“No,” Shey says. “All my mother really wants is a home. If we provide that through another way—a more peaceful way—she will honor your agreement and be grateful to you.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” Lyre says. “Especially when we don’t know if a peaceful method is possible. And if it fails, we won’t have another chance to try. We have one shot at this.” She takes a deep breath and looks down at her lap. “I appreciate your honesty, Scorpia, I really do. But I don’t think we can risk deviating from the original plan.”

“These are innocent people we’re talking about,” Corvus says, his voice getting heated already. I tense, worried he’s going to explode like he did last night. Seeing him like that—talking about things like bombing Gaia—frightened me. “Millions of innocent lives.”

“If we don’t do this, Leonis will find someone else,” Lyre says quietly, without looking up. “This way, at least we’ll be alive, and we’ll have our brother back.”

“I would do almost anything to have Apollo back, same as any of you, but this is too much,” Corvus says. “We have to believe that Shey is right, and her mother won’t harm him. This is a chance to stop the war here and now, before it consumes the rest of the system. Our one chance to stop it. We have to take it.”

He and Lyre both turn to me, each of them clearly seeking support. Drom stares down at the table. Shey has her eyes shut and her hands clasped to her chest. I swallow a lump in my throat and shake my head.

“I’m the one who got us into this mess,” I say. “I think I’ve made more than enough decisions for the family. This one is for the three of you to decide.”

All eyes turn to Drom now. She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose with one hand.

“You’re asking me to choose between my twin and my home-planet?” she asks. “Well. That’s a shitty choice if I ever heard one.” Though she aims to adopt her usual devil-may-care drawl, her voice trembles. “Seriously, why couldn’t it have just been Pax?”

“Think of all those people,” Corvus says in a low, urgent voice, leaning toward her. “The fishers, the storytellers, the children playing tag in the market every morning. You remember them all, don’t you? They welcomed us when no one else would.”

“Ugh, shut up.” She grimaces, covering her face with her hand.

“Think of Pol,” Lyre butts in quickly. “Think of never seeing him again. He needs us. He—”