“This is a message from Corvus Kaiser for space vessel Fortuna,” he says. Even aside from the static, his voice is strange to my ears, so clipped and serious. “At the end of this month, I will have served my required years in service for Titan. My enlistment is over.” He pauses and looks offscreen. There’s a muffled sound—maybe a distant explosion—but after a moment he looks back, seemingly unconcerned. “I’ll be in Drev Dravaask. You can reach me through General Kel Altair.” He reaches a hand forward, but hesitates. He looks directly into the camera for the first time. “Get me off this damn rock, Momma,” he says, his voice catching on the last word, and the recording ends.

I let out a slow breath.

Realizing I’m still touching the now-empty screen, I draw back my shaking hand and wipe my eyes, trying to process the raw shock of the news. All these years, I went back and forth between hating Corvus and missing him, hoping he would survive and trying to convince myself I didn’t care if he did. Now, seeing his face for the first time in three years, I have no idea how to feel.

Even if he did live, I never imagined Corvus would contact us after his enlistment. He abandoned us, after all—abandoned me—with no warning, not so much as a note to remember him by. He made his choice very clear: He’s loyal to his home-planet over us. But now that he’s gotten tired of playing soldier, he expects us to swing by and pick him up? Welcome him back like nothing happened?

I clench my hands in my lap, a wave of bitterness surging up despite the part of me that still aches to have my brother back. With a haze of whiskey clouding my thoughts, it’s impossible to make any sense out of my tangled emotions. A large part of me is grateful for that.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Just because Corvus is asking to be picked up doesn’t mean Momma is going to do it. She’s drilled it into us our whole lives that blood always comes first. Corvus betrayed that idea when he left us, and Momma isn’t the forgiving type. This transmission might be the last I see of my brother. I guess I should be grateful that I got one last glimpse of him, and be content to know he’s alive out there, somewhere.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I hit the button to play the message again. But rather than my brother’s face, the screen flashes with a green warning box: Access Denied.

“Shit,” I mutter. In the time it took me to watch and process Corvus’s message, Momma must have gotten to the transmission and changed the access settings. Which means…