“We met up with the client and everything was going smoothly. But the sirens started as we were about to finalize the deal. As soon as the buyers heard the announcement about a Code Blue, they got spooked and left.”

My stomach plummets. Damn, I really have the worst timing.

“So the cargo is…?” My siblings turn and look toward the other end of the warehouse. There, stacked up against the wall, are the cargo crates, presumably still full of extremely illegal contraband. “Shit.”

“We didn’t know what to do with it,” Lyre says. “We can’t let the officers find it, obviously, but if we abandon it, then…” She trails off, but I follow the train of thought. The cargo is worth a fortune, and surrendering it would also make this whole trip pointless. Momma would be furious.

I chew the inside of my cheek. The deal was a failure, and now we’re stuck with a bunch of contraband in the middle of a quarantine. This job—the job that was supposed to be my last chance to prove my worth to Momma—has become a complete and utter disaster, all because I tried to fit in that stupid deal on the side. I thought I could impress Momma by doing something on my own on top of the normal job, but instead I’ve ruined everything. We’ve had business go awry in the past, but it’s hard to remember the last time a trip went this poorly. And now my siblings are all staring at me, hoping for me to save them.

“Okay,” I say, my mind working. “Okay, okay… so…” There’s only one answer, as hard as it is to swallow. “The officers will find us if we don’t move, and we can’t move with the cargo. We need to get rid of it.” The thought of dumping something so valuable hurts, but we don’t have a choice. This is evidence that could get us killed. “And we need a distraction that will let us sneak out of the quarantine. So…” I snap my fingers. “We’ve gotta burn it.”

Lyre’s face crumples, but she doesn’t argue. The twins exchange a glance. Oddly, they both seem to be barely holding back smiles… but then again, they’re always in favor of plans that involve arson.

“Sounds good,” Pol says. “But you do know—”

“Yeah, I know how much it’s worth. But we’ve gotta take the loss. You’ve got a lighter, right?” I gesture impatiently. After a brief hesitation, Pol shrugs and digs a slim metal device out of his pocket. “I’ll tell Momma I made the call,” I say, snatching it. “We don’t have time to argue. Sanita leaves are supposed to be really flammable, right?”

“Yup,” Drom says, while Pol nods along.