I sit in the lobby of the Council Hall, the alien vial gripped tightly in my hand, trying not to think about how terribly wrong that situation could have gone. I know I should have told my siblings about what I had planned, but it was impossible to steal a moment with Scorpia without that Gaian woman around. The only person I could confide in was Lyre, who agreed to hand over the vial this morning before I left the ship.

But all things considered, this desperate ploy is working well so far. The council promised us a decision in no more than five hours. If they hold to it, it will be an unprecedentedly swift decision for the Nibiran rulers. They are clearly eager to get this alien weapon off their planet.

The hours pass rapidly. I hardly notice the council’s time is up until the clerk—along with several armed security guards—comes to inform Shey that the council has reached a decision. The rest of us wordlessly accompany her. Other than a nervous glance from the clerk and an icy look from Shey herself, no one dares try to stop us.

“You really should have warned me, but I gotta say, this is a pretty good plan,” Scorpia says as we walk up the winding hallway. “I’m loving the VIP treatment.”

“I believe the goal is to treat us like terrorists,” I mutter to her, noting how the clerk looks back at us and quickly looks away again.

“Very important terrorists.”

I fight an absurd urge to smile, and instead give her a disapproving look.

“Maybe we should see if we end up in a jail cell before deciding if this was a good plan.”

“Aw, c’mon, they’re not gonna arrest us. This is for a good cause.”

“Terrorism for a good cause? Not sure they’ll buy that.”

Scorpia’s laugh echoes around the hallway, drawing another nervous glance from the clerk leading us. Her laughter goes on too long, the sound too high-pitched, like it always does when she’s trying not to act scared. She stifles it as we reach the council chamber. The guards glare at us as we enter, their hands on their weapons and their eyes on the vial in my hand, but they let us pass.

Shey takes her place in the center of the room, with the rest of us flanking her. Scorpia shifts from foot to foot, while Drom yawns and rests her hands behind her head. I fold my arms across my chest and sweep my eyes over the council, trying to gauge their reactions. Their expressions are stony and unreadable, their hands folded and backs straight, in their usual picture-perfect image of a completely uniform and united front.