Caledonia smiled. “I’m allowed a ridiculous wish now and again.”

“If you say so,” Nettle said with a suspicious twist of her mouth. Then, with another deep breath, she pulled away from Caledonia’s embrace. “Do you want some good news, Captain?”

“Now is the perfect time for good news,” Caledonia answered, unsure what to expect.

“We did it,” Nettle started, her eyes glossy with tears. “Kae and I. Earlier tonight, just before everything happened. We cracked soiltech.”

“You—” It was so far from what she’d been expecting to hear that for a second, she didn’t believe it. “Soiltech.” She repeated the word.

Nettle laughed again, this time with real joy. “Yes. We were still working on it when we were called to the meeting, and I grabbed it. I thought I’d be able to show you then. But, well, the point is I know how to make it work.”

“Nettle, that is great news,” Caledonia answered, voice strained.

“With the right supplies, we can make more,” Nettle promised, popping up on her toes.

It was the smallest bit of light in an otherwise dark night. The smallest of victories.

“I will do everything I can to get you those supplies,” Caledonia said with a smile. “For now, keep it safe.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Caledonia studied her for a long minute before letting go. One day, Nettle would command her own ship. She would be smart and skilled and good, and Caledonia would do everything in her power to ensure that the challenges facing them today would not be the ones facing Nettle as she matured into a brilliant captain.

The thought swept the wind from Caledonia’s lungs and she placed a hand on the rail to steady herself. One day. It was a powerful thing to hope for, and she realized with a sudden crushing sadness that the only future she’d ever imagined for herself was the one in which she slid a knife into Lir’s belly.

For Nettle, she could hope for better things.

“Captain.” Tin approached from the main deck. She looked ghostly in the dim light, as though the fight had leached her capacity for anything but grim sorrow.

“Who did you lose, Tin?” Caledonia asked, her gut crimping.

The girl’s mouth pinched and twisted. Her eyes were suddenly wet and full of moonlight. “Lurin,” she said, a gasping, painful word.

Lurin Mary. A memory bloomed in Caledonia’s mind. Of the day they’d run the trails together, when Lurin had led the entire crew at a steady pace. When she’d endured the teasing of her sisters and her captain with a cheerful smile and a ready laugh.

“She fought well,” Caledonia said, letting grief soften her words.

Tin’s eyes brimmed with tears. She ground her teeth against them and swallowed hard, clearing her throat to speak in a voice that was all fire and stone. “I have a damage report.”