From publisher blurb:
The wrecks of a thousand wars drift through the fathomless abyss, forgotten relics of shattered empires, their cold husks whispering secrets to those desperate enough to listen. And you—scavenger, survivor, thief of the dead—have made a life among these drifting bones. You call yourself a salvager, a Rustborn, one of the countless souls who scrape by on the remains of the past. But tonight, in the uncharted dark, you will come to understand what it means to steal from something that still watches, still waits. Your vessel, the Iron Dirge, is no stranger to ghosts. She is a patchwork beast, welded from the skeletons of lost ships, her hull pitted with the scars of old battles, her engines pulsing with stolen fire. Under the iron hand of Commander Ralvek "Razor" Kordahn, she has plundered the drifting catacombs of war, torn secrets from dead empires, and escaped more than one encounter with corporate enforcers who would rather see you atomized than let you profit from their forgotten sins. The crew—misfits, outcasts, killers—knows the risks of their trade. They have seen things in the void that would shatter lesser minds. But none of them are prepared for what waits aboard the Black Harbinger. The distress signal came without warning, a broken whisper across the comms, a long-dead warcruiser calling out from the abyss like a corpse gasping for air. The Harbinger was a myth—a Dominion dreadnought lost in a battle that history itself had chosen to forget. The credits alone would be enough to buy the crew new lives, clean slates, an escape from the cycle of scavenging and running. But the prize is never free. The Rustborn Collective has a saying: Some wrecks are best left untouched.
You should have listened. As the Dirge drifts into the shadow of the derelict, a sickness fills the air—a wrongness that clings to the hull, to the skin, to the mind. The ship is too intact for something lost to the war. No scavengers have touched it. No signs of battle scar its silent frame. And yet, the distress signal pulses like a heartbeat, beckoning you into the darkness.