“We came here for you,” Pol shouts at me, though I barely process his words through a red haze of anger. “For you. How dare you say she would leave—” His eyes widen a half second before my fist crashes into his face.

He stumbles back, shock flickering across his expression, before taking another swing at me. I dodge this one, and hit him again, hard enough to make his head snap back.

“We’re done here,” I say, but Pol’s expression darkens. He throws himself at me. I hit the ground beneath him. A moment later we’re a thrashing mess, him spouting insults and throwing wild punches, while I grimly struggle to pin him down. His elbow collides with my nose, spilling a rush of blood down my chin. I grit my teeth and flip him off me, twisting one arm behind his back and pressing my weight down. Breathing hard, blood dripping off my chin, I hold him on the ground. Still he thrashes, boots kicking up dirt, spitting out a steady stream of fucker and coward and traitor.

Filthy off-world traitor.

Rage sears my insides. One quick twist of his wrist, one satisfying pop and crack, and he’d never dare speak to me like that again. How he can dare to do it now is beyond me. Have I not done enough for this family? Sacrificed enough? After everything, this is the homecoming I get? I twist his arm harder, thinking of his fist striking my face, Scorpia’s scathing words, Momma using me as a prop to sell the stars-damned weapon that’s already wiped out three cities, Magda’s last words to me in Fort Sketa—

Pol’s insults cut off in a cry of pain. The sound jolts through my anger, immediately reminding me of my little brother falling and scraping his knee, or accidentally burning himself on the stove, or being bullied by his twin. I relax my grip, guilt flooding me as I come back to my senses, cooling the heat in my chest. I remember now. I remember the right way to do this. I lean down, speaking the words I so often spoke to Pol when he was a child, red-faced and thumping his small fists against my chest while I stood immobile and patient.

“That’s enough, Apollo. That’s enough.”

After one last, vain struggle to escape, the fight leaks out of him. He goes still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Once I’m certain he’s done, I release him and get up, spitting a mouthful of blood off to the side.

The first person I see is Lyre, eyes wide and both hands over her mouth. Closer to us are Drom and Scorpia, still tangled on the ground.