Under Hesperus’s direction, they skimmed the surface until daylight brushed the water around them, casting it in shades from pale blue to bruised purple. Nettle shifted from thrusters to propulsion, Pine was ready on cabin pressurization, and Oran had taken the ballast station nearest Caledonia, ready to force the ship into the deep.

“Ready to take her down?” Hesperus asked, and when his eyes landed on Oran, he added, “Kind of a redundant question for a Fiveson, I suppose.”

She’d grown so accustomed to how the Blades regarded Oran with a twisted kind of reverence and apprehension that Hesperus’s disdain continued to surprise her. He wasn’t afraid of Oran in the least. Or if he was, he was doing a hell of a job hiding it.

Oran didn’t react except to say, “Ready on your command, sir.”

“Then do what you do best.” It was spoken with specific confidence. Hesperus knew more about Oran than Caledonia, and it was starting to become a problem. Oran the Bullet. Oran the Fiveson. Oran the Steelhand.

Ignoring the fresh tension in the room, she kept her slick hands tight on the wheel and focused on keeping her breath even.

“Hey,” Oran said softly, placing a hand over one of her own. “We can turn back. There’s no need for you to do this part.”

Her cheeks flashed hot and cold at once and she scowled. “I don’t run away from things.”

Oran pulled away in surprise. “Of course not, Captain.”

Everyone else in this too-small container was watching. She’d been harsh. Perhaps harsher that she’d needed to be, and she didn’t quite know why herself.

“When you’re done with this lover’s quarrel, we’re ready to descend to thirty feet.” Hesperus’s voice fell around them like a fog, curtailing any further discussion.

From the back of the ship, Caledonia heard Pine shift loudly. Nettle, however, made no sound. Oran nodded, turning his attention back to his controls and keeping it there.

“Beginning descent,” he announced.

“Pressurizing the cabin.” Pine’s voice was taut as a bowstring.

The air in the small room tightened around them, adding a pressure deep inside their ears, and the small bit of surface visible through the top of the glass vanished. As they descended, Caledonia let her discomfort replace any misgivings she had about snapping at Oran. Her nerves were too frayed, her control too strained to give any thought to the boy and all the things she didn’t yet know about him.

It seemed only a minute had passed when Oran announced they’d arrived at their intended depth. Caledonia’s ears popped once, and they shifted to thrusters only. They floated serenely in the wake of their own lights.