And if we weren’t heading to meet Corvus, of course. I can’t forget about that. The landing and post-success high were a momentary distraction, but now the knowledge weighs heavily on my shoulders as we trudge through the city streets. Soon—too soon—I’ll be face-to-face with my brother for the first time in three years. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to say, or do, or feel about it… or more importantly, how exactly I’m going to steal my ship from him. I have a tentative plan, but some part of me is holding out until I see Corvus. Maybe he’ll change his mind about coming with us—or maybe Momma will take one look at him and decide that he’s not the right person to be in charge.

Or maybe, just maybe, Corvus won’t be as changed a man as I’m fearing he’ll be. Maybe he’ll have some explanation for why he left us. Maybe he’ll be the brother I remember, and we’ll cry and make up and my fears will all dissipate, and I’ll feel safe with my future in his hands after all. It all depends on how this meeting goes.

Damn do I need a drink.

I’m considering sneaking off to the bar to grab one before the meeting when Momma stops. I follow her gaze to a building ahead, a tall and narrow structure with neon letters above the doorway declaring it THE BLACKBIRD. Beneath that, a smaller sign reads HALF-OFF DRINKS FOR SOLDIERS. Conversation and laughter and light leak out of the windows on each level, stretching out far above us.

“This is the place,” Momma says.

I glance up at the windows, half expecting to see his silhouette waiting in one of them, but of course they’re empty. Still, my heart starts to pound in my chest. We’re so close to the moment I’ve been both hoping for and dreading for the last three years. As Momma heads inside, with Pol and Lyre close behind, my feet stay glued to the ground. Fuck, I’m not ready. I’m not even close to ready.

“The hell are you waiting for?” Drom asks, clapping a hand on my shoulder as she’s about to pass by.

“Oh, uh, I just remembered that I should—”

She forcibly propels me into the building before I can finish the lie. Even with her injured leg stiff and her gait uneven, I don’t stand a chance against her.

My protests die down as we enter. Sloshed patrons, fueled by steady streams of cheap liquor, play drinking games and cluster around space heaters. I immediately attempt a pivot toward the bar, but Drom marches me toward the stairs the others are heading for.

“Oh, come on, at least let me grab a drink!”