Momma will never agree to it. For all her unscrupulousness and credit-grabbing, we’ve never transported human cargo. Never. Especially not a Titan deserter, since aiding one amounts to high treason on this planet. And Altair will know it was me. We’d never be able to return. But how can I say that to Daniil when he’s looking at me like this?

Maybe there is a way. Maybe Pax, at least, could take him. The laws aren’t so strict there, and the borders not so well defended, and he might have an argument for citizenship if his father is truly there. Most people think a life on Pax isn’t worth the risk, but it has to be better than here. If Momma agreed to make the trip… it could be possible.

“I’ll try,” I say. I can see that he doesn’t believe me, so I step forward, take his hand, and squeeze it in mine. “I can’t promise you anything, but I will do everything I can. Stay in Sketa. I’ll contact you before we leave the planet.”

He looks down at his hand clasped in mine for a long moment, swallows hard, and nods.

I don’t need to tell him that it’s a slim chance. But despite knowing that, I feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps I can do one last thing before I leave this awful place. One good thing to redeem myself for all the terrible deeds I’ve done.

And after abandoning me to the war for three years, Momma owes me one hell of a favor.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Verdict

Scorpia

In the aftermath of the fight with the Red Baron, I can’t help but feel jubilant. For once, something went our way. And for once, I played a part in our success rather than screwing everything up. No one can say that our plan would have gone nearly as well without my brilliant idea to shut off the lights. Which means, of course, that I have to remind everyone every chance I get.

“Pretty smart,” Pol says.

“It wasn’t your worst plan,” Lyre admits.

“Should’ve fuckin’ thought of it about five minutes earlier,” Drom says, gesturing to her bandaged leg, which turned out to be a considerably less easy fix than my injured ear.

And Momma, who has given up secluding herself in her room, rolls her eyes and says, “Congrats, you did your job for once.” Which, honestly, is probably the nicest thing she’s said to me in a few years.