We travel up a few stories of the building, past multiple pairs of uniformed guards, and all the way back into a private meeting room. Momma and the general sit across from each other at the main table, relegating Scorpia and me to a pair of chairs against one wall. The soldiers leave us to wait outside. Scorpia’s eyes follow them and flicker to me once they’re gone. Her gaze hovers on the war-brand tattooed on my wrist for an uncomfortably long time, as if she just noticed it. I resist the urge to hide it from her scrutiny.

“Thank you for accepting my request to meet,” Momma says, bowing her head to the general with her fingers pressed against her heart once again. I avert my eyes, irritated by the sight of her miming a motion that has become so meaningful to me over the last few years. I know she doesn’t believe any of the things it’s supposed to mean. “I haven’t done business here in a long while, so I appreciate the opportunity. And you won’t be disappointed with what I’m offering. The product I have here is… unique, to say the least.”

“You’ve always been a reliable business partner, and your son served me well,” Altair says with a nod. “I look forward to seeing what you have to offer.”

Even when he mentions me—praises me, nonetheless—he doesn’t look in my direction. As though I don’t exist. One of my hands curls into a fist at my side as I fight down a flash of anger. Altair did warn me that the end of my service would be seen as dishonorable, and Magda confirmed as much. Still, to be treated so differently from a couple of days ago, when the only thing that’s changed about me is a uniform, rankles. Maybe Momma doesn’t understand Titan culture as well as she thought, if she expected my presence here to be useful.

Altair pours two generous drinks to start the proceedings. Momma clears her throat.

“Pardon my off-worlder manners, but as you recall, I don’t drink,” Momma says. Usually she’s eager to imitate planetary manners as closely as possible, from Gaian hand gestures to Titan salutes, but this is one matter she’s never budged on.

“My apologies. It’s been a while.” Altair reaches for her glass, but Momma stops him with a wave of her hand.

“For the sake of tradition… Corvus?”