“No, not fair. It wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t . . . all fucked up like this.”

Rosalyn scrunched her eyes shut and turned around.

“You’re angry,” he said softly. “It’s understandable.”

“Yes, obviously I’m angry. I just . . . I want to shoot this thing at your head so badly but I can’t. I . . . I’m trying to keep this civil. Believe me, I’m trying, even if I don’t seem very good at it.” Rosalyn spun to face him, half tempted to chuck the extinguisher across the room in frustration. “I’m not an idiot. I know I can’t take on all four of you and an AI, and I’m not going to try. What should I feel if not angry?”

Edison nodded, sucking in his lower lip and leaning hard back against the table. “Scared. Confused. I get it. Tell me, what did Rayan spill about us?”

Spill. That was an interesting word choice. She couldn’t help but mimic his strained posture. When the adrenaline lagged, there was nothing left behind but exhaustion. “He said he sent out the hail to get someone dispatched. When I first came aboard, he asked if I was here to join all of you. So he must have wanted me to come; maybe he thinks Merchantia can find a cure or something.”

“He lied to you. Not that he can help it. Rayan didn’t send that hail.”

Rosalyn narrowed her eyes, taking another tiny step toward him. “What?”

She could tell he was fighting the urge to laugh again. “Are you surprised? There’s an alien mushroom in his brain telling him what to do.”

“But the code, the hail . . .”

Edison nodded, waving her off. “Oh, some of his intentions might have leaked through, but it wasn’t his doing. I should know—Foxfire is in me. It’s in him. So we’re all in it together. If Rayan managed to get you here, then Foxfire wants you here, it’s that simple. If this weren’t part of the plan, I’d know, I would feel the panic in the system.” He closed his eyes and swayed on his feet a little. His mouth went slack before he straightened up and added, “She’s not calm, exactly, but in control. And you . . . You’re not getting the reaction I would expect.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalyn’s skin crawled. She didn’t like the thought of that thing in him having opinions about her.