Park’s heart lurched into her throat. Sagara was standing there, glaring at them both; he looked surreal against the sterile whiteness of the medical bay in his black uniform, like a vampire or a massive crow. Park didn’t miss that he now had weapons holstered at his belt: the hilt of a thermal-loaded energy blade, she thought, squinting, as well as the sleek black shape of a railgun. Devastating things, especially compared to Boone’s now-paltry electrolaser. She didn’t miss, either, how the combat specialist moved protectively to shield her from Sagara’s gaze. Did that mean they were allies now, she and Boone? He would defend her against the likes of Sagara, when he’d once been her greatest threat? The idea was nearly laughable—she remembered how he’d pointed that gun in Jimex’s face—but here he was, placing himself in bodily danger to defend her. What did that mean about Sagara, then—that he was more dangerous than Boone, just as he’d once thought Chanur was more dangerous than Park? The bigger threat to confront, even if you had to defeat it together? How quickly the alignments had shifted; how quickly they all turned on one another, retracting enmities, altering histories.

Sagara was giving Boone his classic knife-eyed look, a chilly anger radiating from him in waves. “I thought I told you to leave Park alone,” he said. “Are you willing to disobey a direct order?”

“Don’t let the power get to your head, Sagara,” Boone bit back. To Park it had the childish cant of you’re not the boss of me. “Let’s put our differences aside, huh? Something bigger than the both of us is going down on this ship.”

“The longer we stand around, the more time this stowaway has to wreak havoc on the crew,” Park butted in. Sagara turned to spear her with his gaze next.

“There is no stowaway,” he told her, his voice flat and steely. “I know you believe that, Park, but you’re seeing things. You’ve become infected with whatever got to Holt and Ma and Hunter.”

Park’s shoulders jumped. How dare you, she almost said, but she opted for something more rational-sounding. “You have no proof of that.”

Sagara was shaking his head. “I’ve monitored this ship since Corvus,” he told her. “I would know if there was a stranger on board. There isn’t. This man you think you’ve seen is not wandering the halls. It’s just not possible.”

“Then how do you explain Wick’s death?” Park demanded. Saying it out loud gave her a kind of pang, as if someone had pricked her in the heart with a needle.