“I know when to keep my mouth shut,” Scorpia says. Even after three years apart from her, I know a lie when I hear one, but Momma sets her jaw and chooses to ignore it. She heads for the stairs without checking to see if we’re following. Scorpia hangs back, and finally looks up and meets my eyes. For a moment I think she’s going to thank me, or welcome me back, but instead she only gives me a long, silent look and heads for the stairs.

As we follow Momma through the dim streets of Drev Dravaask, Scorpia’s eyes burn into the back of my neck. She stays a few paces behind, watching me. The scrutiny makes me self-conscious, less about the surface-level differences she notices than everything that lies beneath. Am I really so transparent? Can she see the dozens of horrible secrets lurking beneath my skin? Does she already mistrust me?

I’m so focused on Scorpia that I forget to keep an eye on our surroundings. I hear a thud and a brief scuffle of confusion behind me, and turn to see Scorpia regaining her balance after a collision with a dirty-faced girl who can’t be older than ten.

“Sorry, miss,” the kid says.

“My bad.” Scorpia is already glancing at me instead of watching the child start to slip away.

I step forward and grab the kid’s wrist before she can disappear, yanking it high enough that her feet scrabble for purchase on the ground. She squirms and yelps, but nobody on the street spares us a second glance, save for my family. Momma watches with a stony expression, while Scorpia looks on in faint horror.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses, glancing around as if expecting someone to be scandalized about this. Clearly, she doesn’t know this city like I do. I focus on the girl in my grasp, giving her a shake and a scowl.

“Give it up, kid.” In response, the girl glowers up at me and lets out such a foul string of curse words that Scorpia raises her eyebrows. I shake her again, yanking the wrist farther upward so she barely touches the ground with the tips of her toes. “You want me to break your wrist? Let’s have it.”

Still swearing violently and balancing on her tiptoes, the kid reaches into her pocket with her free hand. A moment later, she produces Scorpia’s comm and tosses it down. It clatters to the ground near Scorpia’s feet. She blinks down at it before scrambling to pick it up, her face flaring red.

“You little shit,” she says, doing a poor job of hiding the fact that she’s impressed.