“Get up, Drom,” I say, and move to the other bed, reaching down to shake Lyre’s shoulder. “Lyre, Scorpia, wake up. We need to go.”

Lyre, curled around a pillow, blinks up at me in sleepy confusion.

“Huh? Scorpia’s not here.”

“What?” As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice that she’s right. The other side of the bed is empty, its sheets neatly folded. Scorpia isn’t here, and she never was. My mind flashes back to her stumbling upstairs with that soldier—and the fight we had beforehand. “She never came back?” The others all trickled in when they were done with their entertainment for the night, just like we always did in the past.

Next door, Pol’s knocking has increased to a steady bang loud enough to cut through the rest of the noise.

“No,” Lyre says, sitting up and running a hand through her stray curls. She yawns again. As she wakes up fully, she seems to remember that she’s been determined to be cold toward me. She sniffs and shoots me a glare. “What’s the big deal?” she asks, and then her eyes go wide as she notices the knife in my hand.

“There’s no time.” I shove my knife into its sheath and yank Lyre out of bed despite her protests. Outside, Pol is throwing his shoulder against the door. I usher both of my bleary-eyed sisters into the hall. By the time we make it out, the other guests in the hallway have made their way downstairs, and the door to Momma’s room is swinging loose on one hinge. When Pol emerges again, I know what he’s going to say.

“Momma’s not here.”

Panic hits me so hard it makes me nauseous. Either Momma left me again, left all of us—or something worse has happened. But my little siblings are looking at me, so I ball my trembling hands into fists and force myself to shake off my fear. That look and this feeling are all too familiar. The sensation of being needed by someone, and all the pressure that comes with it. I’m tired of it. Far too tired. But they need me right now.

“Let’s get to the lobby,” I say. “Maybe Scorpia and Momma are waiting there.”

They won’t be, but at least it will get us moving. And at least the gravity of the situation seems to be hitting my siblings, because they’re quick to obey. Every floor we pass through is deserted, and so is the bar on the first floor. A half-poured drink and uncorked bottle of vodka still sit on the counter, and someone’s cracked comm rests near a sticky puddle on the ground. Drom looks around the room with a frown, while Pol paces behind her and Lyre frantically presses the screen of her comm.