She turned to the speaker. Atlas. Romy struggled to remove herself from the blankets as the bent woman’s voice floated through her mind: sacrifice.

“Rosemary. Stop,” Atlas commanded.

“Do not call me that.” She shot him a withering glare, ignoring him and standing anyway. “You traitor.”

There were two exits, and fewer people here. Only her knot, Atlas, and one other young man in a lab coat. He looked like the doctors on Orbito One.

“Give me a chance to—”

Romy ignored his request. Her knot could overcome both of the other men. She looked to her friends to give a signal to attack.

And stopped in her tracks.

Because in her half-awake state she hadn’t truly assessed the situation.

The others were unrestrained and . . . calm for the first time in days. Elara was leaning against a wall, arms crossed over her chest. Thrym was bleeding from a cut on his head, but his tension came from his concern for Romy. And Phobos . . . he didn’t look like anything was wrong with him at all. They looked at her with concern.

Her voice cracked. “Thrym, what’s going on?”

Sympathy burnt in Thrym’s gaze as he stepped forwards and took her into his arms. He spoke, matter-of-fact, as always. “We don’t know. But we’ve been assured of our safety.”

He looked at Atlas. And she knew that Thrym wasn’t fooled either.

“I’m so sorry I led you into this. But Deimos. . . .” The rest of her words were lost as the lump in her throat rose into tears.

“Shush, Romy. Whatever this is, it isn’t your fault,” Thrym soothed.

He was just being nice, she thought. She didn’t deserve his unwavering support. The Commander of Orbito One himself could say it and Romy still wouldn’t believe it was true.

“Why do I feel so weird?” She spoke quietly. The room was spinning, and she clung to Thrym, swaying on her feet.

Atlas approached and Romy swatted his helping hands away. She’d rather fall to the ground.

After a few dizzy beats, the room began to right itself. She glared up at the man in front of her.

Her first lesson on Earth: Don’t trust anyone.

“I trusted you.” The accusation in the sentence was clear. She had trusted him. Trusted him with herself. But more than that, she had trusted him enough that she’d placed Deimos’s life in his hands.

“I was letting you rest,” he replied softly. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to the settlement about your presence.” His tone grated. “Now you’ve created a mess that I will need to fix.”

Romy’s eyes widened incredulously, mouth dropping open.

Atlas fixed his gaze on the doctor. “Someone was meant to be watching the shed.”

The doctor, who looked little more than five years older than herself, shrugged. “You gotta go when you gotta go.”