does what it always does: finds the pattern, holds it, refuses to let it go.
On a remote deep-space outpost with eight souls, no backup, and no way out, everyone is a suspect. The junior technician who found the body. The medical officer who confirmed the death. The archives technician who knows more than they're saying. And the small, stubborn crew that Remy has - somewhere between the first posting and the ninth - started to think of as theirs.
Remy doesn't solve problems the way a detective would. They solve them the way an engineer does: methodically, piece by piece, the way they once took apart a plug at eight years old just to understand how the current moved. Every inconsistency is a loose wire. Every alibi is a circuit to trace. The locked-station mystery has one correct solution - like a sudoku. Remy just has to find it before the distant authority arrives and asks the questions Remy isn't yet ready to answer.
A locked-station murder mystery set aboard a remote deep-space outpost - with a found-family crew, a neurodivergent engineer-detective, and no galaxy-wide war in sight.
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