“Waiting on the ship,” she said. “Need to know where we stand.”

The man’s eyes unfocused for a moment, then his smile sharpened. “We’re waiting for the title transfer to update in the base registry, ma’am.”

“So the payment’s gone through?”

“Yes. If you’d like, you can take possession now, but please be aware you can’t be cleared to leave port until the registry updates.”

“That’s fine,” she said, getting to her feet. “Where’s she berthed?”

“Dock six, berth nineteen, ma’am. Would you like a representative present for the handover?”

“No,” she said. “Just leave the keys in the ignition, and we can take it from here.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Naomi said. “Have a better one.”

She dropped the connection. Cyn and Miral were already gathering their few things. Karal scooped up the last cousa from the hot plate with one hand and unplugged it with the other. She didn’t need to tell them to alert the others. Cyn was already doing it. Without changing, the air in the room felt suddenly too thick, the heat from the hot plate and their bodies too oppressive. Naomi stepped through the doorway.

“It’s time,” she said, her voice gentle. She remembered all the drama feeds and films with a mother waking her child up for school. This was the closest thing she would ever have to that, and against her best judgment, she savored it. “Filip. We can go now.”

His eyes opened, and for a moment, he wasn’t wholly awake. He looked confused. Vulnerable. Young. And then his focus sharpened, and he was himself again. His new self. The one she didn’t know.

They cycled the front door and stepped out into the corridor. The cool rotation breeze smelled of damp and ozone. She was still holding Karal’s cousa half-eaten in her off hand. She took another bite, but it had gone cold and the roux was clotting. She dropped what was left in the recycler and tried not to see it as a metaphor for anything else.

Cyn loomed up from the door, his face in its resting scowl. He looked older. Harder. She missed who he’d been when they were young. She missed who she’d been.

“Ready to go, Knuckles?” Cyn asked.

“Hell, yes,” she said, and he looked at her more closely. Hearing, maybe, something more in the words than only the affirmation.