A port on the other warship opens and a small transport ship pops into view. It’s white, perfectly spherical, like a pearl floating through space’s dark ocean. The little ship bobs along in my direction and I can hear a grinding of gears and a whoosh of decompressed air, the Anubis’s own docking bay, right beneath my feet, preparing to accept the visitor.

“At last,” Setrákus Ra says, and squeezes my shoulder. He sounds excited for this new arrival, a wide smile on his stolen, human face. We stand side by side on the observation deck right above the docking bay, rows of scout ships and a smaller collection of the orb-shaped transports anchored below us.

We’re awaiting my “betrothed.” Even thinking the word makes me want to vomit. Setrákus Ra’s hand resting all fatherly on my shoulder makes it all the worse.

I keep my face completely neutral. I’m getting better at hiding my emotions. I’m determined not to give anything more away to this monster. I pretend like I’m excited, too, maybe just a little nervous. Let him think that he’s worn me down or that I’ve checked out. Let him think my lessons in Mogadorian Progress are taking effect, that I’m becoming the ghostly version of myself that I was in my vision of the future.

Sooner or later, I know, I’ll be able to escape. Or I’ll die trying.

I turn away from the window and gaze down from the observatory’s balcony, watching as the ship arrives at our docking bay doors. Lights flash below, warning any Mogs that they’ll be sucked into space if they don’t clear the area. Setrákus Ra already took care of them, sending the Mog technicians away so that we could greet this new arrival in private. The heavy doors open and I can feel the pull of space even through the observatory’s closed airlock; the pressure changes, like water coming unclogged from my ear. Then, the transport ship glides aboard, the doors seal behind it and everything is quiet again.

“Come,” Setrákus Ra commands, striding out from the observatory, through the now-open airlock and down the spiral staircase that leads to the docking bay. I follow along obediently at his heels, footsteps echoing on the metal deck as we pass between the rows of scout ships. Cautiously, not wanting to look too interested, I peer around Setrákus Ra to catch a glimpse of the ship as it opens up. I’m expecting one of the younger Mogadorian trueborn, some high-ranking up-and-comer hand selected by Setrákus Ra, like the ones I’ve seen nervously delivering status reports to their “Beloved Leader.”

Try as I might to keep cool, I still can’t help emitting a little gasp when Five steps out of the ship.

Setrákus Ra looks back at me. “You two are already acquainted, yes?”

One of Five’s eyes is hidden beneath a gross-looking gauze bandage, a smudge of dark brown blood in the center, the edges sweat stained. He looks ragged and exhausted, and when his good eye flicks towards me, his thick shoulders become even more slumped. He stops right in front of Setrákus Ra, his gaze downcast.