Fig, Phredo, and Shoto had been dismissed to their dome. Partly because there wasn’t much to do, and second, Falise didn’t want to endure their expressions. Fuck them, but they kept looking at her with pleading eyes. Expecting her to do . . . what? Make it better?

If there was a dismal way to exist, she was living it.

And behind it all, the constant memories of Ednund being snatched up from the darkness. Being savaged and torn into pieces. And then the sight—in the first rays of morning light—of his body. How the wet and lacerated remains were being winched out of the creature’s gullet. Limp, torn, bloody meat and splintered bone. Unrecognizable, but for the fact that she knew. Had seen.

She closed her eyes, shook her head.

Get it the fuck out of your system!

Her father’s words—from sometime in the past—echoed hollowly: “You are a Taglioni. You have been given every advantage. Not so that you can waste yourself like your pathetic brother, but so that you can use those advantages to triumph over any adversity.”

“Yes, well, Father, you should come to Capella III.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Father had broken her of the habit when she was a child. Why was she doing it now? Why didn’t she care?

Her pathetic brother—freak that he now was—had somehow become the victor.

For a tantalizing moment, she considered ordering her things packed. The walk to the landing field would take ten minutes. She’d listened to the shuttles roaring and booming as they made the trips back and forth to Turalon. She could be back in that safe cabin, walking those sterile white sialon halls, eating in the comfort of the cafeteria, her every need . . .

“That’s failure.”

Dek owned a half-metric ton of rhodium? Hadn’t blinked as he tossed coins, gems, and precious metals onto that poker table?

She reached into her pocket. Pulled out the nuggets Kylee had given her. “There’s more where that came from.”

As though to mock her, she could hear the roar of another approaching shuttle. A half hour turnaround time as it unloaded and reloaded before powering up and rising, the thrusters driving it back to space and Turalon.

Jaws clenched, fists knotted, hot tears began to leak from behind her clamped lids.

Torn.

God, she wanted to be on that shuttle.

A half metric ton of rhodium.

She fumbled her way to her feet, rubbed a sleeve across her cheeks to wipe her face, and sniffed to clear her nose. Taking a deep breath, she started for the door, ordering, “Stay here.”

“Yes, Lady.” Clarice’s dull voice could barely be heard.