Directly across from Caledonia stood a young man made of wrath. He was tall, his shoulders blocky and broad, his skin fractured a thousand times by thin orange scars, including a jagged gash that split the skin from his left eye to his jaw. A long tail of hair the dark, blackened red of burning coals swung past his waist, and as he stepped forward, he skewered Caledonia with a disdainful glare. He had handguns fastened to each thigh, and over his shoulder rose the long hilt of a sword heavier than anything Caledonia could fight with.

She didn’t need Oran to tell her that this was Tassos.

A woman followed close behind, her own frame densely muscled. Her creamy skin was clouded by patches of deep tan and deeper burns laced with ribbons of orange scarring. Tight braids coiled into a bun at the crown of her head, and her only visible weapon was a whip holstered against one thigh.

As Caledonia strode forward to meet them, she imagined what they saw: a girl shorter than either of them, her hair burning under the bright sun, her features chiseled and fierce. A girl who had rallied a rebellion and found herself stymied by Lir. And at her side, Fiveson Oran, fallen from the glory of the Father. Disgraced and still reviled.

There was no wind to cool their skin as they climbed onto the narrow bridge of the griphooks. Moving to the center, they braced their feet against the smooth metal planks as the two ships rocked, their opposing rhythms a constant challenge.

When they were face-to-face and only an arm’s length apart, Tassos transferred his gaze from Caledonia to Oran as though now that he’d seen her, she was of little consequence.

“Oran.” Tassos spoke the name without any intonation, yet it left a chill on Caledonia’s skin just the same.

“Tassos,” Oran said, and then. “Cepheus.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to Oran and away. The tightening of her fists betrayed the cool brush of her disdain.

“I’ve come to make an offer of alliance,” Caledonia said, determined to take control of the moment.

Tassos grinned, eyes holding tight to Oran. “We have business first,” he said.

“Any business you have with Oran is business you have with me.”

“Is it?” Tassos stepped forward, moving so quickly Caledonia barely had time to reach for her gun before his hand was on hers. “I don’t think you want to make that kind of offer.”

Oran inched closer as Tassos leaned in, smiling as his hand tightened around hers, pressing her fingers painfully against the grip of her gun. She braced herself, fighting to keep her expression steely, but she was at his mercy.

And he knew it.

Caledonia heard her crew shifting at her back, sensed Oran reaching for his weapon as Cepheus reached for her own.

“Oran is my crew,” she ground out through gritted teeth.