Though I pick up civilian clothes, I drop off the outfit in my room rather than changing immediately. I’m not quite ready, not yet. Heart heavy, I go to find my team in the mess hall, where they’re huddled over bowls of steaming soup and tall glasses of beer. Their conversation falls silent as soon as they notice me. I move toward a seat across from them, but stop at the last moment, deciding to stay on my feet.

“I’m going to keep this short.” I sweep my eyes over my team’s faces, all turned toward me with expressions of uncertainty, though I can’t bring myself to meet Magda’s eyes. I clear my throat to get rid of the lump rising there. “I’m leaving. Tomorrow.”

“What?” Sverre is the first to speak, his voice slow and rumbling, his forehead wrinkled in consternation. “Did the general promote you?”

“We’ll find a way to follow you,” Magda says fiercely. “He can’t expect you to leave us all behind.”

Daniil is silent, his eyes locked on my face. I meet them for a moment before looking away.

“No.” I keep my voice steady. “I’m leaving the service.”

Now a shocked silence answers me. Magda shakes her head, her face disbelieving.

“No, no,” she says. “Don’t be an idiot. Where will you go? What will you do?”

“We know you’ve been through a lot lately,” Sverre says, as reasonable as always. “But that doesn’t mean you have to leave. You need to reconsider.”

They still don’t understand. All of them know that I’m an off-worlder, but I don’t think any of them truly considered what that means. For most Titans, there is nothing beyond their icy planet, nothing beyond the constant war. But not for me.

I take a deep breath.

“I mean that I’m leaving the planet.”

There’s a moment of silence. Another. I watch as understanding dawns on the faces of my team members. Daniil’s head sinks down, his silence still unbroken. Magda is frozen, as if her body hasn’t caught up with whatever is going on inside her head. Sverre clears his throat. A flash of something like hurt crosses his face, then disappears. He shrugs.

“Well. Good for you, I guess,” he says, and takes a sip of his beer.

I almost allow myself to relax. But all at once, Magda springs up and lunges forward as if she means to climb right over the table to get to me. Sverre grabs her before she can, sending his half-full cup of beer sloshing across the table. I take a step back. Magda’s eyes are cold with anger.

“You bastard,” she spits at me, loud enough that several heads at nearby tables turn toward us to witness the spectacle. My cheeks burn, but I raise my chin, maintaining eye contact with her. “You coward. How dare you abandon your people?”