She felt no anger or fear as the sorting continued, and as the sun began its descent behind the lush hills. She felt nothing, until she saw that Talon was placed in Molly’s group. Molly would watch over him. Like Perry, she watched over everyone.

Preoccupied, Aria only then realized she stood alone. The Hovers were empty. Everyone stood in lines along the beach—except her.

Sable stood nearby; she felt his gaze on her, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“Take her back to the Hover,” he said.

Horn soldiers escorted her back to the window in the hold, which looked over calm water that was greener than blue, and so clear she could see the sand beneath. She stayed there, under guard, watching the daylight fade through the window. Even though the ramp to the beach was open, she couldn’t look toward land. Hours passed. Her eyes wouldn’t turn away from the water.

This had to change. She needed to accept what had happened, find a way to move forward somehow. She tried to come up with a plan to get to Talon and Roar, but she couldn’t concentrate for more than seconds. And just to save Talon and Roar? How would that help? Sable held every one of them in his grip.

Somehow, he’d come away with control over everything.

“Oh, don’t be so glum.”

She turned, seeing him stride up the ramp into the Hover.

He dismissed the two soldiers who’d been guarding her. Then he leaned against the inner wall of the Hover and smiled at her.

Outside, darkness had fallen—a soft darkness, unlike in the cave at the Tides. This darkness held warm shadows and the sound of rustling trees. Reef’s and Gren’s blood had been washed from the ramp, she noticed.

“Your friends are all well.” Sable crossed his arms, the movement making the jewels of his chain sparkle in the dim hold. “A few fresh blisters but nothing terrible. I put them to work, which can’t surprise you. There’s much to be done. We have a camp to set up.”

Aria stared at the chain and imagined strangling him with it.

“You’re not the first to want to do that,” he said after a moment. “The first was many years ago. A landowner in Rim—one of the wealthiest men pledged to me. I’d only worn the chain for a few months when he accused me of overtaxing him—which I did not. I am fair, Aria. I have always been fair. But I punished him for making the accusation. A hefty fine, which I thought was both lenient and fitting. In answer, he tried to choke me in the middle of a feast one night in front of hundreds of people. If he’d survived, I imagine he would have regretted that decision.