“Seems good to go,” I say, turning to the others. Drom nods her agreement, but Pol gnaws his lower lip, and Lyre sucks a breath through her teeth.

“We should unload some of the cargo,” she says. “Make two trips.”

“That’s a long-ass ride to do twice in a day.” It’ll take at least two hours to get to Levian, and I have a side trip to fit in before our official meeting.

“Well, it’ll be longer if we break down halfway.” Lyre taps a finger on her lips. “Maybe we could leave one of the twins with half the cargo.”

“Hell no,” say both twins in unison.

I could’ve told Lyre what the answer would be. Drom hates sitting around, and Pol hates being separated from her. It’s obvious to me, but Lyre, who would rather spend time tinkering with the engine than talking to us, doesn’t know how to think with anything other than pure logic. It’s one of the reasons why she’ll never be in charge of the family. But I shake off the thought of inheritance as my mind wanders to Corvus again. I have to focus on the situation at hand.

“Nobody stays behind,” I say.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Lyre says.

“You never do. And it usually works out fine anyway.”

“Fine is a relative term.”

“Well, you know what’s not relative?” I wait for her to look at me before extending a middle finger in her direction. “The fact that I’m in charge.”

Lyre sighs. I can almost see the gears in her head turning, examining a few more arguments before settling on resignation. Without another word of protest, she grabs one of the handholds on the side of the clunker and pulls herself up. She settles in the back, wedged between two crates, and frowns toward our destination.

Once she’s up, the twins exchange a glance and shrug. Pol gives Drom a boost, and she gives him a pull. As they sit atop crates of cargo on either side of Lyre, the clunker drops a half foot lower in altitude.

I lurch backward, throwing my hands out to keep my balance, and regard the vehicle warily. Appearances aside, the thing seems like it’s still holding up for now. Lyre is right, though. If our vehicle gives out halfway, we’ll have a long, sweaty walk ahead of us, and a pissed-off customer, plus Momma’s wrath.

But if we make two trips, I’ll definitely miss out on my side job, and that can’t happen. So I take a deep breath, throw on a smile, and pull myself up. I’m about to take the wheel but pause as my stomach lurches. I clap a hand over my mouth and swallow down bile.