I ignore the nagging feeling that she’s right as I slip off my bulky Titan gear to pull on the quarantine suit. When I get to the helmet strap, I notice my hands are shaking. I shut my eyes for a moment before I finish. The rest of my siblings have donned the suits as well, even Drom despite her protests. The two leftovers remain crumpled on the floor—Momma’s and Pol’s. I swallow the lump in my throat and pick one up, handing it to Drom. One suit still lies on the floor. Stars, our family was so close to being whole again.

But someone has to make a decision.

“Take this to Pol and tell him to get back in the ship,” I say, talking loud enough to ensure everyone can hear me despite my helmet.

Drom takes the suit, her brow furrowing.

“He won’t come without Momma.”

I take a deep breath. Wherever Momma is, she won’t or can’t answer. It’s possible she’s already dead, one more victim of the hell she brought to this planet. Even if she’s not, there’s a reason she isn’t here. And if we keep waiting, we’re all going to end up dead. Yet still the words stick in my throat. What if I’m wrong? What if I’m just screwing things up again?

“We can’t wait any longer,” Corvus says. “Drag him if you have to.”

Drom blinks at him, then at me. I know exactly how much we’re asking of her. Not only sending her back to the surface to brave potential danger, but asking her to force Pol onto the ship against his will, rip him away from his hope of Momma returning. This could break their relationship as badly as Corvus broke ours. Drom may poke and prod and tease Pol—and occasionally start fights that end with blood and missing teeth—but this is different. We both know it. And yet, it has to be done.

“Go, Drom,” I say.

She nods and heads for the ramp, her jaw and shoulders both set in firm lines. I watch her go, and wonder if Momma ever feels like this when she gives hard orders—like her insides are tearing themselves apart and her willpower barely prevents her from opening her mouth and saying I didn’t mean it, please come back.

“Anything on the comm?” I ask, glancing back at Lyre. She looks up at me, biting her lip, and shakes her head.

“This is the right call,” Corvus says. Somehow, that makes me feel worse rather than better.