“And why do you think I’m here?” Shey asks, her voice lowering to meet mine.

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t be.” I study her face. “You may have the others fooled, but I know you’re up to something. And I intend to find out what it is.”

Shey’s eyes flash, returning my glare with a strength that surprises me.

“You think—”

“Found ’em!” Scorpia shouts, bursting back into the room with the bag of dice held triumphantly aloft. Shey cuts off whatever she was about to say, and I take a step back as I realize how close we are. Scorpia lowers the bag, lifting a questioning eyebrow at Shey and then me. “Did I miss something?”

“He was explaining this game to me,” Shey says smoothly, moving to take her seat. “It sounds rather confusing, I must admit.”

Scorpia pauses, her eyes still on me, but I let my expression reveal nothing. After a moment, she shrugs and moves over to sit in her chair, spilling the dice out in the middle of the table.

“It’s easy,” she says. “Here, these dice are yours…”

We play for hours. Hours full of laughter and drinking and conversation, until the combination of alcohol and good company is enough to melt the ball of ice in my stomach. For a few blissful hours, I’m able to forget about Shey, and everything else. I’m able to feel like we’re a family again.

But of course, it can’t last forever. At some point Scorpia walks Shey to her room, and then, looking distinctly disappointed, retires to Momma’s empty bedroom for the night. Drom stumbles off to her own bed to sleep, and Lyre passes out with her head on the table and dice still clutched in one hand. I finish my drink and carry her to her bed; she’s so tired she barely stirs.

When I return to the main deck, the ship is silent. It’s hard to believe how full of life it was merely a few minutes ago. I sit at the table again, pour myself another drink, and listen to the creaks and groans of the ship as the loneliness seeps back in. After a moment, I pour another glass, and push it over to Momma’s empty place at the table.

“Here’s to you,” I murmur, lifting my cup. “And everything you left behind.” Shey’s words from before echo through my head: “If guilt is hereditary, then I suppose we both share the blame.” I sip from my cup, thinking of the risk we’re taking tomorrow, and our fragile plan that must succeed. If I can’t trust Shey to see it through, perhaps it’s up to me to ensure it works. No matter what it takes. “Debts included,” I whisper, as an idea starts to form in my mind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Nibiru

Scorpia