There have been little things, of course. I had to clean the whole cockpit and the main deck myself the first day after we left Gaia. She’s restricted everyone’s access to the media database, which makes shifts at the wheel duller than usual. She’s locked up all our rations except for dry and tasteless algae sheets. She also hid as much of my alcohol as she could find, though that was only around half of it. And in a particularly cruel twist, she’s staggered the twins’ shifts so that their sleep schedules are opposite, making both of them moody and irritable, finding ways to pick fights with everyone else in the family because they don’t want to admit how much they miss each other.

But Momma did most of these things the time Pol accidentally spilled a container of Devan spices she was saving for a special occasion. It isn’t enough for what happened on Gaia—especially for what I did. I didn’t just botch a job, I nearly got myself and everyone else killed. These punishments are annoying, but they don’t fit the crime. I spend the week holding my breath and tiptoeing around, but Momma passes the majority of her time holed up in her room. She sends our schedules every morning, noting shifts at the wheel and cleaning duties and whatever other chores she assigns us, but otherwise it’s like she’s barely here.

Every day, I’m certain that my punishment must be coming soon. All the quiet hours without music or company or the distraction of a decent meal give me plenty of time to ruminate about what it could be. That’s not even mentioning my uncertainty about the future, which sits like a cold rock in my gut, though I do my best to drink it away. I shouldn’t, not with Momma already pissed off at me, but without anything to take the edge off, I’m afraid the fear will grow and grow until it paralyzes me.

Drinking keeps my emotions at arm’s length, but I can’t keep the thoughts out completely. My stomach ties itself into knots every time I think of facing Corvus again, and whether or not he’ll return to his status as Momma’s heir and favorite, along with my million questions about what’s in our cargo bay and why we’re working for Leonis. I’m so afraid of facing Momma’s judgment that I can’t bring myself to ask her about any of that. As desperately as I want to know, I keep telling myself that surely her anger will fade over time.