“Momma left me on Titan to die,” I remind her gently. “That wasn’t love. She only favored me because—” I pause before forcing out the truth that part of me has always known. “Because I was the most obedient. But you were too smart to believe the lies she fed us.” I catch her gaze and hold it, making sure she hears this next part. Really hears it. “Plus, no one else in this stars-damned system is qualified to do the job that you do. None of us could keep this thing running for a single day. This is your home, and exactly where you belong. You don’t have to try to be like me, or Momma, or anyone else—you’re one of us. Fuck anything that Momma ever said or did to make you believe otherwise.”

Another tear breaks free and slides down her cheek.

“Stars, Corvus, I’m sorry for everything,” Lyre whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Without thinking, I reach to clasp her arm, but stop at the last moment as I remember my siblings aren’t used to such contact. To my surprise, she reaches out a hesitant hand and meets me halfway.

“It’s a Titan thing, right? All the touching?” she asks, squeezing my arm.

I swallow a lump in my throat.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t mind it.”

She leans forward and wraps her arms around me in a tentative hug. I put an arm around her shoulders. I almost forgot what this feels like—this closeness. Now, it’s like a knot inside me is unraveling, letting me breathe deeply for the first time in a long while. For now, I’m able to forget about the coming war, my concerns regarding Shey, all of it, and focus on this moment. This is what matters, I remind myself. This is what I’m fighting for.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Heroine

Scorpia

I sink to the floor with a groan. All the times I’ve imagined spending a day alone with Shey, I never thought it would involve endless bowing practice. I never thought I’d be the one giving her lessons in manners, either, but it turns out Shey knows very little about Nibiran culture and what she does “know” is mostly wrong. Given how much I’ve traveled between the planets, sometimes it’s easy to forget that they hardly interact with each other at all.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, letting my head fall back against the wall.

Shey, frozen halfway through a deep, formal Nibiran bow, frowns at me.

“What do you mean?” She straightens up. “We still haven’t been over the proper bow for an apology, or asking forgiveness—”

“Wait, there’s a difference?”

“Of course. Subtle, perhaps, but on Gaia they’re done like so.”

She performs two gestures with her hands held out, palms facing upward. As far as I can tell, they’re completely identical. I roll my eyes.