“Which would mean she probably took a lot of headache medicine. A lot of pills, a lot of capsules . . .” Rosalyn rolled along, feeling she was close to something, feeling as if the answer were lurking somewhere on the edge of her tongue. She shut her eyes tight and sighed. “The aquarium. When you tried to look in Piero’s thoughts, you saw the aquarium. Why would you see that?”

Before Misato could answer, Rosalyn shoved the drawer shut, locking Tuva back inside. She reached for the older woman’s wrist and hauled her toward the ladder and hatch that led out of what most MSC employees just called the dead drop. Every ship came equipped with a space to store anyone that happened to pass away on a mission. The temperature-controlled slots would preserve a corpse until the ship reached HQ and an investigation could be conducted. The hatch led up into the suit storage room, one that shared a wall with Edison’s makeshift hideaway.

“The aquarium,” Rosalyn said again, pulling Misato along once they were out of the hatch and plunging into the blue-tinged corridor.

“What about it?”

The story spinning into sense in her head had made her careless. Rosalyn pulled up short, but still ran headlong into Captain Aries. Edison blinked down at her, curious and oddly calm. Probably doesn’t want to spook me, Rosalyn thought.

“You should get back to the decontamination lab,” he said, his brows pulled down in concern. “Piero is up to no good.”

“I know,” Rosalyn replied, then gestured to Misato. “We know. Come on, you may as well come along.”

“What?”

She didn’t answer, pushing ahead to the corridor split, then taking a right. Her display helpfully brought up the ship schematic again, but she was learning her way around. They passed her lab space, then another fork, which she took a soft left on and brought them into the crew lounge area where Misato had woken her up not long ago. Everything was exactly as it had been, including the cups lined up on the counter. Rosalyn paused, taking in the room and then marching over to the aquarium.

There were often blanks in her memory, things that had washed themselves away out of desperation or protection. Her memories of the past had once been a solid, colorful painting, but now it was far more like a watercolor, parts faded or gone altogether. There were gaps, redactions, all over recent events. The drinking didn’t help, she knew, but more than that, she could tell her mind was doing it to shield her. But now and then, small memories returned with crisp clarity.