“Sure,” Pine said with a dash of skepticism. “Great idea. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll get everyone killed. Seems worth the risk to me.” Pine swung his legs off the chair and hopped to the ground, irritation sharpening his movements. “At least do something about that damn tattoo.” He pointed at the family sigil on her temple. “Might as well sail into port screaming your name for anyone to hear.”

He was right. And hair was a small sacrifice to make in exchange for saving her entire crew.

“We’ll do both,” Caledonia conceded.

Caledonia and Triple spent the next half hour alone in a bathroom with a pair of scissors and a bowl of pungent bleach. Triple tried to divert Caledonia’s attention with stories about how many times Sledge had snapped a bow in half trying to fire an arrow when they’d first settled in the bay, but her anecdotes dried up, and both girls did their best not to wince at each slice of the scissors through Caledonia’s thick hair. Soon, the gray floor was littered with bright orange curls.

The bleach was more of a challenge. Harwell had thickened it with a syrupy mixture of flour and water, and even so, Caledonia had to keep her head tipped over the sink and her eyes pinched shut while Triple chased errant drips away from her temples. But when it was done, Caledonia’s hair was an explosion of brassy blonde spikes. She hardly recognized herself.

“I won’t say it’s better,” Triple said, brushing a few drops of water from Caledonia’s cheeks and neck. “But they’ll never think you’re the red-haired girl they’ve been chasing.”

Triple circled to stand in front of her, lightly brushing at the short hairs that curled around her ears and scattered along her forehead. She lingered on the tattoo, her fingers feather light and still warm from the water. Caledonia was so starved for the constant affectionate touches of her sisters that she had to force herself not to lean into the caress.

“A family mark?” Triple asked.

Caledonia nodded once, not willing to break the gentle contact between them. “My brother has one like it.”

The next question landed briefly in Triple’s mosaic green eyes, but she blinked it away before asking.

“I had good reason to believe he sailed on Electra, and that I might . . .” Caledonia broke off, suddenly feeling far more vulnerable than she’d intended to be.

“Save him?” Triple supplied. Her eyebrows rose, and her lips quirked in a smile as she grabbed the tin of grease and twisted the lid off, exposing the black cake. “So you do think Bullets can change? As long as they’re Bullets you’ve loved.”

Caledonia winced. It was a fair comment, but it stung. “I know Bullets can change.”