“As if you weren’t planning on doing the same thing?”

“I’m serious, Drom! This is important!”

“You really need me to keep pointing out your hypocritical bullshit?”

I grit my teeth. Responses flit through my head—angry, threatening, wheedling, pleading—before I settle for telling the pathetic truth.

“I just need a little bit of courage, all right? I’m scared shitless right now.”

Drom scoffs, lifts the bottle to her mouth, and takes another swig. But after lowering it, she hands it over to me. Only when I grip it do I realize how badly her hand is trembling. Startled, I raise my eyes to hers, as wide and bloodshot as my own must be.

“Is that why you’re drinking?” I ask, taken aback by the prospect. Her lips twist to the side, and I expect her to deny it.

Instead, she says, “Seems to work well enough for you.”

She releases the bottle, leaving it suddenly heavy in my hand.

“But you…” My thoughts tumble around one another, unable to wrap around the idea. Drom scared of a fight? Drom imitating my behavior? I’m not sure which of the two is more baffling. “You’re never scared,” I say, finding that one easier to grasp on to. “You’re always the first one in the fight and the last one out. You’re… you.”

She averts her eyes, teeth grinding against each other. Her thumb rubs against the scar on her left arm.

“It was easy to be brave when I had to,” she says. “Pol always counts on me to be the strong one. I have to protect him.” Her voice grows shaky, her words speeding up. “The only reason I voted to save Nibiru is because I know that’s what he’d want. But… now I can’t stop thinking about how he looked in that message. And how I can’t protect him. Just like I couldn’t protect him from Corvus, or that alien bullshit. And I’m starting to realize maybe I’m not as strong as I thought I was. Nowhere near as strong as he thought I was. Maybe I was pretending the whole time, but it took until now to realize it.” She pauses for a few seconds, while I struggle to find words. An uncomfortable laugh escapes her. “This was a whole lot easier when Momma was telling me what to do all the time.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “It was easier for me, too. But it’s okay to be scared. We’re all scared. Corvus spent three years in the war on Titan, and I guarantee you he is still on the verge of shitting his pants right now.” I manage a weak smile. “Fear only makes us weak if we let it stop us. But as long as we still get our jobs done, then we win, yeah?”