Valerie’s chin jerked up. She reached out to touch Naomi’s cheek. Naomi didn’t let herself flinch.

“Give them the cure,” Naomi said, her throat growing tight. “And then let’s go home.”

“To Earth or Cavendish?” Valerie whispered.

“Whichever you want.” Thirty years on, Naomi couldn’t remember if she thought those words a lie or not.

Valerie’s expression was softer than Naomi had seen in weeks. Her eyes were wet. “How can I trust that you won’t betray me again, Naomi?” she asked again, voice pained. “I took you in after your mother died, even though I wasn’t in her will. You were meant to be packed off to some distant relatives in Scotland you’d never met. Grow up somewhere rural, with no money. You’d have had to grow up like I did. Grasping for every goddamn scrap. Would you have had the same drive? Achieved all you have? I don’t know.”

Naomi’s mouth went dry.

She’d always assumed that Valerie was listed in Catherine’s will as Naomi’s legal guardian after her death. She’d almost not grown up underneath Valerie’s shadow. Who would she have been? Not here. Definitely not here.

“My mother had money,” Naomi said. “That would have gone to my legal guardian. How did I end up with you?”

She forced herself to keep her tone mildly curious, even as her heart thudded. They were wasting time.

Valerie shrugged a shoulder. “It was an old will—she hadn’t updated it in years. When we first created Hawthorne, all our capital was in the company, so it didn’t seem as pressing. But I knew she would have wanted me to keep you close. We’d been such a partnership.” Her gaze went distant.

Naomi had muffled memories of Valerie and Catherine together before the fire. She’d always thought they’d had a deep bond, like sisters more than business partners. Laughter, wine, fine food. Naomi’s father rarely came to their gatherings, citing work as an excuse. He had no scientific inclinations, but he’d liked making things with his hands. He was a carpenter, and even though his work had been beautiful, Valerie had given enough subtle digs that Naomi knew Valerie considered Alan Lovelace beneath Catherine and all she had achieved.

“What did you do?” Naomi asked, softly.

“Offered them enough money they didn’t mind not taking in a girl they’d never met, who never spoke and rarely slept without waking up from nightmares.” She gave a smile. “But I wanted you. I gave you everything. I want to trust you, Naomi, I do.”

Naomi swallowed. “Then give me the cure, Valerie, and I’m yours. I always have been.” Her voice was thick.

“Prove it. Prove you believe I know best.” Before Naomi could blink, Valerie’s hand was under her chin, gripping tight.