“Oh, fancy seeing you here,” she says, her tone full of fake levity. She’s drunk—the kind of drunk where her eyes won’t open more than halfway and her smile keeps tilting sideways. I haven’t seen her get this bad since Titan. If I question her now, she might not be able to keep her lies straight… But merely thinking that makes me feel guilty. I’ve always hated to see Scorpia like this. This isn’t a happy drunkenness, but a desperate one. The worst part is that I’m not sure she can tell the difference.

“You need some sleep,” I say.

“I’m the captain,” she proclaims, pointing the bottle at me and swaying a little. “Which means I can do whatever the hell I please.”

I suppress a grimace. I guess she’s fully embraced the title now.

“Suit yourself, Captain.”

She laughs as if I made a joke, and holds out the bottle in offering.

“You want? It’s good Devan shit, I just picked it up.”

I almost take it just to stop her from having more but stop as I notice her hand shaking. My suspicion rekindles; I can’t forget why I’m here.

“No. Thanks.”

“You sure? Might kill those nightmares.”

I stare at her as she shrugs and takes another drink, humming to herself.

“How do you know about the nightmares?”

Scorpia laughs, spraying whiskey as she does, and claps a hand over her mouth.

“Oops.” She lowers the hand. “You, uh, didn’t know? I can hear you. We can all hear you. Crying out and talking and… who is Magda, by the way?”

My face heats up. Rather than answer, I snatch the bottle from her hand and take a long drink, letting the fire burn away my humiliation. I thought I had a decent handle on my emotions, at least enough to keep my siblings from noticing. But if Scorpia and the others have heard me, no wonder they all look at me like I’m on the verge of exploding.

“I know why you’re here,” Scorpia says, holding her hand out for the bottle. It’s steady now. “You think I lied to you about the cargo. You want to see it.”

I take another swig before handing it over, and say nothing. She sighs.

“I guess I can’t blame you. If I was you, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” She looks down at the bottle, swirling liquor around, her eyes distant. After a moment, her gaze snaps up to meet my own. “How’d things get so bad?”

While I consider my answer, she takes another drink before passing the bottle over to me.

“Between us, or in general?” I drink and pass as well.