The table had gone quiet, even the clank of utensils on metal plates, and Ana quickly realized that she had been too loud. She stared down at her untouched plate self-consciously.

“I mean, it’s probably going to be fine,” she amended.

“Of course it’ll be fine,” replied Lenda, setting down her fork. She was already dressed for Nevaeh in a rough-spun shirt and trousers, her dishwater-blond hair slicked back, to blend in with the crowds. The faintest hint of a mercenary brand peeked out from beneath her collar. She looked around the table. “You know, I’ve never been one for sentimental stuff, but I trust everyone here with my life. And I know they trust me with theirs. I never thought I fit in anywhere until I came here. To this crew—you’re like a family to me. The only one I’ve got. And if some Great Dark wants to try to destroy that, I’ll fight with everything I’ve got.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Jax added, and raised his glass of juice. “To family.”

The rest of the crew raised their cups in toast to her. “To family,” they echoed, as if it would protect them against bullets and blades, but Ana knew deep down that it wouldn’t. It hadn’t protected Wick or Riggs or the Grand Duchess or Lady Valerio. It hadn’t protected Di, even though he’d come back. Death had more often than not been a specter that came when you least expected it and stole you away before you could say no.

She didn’t want anyone else to die, because as with Lenda, this was the only place she belonged, and she had fought so hard to get here. She wanted them to stay like this forever, gathered around in the galley, enjoying Talle’s good cooking and each other’s company, everyone happy and alive and here.

But nothing stayed forever.

She had raised her cup and echoed, “To family.”

Now as Jax eased the skysailer up toward the Valerios’ floating estate, she wished she had spent more time playing Wicked Luck in the galley, and she wished she had enjoyed Talle’s food more often, and spent more time listening to Di read his books aloud and Lenda recount her tales of being a mercenary and Wick’s and Riggs’s songs that still sometimes echoed through the ship like ghostly melodies.

They were about to try to defeat a monster who had every advantage, who had an ear in on their every plan. No one had stopped the Great Dark yet—in this galaxy or any other. Why were they foolish enough to believe that they could?

That’s why we mislead it, the captain had said in the safety of the meeting yesterday, after everyone else had gone, when it had just been the captain and Talle and Di and Jax and herself.

But what if Mellifare had heard that too?

Ana sat in the back of the skysailer, beside Erik in his finest gray coat and frivolous ascot, his legs spread wide across the seat, taking up most of her space. She couldn’t stand him. Jax and Robb sat up front, disguised as Valerio militiamen. The crimson of their uniforms reminded her of the coat she had once seen in a shop window. For some odd reason the memory of it tugged on her like an errant kite string. Perhaps because the coat was long gone by now, or perhaps because it represented a future she’d never have.