When Momma puts her arms around me, my heart almost betrays my mind. It would be far too easy to let myself sink into this moment, to let myself enjoy this rare show of affection from her. Stars, I used to work so hard for this. I used to push myself to the very limit for a pat on the shoulder or a smile. Some secret part of me must still crave that affection and approval, because right now I’m almost willing to forget the last three years and let everything go back to the way it was.

“I’m so proud of you,” Momma murmurs in my ear, too quiet for the others to hear. Despite these past few years—despite everything—those words reverberate down to my bones.

As she releases me and my gaze returns to my siblings, my heart hardens again. Each of them is a walking reminder of what I’ve missed over the years. The twins grew up while I was away. I can’t believe how damn big they got, or how hard-eyed. Lyre has shadows under her eyes and a suspicious set to her mouth that wasn’t there before. And Scorpia, usually so ready to chip away at tension with her laughter, wears a brittle lie of a smile and won’t look me in the eyes. She’s treating me like a stranger, as I feared she would.

I missed them, all of them, so badly that the ache in my chest became a constant part of my existence. But I can’t seem to bring myself to voice it. If I let my emotions out now, I’ll crumble beneath the weight of them, and I can’t let that happen in front of Momma. I can’t let the cracks show. She’ll still expect me to be her perfect son, and I don’t want her to realize the toll the war has taken on me until I’m safely on board that ship.

“We-ell,” Scorpia says, breaking the silence. “I for one could use a drink. Anyone else?”

So much for her shaking that habit. I hesitate, hating the immediate urge to glance at Momma and check if she approves or not. Three years at war, and it seems I’m no stronger than I used to be.

“You offering to pay?” Drom asks, when no one else says anything.

“Oh,” Scorpia says, as if it had just occurred to her. “Well you see, I would, but…”

“Let’s handle the necessaries first,” Momma says, cutting her off. “Drom, I transferred some credits to your account so you can get that leg looked at. Anyone else need anything while we’re here?”

“Pol has a bad tooth,” Lyre says. He scowls at her, and she steps aside before he can shove her.

“It’s fine,” Pol says. “I don’t want them poking around my mouth.”

“It’s not fine. It’s gross.”