I rip my eyes away from him and look around for my family. I spot Drom’s towering form first; she’s in a dim corner of the room, either flirting with or threatening some fresh-faced soldier boy—hard to tell with her. She must have had her leg treated, since she’s not avoiding putting weight on it anymore. Pol is among the drunk soldiers I noticed before, laughing with them as if they’re old friends. Lyre is also easy to find for once, seated at a table with a ring of scowling faces, her small fingers wrapped around a handful of dice. An assortment of trinkets, drinks, and other belongings sits in front of her.

Corvus is harder to spot, but eventually I notice him sitting at the end of the bar, hunched over a beer and as alone as he can manage to be in the semicrowded room. Momma is nowhere to be found. I pause, chewing my lip and trying to decide what to do. If Momma is upstairs, I could go face her and maybe earn some points for not trying to avoid punishment.

But I’m not ready to face anyone from my family, not before I’m numb enough to think clearly again. If only I wasn’t completely broke. I’m not eager to try stealing on Titan and lose a finger for my trouble. Then again, there is one other reliable way to get free alcohol that works just about anywhere in the system.

I survey the bar and sidle up to the first lonely-looking soldier I see, a man a few years my junior with a shaved head and sad blue eyes.

“You look like you could use some company,” I say, and flash him my most winning smile.

Soon enough I’m pleasantly drunk, and careening quickly toward being even drunker. I’m laughing too loud, talking too much, unsteady on my feet—but I can’t stop. Every time I pause for a moment it all seeps in again. I have to keep trying to drown my thoughts. Drown myself as much as possible. I don’t want to feel anything anymore.

The soldier buying my drinks seems to be of the same mind. His name is Alvid, though I keep forgetting it. The burn marks covering both his hands look recent, but he’s reluctant to talk about them. Or anything at all, really. But I can talk enough for both of us, and he seems content to listen, those sad eyes never leaving mine.

It might be a decent night, if not for the day that came before it. And if not for Corvus shooting me sideways looks from the bar. The rest of my siblings are minding their own business—Lyre gambling, Pol chatting it up with various soldiers, and Drom enjoying her own companion for the night—but Corvus radiates judgment from his seat in the corner.