I step onto the ramp, far enough out that the wind tears at my suit, and stare at the bleak landscape of Titan. Drom’s bright orange figure treks across the white, struggling against the wind and the ice. Pol is so far away that he’s dwarfed by the yawning cave and rocky tundra around him. He’s just a small figure with both hands cupped around his mouth, screaming himself hoarse. Beyond him, something catches my eye—movement, possibly—and my heart surges. But when I look closer, there’s nothing there.

I frown, rubbing a gloved hand across the front of my helmet in case something is smudged there. It must have been a trick of the light, sun glancing off snow. Or maybe some hope-induced hallucination. I sigh and turn to head back into the ship—and I see it.

A black cloud rolling over the white tundra, shivering and stretching as it moves like ink spreading through water, reaching all the way from the surface to the sky.

I gasp. The inky darkness disappears as soon as I turn toward it, but now that I know what to look for, I see the telltale colorful shimmer in the air. I know what it is. We brought it here. And it’s coming closer, fast.

“Get back to the fucking ship!” I scream as loud as I can, hurting my own ears in the bubble of the helmet. I rip it off my head and scream it again, loud enough that Pol turns toward the sound of my voice. After one painstaking moment he begins to walk toward the ship, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. The shimmering cloud behind him is catching up by the second.

Drom must hear my voice as well. But instead of turning toward the ship, she starts to run toward her twin.

I lurch forward a step, ready to run to them myself, but stop. I’ll only slow them down. And I need to be here, need to be ready to launch the moment they’re safely on board. I stare after Drom, heart in my throat, hoping to all the stars in the universe that my decision to send her out there won’t get them both killed. I back into the cargo bay without taking my eyes off them.

“Lyre, we need that ramp closed the second they’re back on board,” I say without turning, watching as Drom reaches Pol. She pushes the suit into his arms, says something, and sprints back toward the ship. After a moment of fumbling the helmet onto his head, Pol follows, matching her pace now. Thank the stars, he listened.

But that cloud is gaining on them.

“Are you sure we can’t wait a few minutes longer for Momma?” Lyre asks in a small voice. “We have the suits now. They might—”