As much as I was looking for an excuse to get away from that particular conversation, I have been meaning to speak with Lyre. I still vividly remember how painful it was when the rest of the family voted against me to negotiate with Leonis. Though I disagreed with her about Nibiru, I know she had good intentions at heart. And I also know how lonely it is to be on the outside.

As usual, Lyre is hard at work in the noisy engine room, her hands moving to do a million tasks at once. She must notice me standing in the doorway, but she doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I am content to wait, looking around the engine room as I do. This is my first time down here since my return to the family, and I’m surprised how little it’s changed. Fortuna, at least, is a steadfast presence in our tumultuous lives. When Lyre finishes her latest job and strips off her gloves to wipe the sweat from her forehead, I step forward.

“I was thinking we could play some dice later,” I say, a shameless attempt at coaxing her out of this room. She gives a disdainful sniff without looking at me.

“I’m busy.”

“I think the engine can survive an hour or two without you.”

Her face creases in irritation.

“Well, it won’t survive a landing on Nibiru unless I finish this,” she snaps. “Water landings aren’t a simple process. And I wasn’t prepared to stay there long. I thought it would be…”

“A hit and run?” I try to keep my voice mild, but it only seems to make her angrier.

“Don’t you dare judge me. As if you kept your hands clean in Titan’s war.”

“That’s what I’m trying to make up for.” I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the wall, studying her face. This isn’t like Lyre—not this conversation, not the argument to bomb Nibiru, not anything about the way she’s been acting since I returned to the family. When she was younger, we were always the two rational ones amid the craziness of our family. Scorpia’s bitterness I can understand, and forgive. But Lyre’s resentment is still a mystery to me, and I have no idea what to say to calm her down.

Even when my siblings were little terrors, Lyre was never the one who needed calming. She was always quiet, independent. And she’s never appreciated sugarcoating, so I decide to go with a straightforward approach.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

For a split second, guilt flashes across Lyre’s features.

“I’m not,” she says, and turns back to face the main fan, slipping her gloves back on. “As I told you, I have work to do.”

“Talk to me, Lyre.”