Once they hit the dock, they’d be all but surrounded. And they’d have done it on purpose. Caledonia’s chest tightened, and though there was a determined chill in the air, sweat prickled between her shoulder blades and at her temples. Next to her, Triple clicked her teeth and scowled, reminding Caledonia to do the same. She locked her teeth and fixed her brow in a frown of vague displeasure. There was no going back now.

An older woman stood out from the rest of the Bullets. Her skin was weathered and ruddy and lined with orange scars, her hair shot through with silver and cropped short around her neck and ears, and she carried herself with an air of hardened authority. Behind her was a younger woman, perhaps ten years Caledonia’s senior, with eyes a pale, bleached-out brown made even paler by the rich brown of her skin. Like Triple, she carried a stack of papers attached to a clipboard, a pencil clutched in one hand. Next in line were four young men who couldn’t have yet earned the first scar of their bandolier.

The older woman watched them approach with a shrewd eye, revealing nothing of her intentions, while the brown-eyed girl studied Caledonia with a heavy gaze. It took every bit of her control to continue walking as though she had nothing to hide.

They had everything to hide.

And everything to lose.

“Ballistic Dair,” the woman said, taking a single step toward Sledge. Had she lingered on the name? Did she know who he truly was? Panic spiked in the back of Caledonia’s throat. Pine should be the one posing as their Ballistic. Why hadn’t she pushed the issue? Even Harwell would have been a better choice. “The last time I saw the Beacon, it was under Merrant’s command.”

She paused and Caledonia recognized the trap. It was a test. Meant to weed out imposters. Exactly like them.

Sledge had to answer, and however he did would confirm who they were one way or another.

“Command belongs to those who can take it,” he said in the voice of someone quoting a regulation.

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

They were caught. They were caught. They were—

“Indeed. I’m Harbor Master Lyall,” the woman continued, and now an ill-fitting smile spread across her lips. “Welcome to Slipmark.”

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Somehow, in the wake of Harbor Master Lyall’s smile, everything felt worse. As though a noose were cinching so slowly around Caledonia’s neck so as not to be threatening.

Harbor Master Lyall gathered their manifest and list of requested repairs, reviewing each before passing them off to the girl with the pale brown eyes.

“Your timing is good,” the harbor master said, casting her eyes along the length of the Beacon. “A full clip just set out so your repairs will take priority, and Barrack D is available for your clip. You’ll bunk there.”