“Nauseous…” Daelen muttered lamely, staring down at the mess, disheartened. “I’ll go get a mop…”

As he walked away, Corra too was staring at it, a grimace on her face. “Ew.”

Disgusted, exhausted, confused and still nauseous, Fiearius was hardly in the mood for Corra’s flippancy. “What the hell,” he began through heaving breaths, “is going on?”

Finally, her face softened and she turned her big brown doe eyes on him in, of all things, pity. “You were acting crazy, Fiear. You were going to get yourself killed. Or kill us. We had to stop you, I’m sorry…”

“I’m not crazy,” he growled.

“No no, of course you’re not,” she admitted in a hurry. “You’re just in a really hard place right now. I understand. But you’ve gotta stay with us, okay?” She put her hand on his arm. “We need you. To figure this out, we need you sane and conscious and not on the verge of committing suicide or homicide or genocide or whatever you were planning. Okay?”

Despite himself, he felt his resolve weaken. Corra had a hard face to say no to. But still. “I’m not leaving them there.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she assured him. “But we’re gonna find the right way to not leave them. The way that doesn’t end up with you dead.”

Just then, Daelen returned and began cleaning up the unfortunate mess covering the floor. Corra smiled at him in pity and then said, “Finn and I are going through our options. You stay here for a little bit, get some rest, let the good doctor check you out and come join us when you’re feeling better, okay?” She smiled at him kindly and then turned for the door, leaving Fiearius alone with Daelen in silence.

Fiearius glanced down at the man as he effortlessly wiped away the remains of his breakfast. “Sorry…” he muttered.

Daelen looked up at him and smiled. “It shouldn’t surprise you that I’m quite used to it. Surgeons see a lot of blood and guts. General practitioners get all the less romanticized bodily fluids.” He then laughed heartily as though he’d just told an amusing joke.

“Right,” Fiearius muttered, the humor lost on him. Meanwhile, Daelen propped the mop against the wall and moved to the console.

“Well my patients always thought it was funny,” he mused lightly and then, without skipping a beat, as though it was the most natural question in the world, he asked, “So what did you take?”

Fiearius looked up in shock. How did he–But he hadn’t–

“What?” was all he could choke out.

Daelen just looked back at him calmly. “What did you take?” he asked again, an image of patience. When Fiearius did nothing but continue to watch him, horrified, he went on, “Captain Soliveré, your blood test results are quite clear. Paired with your erratic behavior and your recent bout of sickness, the correlation is obvious. It will make it a lot easier for me to do my job if you just tell me what it was you took and how much.”

Fiearius could barely process his words. His head was already swimming in the implications. Daelen knew. He knew the secret he’d been keeping for all these months. And if Daelen knew, it was only a matter of time before Leta knew. Before everyone knew. Before everything came crashing down. As if it hadn’t already.

The doctor must have sensed his discomfort. He turned from the console and stepped towards him. “Captain, need I remind you, everything said between us here is entirely confidential. It needn’t be verbally shared nor included on any written record. I took an oath and I hold to it firmly. But I need you to tell me so that I can help you.”

Despite his reassurances, Fiearius couldn’t stop imagining the look on Leta’s face when she found out. And if she ever made if off Vescent, she would find out. He’d always known she would. Since the beginning. He had always known it would be their end, but now it was closer than ever and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He looked up at Daelen, sure that the pleading was apparent in his eyes. His mouth tightened shut. The doctor sighed.

“Alright,” he said in admission. “Fine.” He turned from the bed and moved back to the console. “But I’ll tell you this much. Whatever it is, you need to stop taking it. These test results are bad. Very bad. I’ll give you a prescription for something that should help with any withdrawals you might experience, but there’s not much else I can do without an identification.” He glanced over at him, his usual friendly face going dark and serious. “But stop now. Or you might not have much time left.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Daelen had left Fiearius alone in the infirmary, giving him ten minutes to get himself together, as if that was even possible: he sat on the edge of the exam bench, pinching the bridge of his nose with his hand. Nausea swam through his stomach. His mind reeling. The Titan, Vescent, now this? He could practically feel the foundation crumbling beneath his feet. What the hell was he going to do now? What was his next move? Everything was falling apart and what could he —

“Fiearius?” came a sudden voice in the doorway. Fiearius dropped his hand and was startled to see, of all people, Addy. Though he knew Cyrus was infatuated with her, Fiearius himself had never actually spoken to her alone. Clearly, she was nervous: she wrung her hands together and started speaking very quickly.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you. It’s — pretty important.” She blew a shaky breath from her lips and said, to his astonishment,  “I can do it. I can go to Vescent.”

Fiearius awaited an explanation. She looked shocked by her own daring.

“What?” As little as he knew her, he knew she wasn’t stupid. She certainly didn’t seem reckless. So where was this coming from?

“I can do it,” she said again, more firmly this time. “And I think I’m the only one who can.”

Fiearius stared at her, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “If you think they don’t know you’re associated with us just ‘cause you’re new, I’ve got some bad news.”

Addy shook her head hurriedly. “No no, it’s not that, I–”

“And you’re a defector, aren’t you?” he went on. “You left Satieri. If that’s recorded, you’d be as much a target as the rest of us.”

“Right, yeah, I am a defector, technically,” she managed, her voice surprisingly steady given the alarm in her face. “But I’ve been … working under a different alias. I guess you could say.” She looked like she would’ve liked to smile, but her lips twitched bitterly. “My dad gave me a new CID, a whole new identity, so I could get off Satieri safely. Adrasteia Atelier, as far as the Society knows, is still working in her father’s garage on Paradiex. I, on the other hand, am Rena Eisen, an Ellegian engineering consultant, documented freelancer for a variety of tech companies throughout the Span. All parts of the Span. Society-run parts included.”

Suddenly, it all made sense. Addy had an advantage. An incredible advantage. Her father had smartly ensured that. Of course, it made sense, he voluntarily sent his daughter away from Satieri rather than the scattered hurried fleeing of the Soliveré brothers. Why wouldn’t he take precautions to make sure she’d be safe and able to move about freely? She could travel to Vescent without detection. Her alias would cover her. It was genius. It was perfect.

But it was still suicide.

“It’s too dangerous,” Fiearius decided at once as he pushed himself up to his feet. “Getting onto Vescent is one thing, getting off is another. And though you may be covered, your passengers wouldn’t be. Leaving won’t just be a matter of boarding a ship and flying off. It’ll take a little more…”

He didn’t want to say ‘skills’ because surely Addy had plenty. But if things didn’t go smoothly, if it at all went south, he didn’t even know if Addy had fired a gun before. In the middle of Society territory didn’t seem like the smartest place to start.

Fiearius started toward the door, ready to pass her, but Addy didn’t move. Abruptly, she dropped her hands to her sides and said, “Sorry, Fiearius. I should have clarified. It’s not that I can go to Vescent. It’s that I am. I’m going.” Her eyes were wide, shining with determination. “I’m going after them.”

Fiearius felt a pained laugh tumble out of him. “Look,” he said, holding his forehead, “I’m willing to consider any option we have, believe me. I want nothing more than to have them back, but I’m not gonna sacrifice you to make it happen, alright? If anyone’s going to Vescent, it’ll be me.” He looked away from her with a frown. “Just as soon as I figure how to get there…”

“No, you don’t understand.” She swallowed. “I’m not asking for your permission, or anyone else’s. I already made contact with a passenger vessel. I’m going to Vescent. If you could please give me that address from the message, that would be helpful. But I’m going regardless.”

She looked gravely serious. Fiearius could not believe her.

“This is crazy,” he breathed. “This is completely crazy. I hope you know that.”

Addy stared back at him, holding his gaze. But Fiearius couldn’t say he was surprised. He hadn’t paid enough attention before to really know what it was that Cyrus saw in this seemingly meek engineer girl, but now it made so much sense. His brother had always fallen for women who could kick his ass.

“I have a chance to save them, Fiearius,” Addy said evenly. “It’s too dangerous for any of you to go, but I have a chance. And I’m taking it. Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

He met her eyes firmly, reading the intensity behind them. Of course he would. In a heartbeat. So as much as it pained him, as much as he knew Cyrus would kill him when he found out, he relented. “Fine. If I can’t stop you…I guess I’ll just have to help you.”

“That’d be nice,” said Addy, cracking the tiniest of smiles. She stepped into the room and quickly became all business. “I came to you first because Corra and Finn will be horrified. I know they won’t let me go. But what’re you thinking?”

Fiearius leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “We’ll find a map. Plan out a route through the city with as few checkpoints as possible,” he decided. “Get you a gun. Something small, like any regular traveler would carry for self defense. Work out the specifics of why you’re visiting in case someone asks. Oh and cancel the passenger ship. Can’t trust any old crew, they’re likely just looking to make a profit.”

Addy nodded, but tilted her head in confusion. “How am I gonna get there then?”

Fiearius pushed himself from the counter and took a few steps towards her. “Well. What better for a consulting engineer to travel in than a high tech Sonnete-built fighter, lent to her for her visit to their subsidiary on Vescent?” He raised a brow at her. “Don’t suppose you know how to disable Corra’s alarms?”

“It may be your ship, but it’s our dock and you can’t use it without our go-ahead. And you don’t have it,” Corra added.

“Right,” Fiearius muttered. “Because you’d rather just stand here and squabble while your friends die. Great idea.”

He had expected Corra to falter, but she stood her ground and stared back at him with a new bout of fearlessness. “You’re not leaving this ship, Fiearius,” she barked. “Not ‘til we have a plan. We’re not losing you too.”

Fiearius met her stare straight on, as unafraid as she was. Finally, he let out a bitter, tortured laugh and stalked from the room.

———————

Hours later, Fiearius had a plan. He had to have a plan, he could not go any longer not having a plan, so he’d made a plan. Corra, true to her threat, had sealed off the dock, locking him out of his ship, and although he had spent a good twenty minutes yelling about it, refused to change her mind. But he knew there was another way. He’d spent the past few hours marching around the Beacon before it had come to him but finally, it came. The something, anything, just need to act, plan, that he was sure would work. It had to work. It didn’t have an option to not work.

The Dionysian wasn’t the only vessel stored within the Beacon. It was so simple. Of course. Take off in one of its fighters, fly down to Vescent and get them. Easy. Take a nice gun, everything would be fine. He’d be back before anyone noticed he was gone.

And they were watching. As he stalked the halls, he could feel Corra’s eyes on him, even when she wasn’t in the room. Waiting for him to make a move so she could stop him. She was in on it. She didn’t want him to save them. But no, that was just the paranoia again. He shook it off as he strode through the double doors into the bay. He probably shouldn’t have taken that extra pill. He was beginning to think it was affecting the way he thought.

Regardless, he was motivated. He was focused. He was invincible. He felt twenty years old again and ready for anything. Ready specifically for saving Leta and Cy from Vescent. Hurriedly, he pulled on one of the flight suits from the storage locker and secured the helmet over his head. He turned back towards the nearest of the Beacon’s sleek, little fighter jets and put his hands on his hips, determined. So he’d never flown one before. But how hard could it be, really? This would be easy. He could do anything. Anything at all. So without a second thought, he climbed into the cockpit, ready for a rescue mission.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

With a jolt, Eve sat up from her spot against the wall and stared through narrowed, discerning eyes as the tall figure of Fiearius suddenly stalked past her post, purpose in his steps. He had the walk of a man who was determined to do something and totally blind to the consequences. He was entirely lost. He had no idea what he was doing. He was grieving for Leta and his brother and he didn’t even realize it. The poor fool.

Seconds later, Eve was pounding down the stairs after him, swiftly pulling her handgun off of her hip. Wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, she doubted it would be good.

Inside the fighter bay, Eve approached more quietly, giving him a moment to adjust to his surroundings.  Fiearius was in the cockpit, preparing the tiny ship for escape.

She didn’t want to startle him into doing anything stupid, but this couldn’t go on. Internally, she was fairly certain Finn and Corra had already disabled the departure mechanisms, but Eve was taking no chances. None. Fiearius wasn’t going down this way — so needlessly. So foolishly.

She approached from the side, purposely ruining her element of surprise, giving him plenty of time to spot her as she slowly lifted her gun to point at him. Nearly. It was actually pointing four inches left of his shoulder, but to someone as hazy he was, surely he wouldn’t notice. The threat had to be enough. Regret tugged at her heart — she was never disloyal. Ever. But this has to be done.

“Cap’n,” she muttered bitterly, her voice sharp and full of warning, “you get out of that cockpit. Hear me? You ain’t going anywhere tonight.” Her gun was steady. Her eyes narrowed toward slits as she went on harshly, “This won’t help them, captain. They need you alive and on your own ship. Got it? They need you here.”

– – – – – –

Fiearius scanned over the controls. None of them looked familiar. All of them looked a little blurry. In fact, everything looked a little blurry. He shook his head and tried to refocus his vision. But as long as this little ship was anything like the Dionysian (and surely it must be. How different could ships be, really?), he could figure it out. He hit what he could only assume was the power button and sure enough, the lights flicked on around him. One in particular was flashing red.

As he kept prodding at it, trying to get it to stop or trying to understand what it meant, something caught his eye. Something approaching the cockpit. Someone, actually. Eve, he recognized after a moment. Eve who was — wait — pointing a gun at him? At him?

For a moment, he stayed where he was, stunned, shocked even. What the hell was she doing? Did she not want him to save Leta and Cyrus either? Honestly, he couldn’t fathom why. What was her motivation? Was she working for the Society? Or did she just want them out of the picture for–for some reason? Maybe she was jealous. Yeah, that could be it. She wanted to be second in command of the Dionysian. Or she wanted Leta’s position of influence.

Well Fiearius would have none of that. He watched her for one more moment before finally, he secured his hands on the sides of the cockpit and swiftly swung himself out of it, landing with a thump on the ground. Calmly, fearlessly, he started to take slow steps towards her, a knowing glare dug into his brow.

——————–

Corra snapped awake as the alarm blared overhead. The moment she heard it, she knew exactly what it was. It took only a singular glance at the security feed to confirm. Oh Fiear, she grumbled internally as she rolled out of bed. As she ran out the door, she lifted the COMM to her mouth. “Meet me down there.”

Corra had asked Addy and Finn to set up the alarms before they went to bed, desperately hoping that they wouldn’t need any of them. They were set on pretty much anything that could get someone off the ship or pilot the ship or use any of the ship’s resources in any way. For the first few hours, even after that argument, she believed it would actually be fine. Even grieving, Fiearius had obviously gotten so tired that he’d passed out somewhere and they were safe. Unfortunately that wasn’t true.

When she charged into the shuttle bay and found Fiearius holding Eve’s gun to his chest, she realized just how untrue it really was.

“What?” he was shouting at her. “You gonna shoot me? Gonna gun me down right here?” A manic grin that made Corra’s hair stand on end spread across his face. “Of course. You wanted them gone all along. No wonder you left them on the Titan. Go on then. Do it. Finish what you started.”

There was something in his eyes that Corra no longer recognized. He’d been a mess the past few days, understandably. He wasn’t sleeping, was barely eating, but that seemed normal. This though? This. This was beyond grief, beyond worry. This wasn’t Fiearius anymore. And he needed to be stopped.

“Fiearius!” she shouted, marching into the room. “What the hell are you doing?!”

When he turned his eyes on her, it only confirmed her fears. He looked far more dazed and confused than he had a couple hours ago. Something had dramatically changed. “And you!” he shouted back at her, releasing Eve’s wrist but instead seizing her gun, shoving her aside and turning it on Corra. Shocked, Corra halted in her path. Fiearius had done a lot of crazy things in her time knowing him. Said a lot of crazy stuff. But he’d never threatened her.

“You, what’s your game?” he demanded. “What are you getting out of this?”

“Fiear…put the gun down and we can talk,” she suggested hesitantly.

“How bout I keep the gun and you just talk,” Fiearius growled, still approaching her one slow step at a time. “Tell me why you gave them up to the Society.”

Corra’s eyes grew wide. “What? I didn’t–”

“Well you certainly don’t want me to save them,” he snapped.

“Fiearius, that’s ridiculous, I want them back just as much as you do,” she pleaded, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Don’t bullshit me. You’re in on this.” He spun back towards Eve. “You all are. You all are.” He swung the gun back to Corra. And back to Eve again. He couldn’t seem to decide who to shoot first. “I’m going to go save them. No matter what. I’m going to get them back whether you like it or not.” Finally, he settled on Eve, aiming the gun to her head and cocking it as he growled, “And you’re not gonna stop–”

There was a blur of motion to Corra’s right and suddenly, Fiearius let out a mighty yell. He clutched his hand to his neck and spun around, his arm crashing into Daelen’s face with a thud. “You son of a–” Fiearius began, but his eyes rolled back and he tumbled forward, landing on the ground in a pile of limbs.

Daelen, rubbing his eye where he’d been hit, slid the injector back into his belt and reached down to take the gun from Fiearius’ unconscious hand.

“You alright?” Corra asked him, feeling breathless.

“Nothing a little salve won’t mend,” he assured her, dutifully taking Fiearius’ pulse before standing up and sighing. “He’ll be out for a good twelve hours. We should get him upstairs if we can.”

——————–

“Cap’n?”

Fiearius stirred.

“Caaaap’n?”

Fiearius groaned.

“Fiear, wake up!” the voice snapped and suddenly there was a sharp pain on his cheek and he jolted up, nearly hitting Corra in the face.

Fortunately, just in time, she jumped backwards away from the bed. The infirmary bed that he was apparently laying in. He looked down at it, confused. How had he gotten here? What had happened? All his memories were suddenly a blur until the realization hit him: Leta and Cyrus.

At once, he made an attempt to get up, but a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “You’ll want to stay where you are,” Daelen suggested. “It’ll take some time before the effects of the drug wear off. Also, you may be feeling a bit–”

Bile was rising in his throat before he even finished the sentence and suddenly Fiearius found himself doubling over the side bed and expelling everything from his stomach in one fell swoop.

Cyrus’ stomach turned over. Surely the answers he had were not the answers she wanted. He had never known Delia that well, but he knew her well enough to know that ‘We’re part of a pirate group trying to take down the Society’ would not appease her. Not when she bore a Society librera on her uniform. But she was giving them a chance, a chance they sorely needed. All he needed was an answer she’d want to hear. All he needed was a sob story.

Fleetingly, he glanced at Leta who gazed back at him in alarm. Fiearius had always been better about coming up with lies, but suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Delia,” he said, fixing her with an earnest stare. “Do you remember me telling you about my brother?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leta stiffen in alarm, but surely, it was useless to try and hide his relationship to the infamous Fiearius Soliveré. The surname was hardly common. It was bound to come out eventually. Might as well be now.

“Left home to join the Society, disappeared? I’m sure you’ve seen his name in the news recently…Rogue Verdant and all.” One of the other crew members gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Cyrus ignored her and pressed on.

“He didn’t disappear forever. He showed up again while I was at Sonnete. And he–well, he forced me to go with him when he fled the planet. Put a gun to my head and demanded I get him a ship to leave. I didn’t have a choice.” He gestured to Leta. “He kidnapped her, too, a while later because he was injured and needed a doctor. He’s been making us do these raids ever since. We’re just pawns in his scheme.”

It felt rather nauesating to lie about Fiearius. As if he didn’t already have a bad enough reputation amongst the Society. But he’d rather a little libel than admitting that Cyrus and Leta too were treasonous enemies of the Council. Unfortunately, one of them thought they were a little too opposite of that.

“Well this is good then, isn’t it?” the man pointed out, finally lowering his knife. “If he kidnapped you, you can seek asylum here. We’ll tell the captain and–”

“No,” Cyrus cut him off suddenly, a wave of panic running through him. “No, you don’t understand. If the leadership knows, they’ll just use us to get to him. We–” he glanced nervously at Leta “we know too much. There’s no way we’d come back from that…They’d use us and dispose of us after…”

His stare moved back to Delia. “Please, we just want out of this mess. Just let us take a shuttle out of here. I’ll do anything. I just want to go home.”

As he spun the tale, Delia’s face began to soften and when she finally spoke, it was with a heavy sadness.

“Cyrus, I’m sorry. I believe you, but–you can’t take a shuttle. Even if I said you could, the shuttles are closely monitored, command would know right away. You wouldn’t make it fifty feet.”

His heart began to sink, but slowly a comforting smile formed on Delia’s face. “But I want to help you,” she said, and added, “We want to help you.” She shot her two companions a glare and they reluctantly murmured their agreement. “So I’ll tell you what I can do. I can find a safe place for you to hide until we land and get you off the ship. Then you’re free to go wherever you want.”

Cyrus could almost not believe his ears. Of course, he was grasping onto hope, but he hadn’t actually thought that this woman, these people, would risk their jobs, their careers, hell, their lives to help them. Especially when — well, he had never been particularly kind to Delia in the past. She owed him nothing. And yet —

“Follow me,” she said, gesturing for them to follow as she made for the door. “I know just the place no one will find you.”

As Cyrus obediently fell into step behind her, Leta seized his arm and whispered into his ear, “We can’t trust her, Cy. I know she was your friend, but — ” She locked her eyes on Delia’s back. “But she’s still one of them, okay?”

Cyrus swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know. But right now, she’s our only chance of making it out of here.”

Leta frowned at him and then suddenly called to Delia, “Where’s this ship headed anyway?”

“Oh!” Delia exclaimed as though she had simply forgotten to offer them tea. “Right. We’re headed for Vescent. Have you ever been there?” she went on conversationally as all the color drained from Leta’s face.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Hours later, once the Titan landed smoothly into the docks and the crew departed, it became clear to Leta: this was not the Vescent she remembered. It was not the same place she’d left behind.

The main city square was no longer bustling with people. The harbor wasn’t crowded with boats. The main street of cafes and restaurants and coffee shops were dark, and many of them were shut down or replaced with sterile-looking office buildings. It was summer in Fall’s End, it was only early evening, the air was warm, but hardly anyone was outside.

“It’s past curfew,” Delia explained hurriedly. “We have special exception since our ship docked so late, but … ”

But she still hurried them along. Leta could not take her eyes off the foreign landscape. Her impulse was to stop and stare like they’d arrived on a foreign moon, but Delia shuffled them urgently from the ship to her nearby apartment, taking great care to avoid the watching eyes of higher Society agents.

As they passed through the cobblestone streets, Leta gazed at the posters pasted to the brick walls. Beware the Rogue Verdant! one warned. ATTENTION VALUED CITIZENS OF VESCENT: City curfew in effect …

In the center of the square, Leta actually stopped and gazed at a trifecta of flags blowing in the breeze, each of them proudly displaying the librera. Cyrus quickly steered her away.

When they crested the stairs to the top floor of Delia’s apartment building, Leta hardly heard what her two companions were talking about. Her mind was racing. For the first time since she’d stepped foot on the Dionysian nearly a year ago (she still remembered it vividly — seeing Fiearius yelling at the top of the ramp was burned into her mind) … she was home. She really was home. Or was she?

“We should hurry,” said Delia, fumbling with her keys and dropping them twice before finally opening the door.

Delia’s apartment was clean and comfortable, and barely lived-in; clearly, she traveled a lot for her Society employers. Leta stepped inside numbly, barely taking in her new surroundings. She felt Delia cast her one weary look, as if fearful for what she would do next. Then she turned back to the door and secured the lock, in a rather paranoid fashion. At last, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’ll be safe here for now. I think. Just um — make yourself at home,” she offered, offering Cyrus a weak smile.

Cyrus returned the smile but it faltered. “Delia, thank you, that’s–that’s very kind of you, but we can’t stay here. If they find out we’re here … we can’t put you in that kind of danger.”

“But we’ve got to stay off the streets,” Leta pointed out. “They’ll recognize us. Or me, at least.”

“See? You’re way worse off out there than in here,” Delia agreed. She moved into the kitchen and began fussing with a kettle. “There’s no reason for anyone to search my apartment. You can stay here until you figure out how to–” she faltered and tilted her head at them. “I don’t know, whatever you’re planning to do.”

Cyrus glanced at Leta uncertainly. “What are we planning to do?”

“We need to get a ship out of here,” she said sharply.

“I somehow doubt it’ll be that easy,” Cyrus pointed out.

“The docks are the most secure area of the city,” Delia called from the kitchen, “especially for outgoing ships. And most of those outgoing ships are Society ships. Getting you out went okay, but getting you back in a ship will be a lot harder.”

“So what do we do then?” Leta asked, frustrated. “Just wait for someone to come save us?”

This struck her as the most frightening scenario. Fiearius would chase down the Society ship if it meant getting them back. If it meant getting himself killed.

It was almost assuring and terribly frightening for Leta to murmur, “They probably don’t even know where we are.”

Cyrus frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose, the surest sign he was thinking hard. Finally, he said, “No. But I think I have an idea that’ll fix that.” Turning to the kitchen, he called, “Delia? Would you mind if I used your console?”

Frantically, he looked around for a place to hide, but the hallway was devoid of any nooks or crevices. The only thing around was a lifeless Society agent, curled in the fetal position, still holding her hand over the glistening wound in her chest. And as the voices got closer, she gave him an idea.

“Get down!” he whispered and dropped to the floor, face down, letting his body go completely limp. He heard the thump of Leta doing the same beside him. Playing dead. Like animals, he thought bitterly.

The footsteps came closer, then stopped. Cyrus stilled his breath, but nothing could still the heart pounding in his chest. One of the voices said, “Shit. It’s Larson.”

They must’ve meant the agent.

“Godsdamn,” said the other. “She was just a rookie.”

“Well, she knew what she was getting herself into with this mission,” said the first.

The other person released a sigh. “Yeah I guess. Still. Didn’t deserve it.”

The men started to move again, coming closer, only inches from where Cyrus lay. One set of footsteps walked right on by, but the other. The other, horrifyingly, came to a stop beside him. He could feel eyes on the back of his head and inside, his mind screamed to stay quiet, to not move, to blend in.

But just as he was sure he was about to be discovered, the man hovering over him muttered, “Damn pirates,” and instead Cyrus felt a sharp pain in his stomach as a booted foot planted itself there. It was all he could do to just let his body take it and keep in the cry, but even if he had tensed, the man’s footsteps started again and he walked away, unnoticing.

Reeling from the pain, Cyrus still forced himself not to move until the sounds of the men had finally faded off into the distance of the hallway. And then Leta was above him, grabbing his arm and lifting him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” she breathed as Cyrus stumbled to his feet, clutching his arm over his stomach.

“Yeah,” he choked, shaking his head and hobbling onward. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just…get to the shuttles.”

The stairs were right around the corner and, thank the gods, empty. They flew downstairs and Cyrus breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the starboard corridor of Deck F also seemed devoid of life. They were almost there. They could get out of here. This was almost over.

But as he hit the controls to open the bay door, his heart sank and the dream of leaving became distant once again.

The shuttle bay was a mess. The Titan’s support ships were in pieces, strewn across the cold metal flooring, some tipped over, damaged, a few even destroyed entirely. Evidence of explosives littered the area. Bullet holes and blood riddled the scene. There had been quite a firefight here and by the looks of it, it had ended badly. Even the shuttles still intact were risky. If its hull was breached and its sensors didn’t pick it up and they flew out of here into the black of space? They’d be better off on the Titan.

But just as the thought materialized, the span decided to remind him otherwise.

“Hey, you think we should check the shuttle bay?” called a voice past his shoulder, just outside the bay doors. “Might be someone hurt in there.”

Cyrus froze. And then he grabbed Leta’s arm and dove for cover behind the nearest crumbling hull as the doors slid open, allowing entrance to a small team of agents.

His heart lodged painfully in his throat as he crouched down to hide, shielded by the pillar of one of the shuttle’s legs. His hands were shaking terribly but he closed them around the metal bars and told himself to be still. Paralyzed as he was, he hardly dared to breathe as he watched with stricken eyes as the agents made their way into the bay.

What he expected was more gunmen. More of the lethal Society agents dressed in their slick all-black attire, heavily armed, ready to pick apart the ship limb from limb to gleefully find their prizes. And the reward — to then bring them to slaughter. If that were so — if execution was inevitable — Cyrus silently told himself he would not go down without his last shred of dignity. Not to the Society.

But it was not gunhands who entered. It was a group of people dressed in dark crew uniforms that could have belonged to any other passenger vessel, with a small silver librera stitched into the shoulder. No weapons in sight. Their voices carried through the room.

“Gods, I hope there’s no one else, the med bay’s already full as it is,” a woman was saying. Cyrus recognized the accent at once. Satieran. “I still can’t believe this even happened.”

“Makes sense though, doesn’t it?” added another voice thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” asked another.

“Well, how weird command’s been acting lately,” said the other. “Think about it. All the extra security, the weird route, releasing the cruisers? I thought it was strange, but now it makes total sense.”

Perplexed, Cyrus darted a look toward Leta. Were they trapped? Could they slip by these people? Remain hidden? He knew one thing: if Fiearius were here, and it was a group of lowly unarmed crew members, they wouldn’t have been hiding. They would have been on the offense.

But even with the element of surprise, Cyrus knew he was in no shape for an attack of any kind. They wouldn’t get anywhere. Just when he managed to take a low breath and told himself to think, he heard it: a voice that was much, much closer.

The first woman laughed bitterly. “Wow, rumors spread fast apparently. You’re really buying into that bait theory Marshall came up with?”

“I’m not buying into anything,” said the other voice. “You know it’s true.”

“Sure,” the woman laughed. “Well, I don’t think there’s anyone down here. Just a whole lot of wreckage.”

To Cyrus’ horror, the woman rounded the corner of the ship. Cyrus caught a flash of her appearance — petite, curly jet-black hair hanging loosely in a bun, olive-tinted heart-shaped face — before the woman gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. She was just as startled to see them as they were to be caught. Her eyes were wider than a whole planet.

In a shaky voice, she lowered her hand, and said the least likely greeting imaginable.

“Cyrus?” she gasped.

Cyrus head spun and with a jolt, he realized: he knew this woman. The curly hair, the wide green eyes.

“Delia?” he breathed, his mouth falling open. It really was her. They’d both worked at Sonnete years ago, though she had been little more than a receptionist at the time. But she had always greeted him with a smile as he passed her desk each morning, even when he was too busy, tired or cranky to return it. And now, here she was. Standing before him. On the Titan.

“What are you–” he began, just as Leta muttered, “You know her?” with her eyes wide and thunderstruck. By now, the other agents were rushing over, both of them shielding the woman from Cyrus and Leta as though they might attack at any moment. One of them drew a utility knife on them and it was enough to break Cyrus’ distraction.

Helplessly, he held his hands in the air. The armed man near Delia growled, “They’re raiders! Someone call security.”

The other woman pressed the button on her COMM and opened her mouth, but Delia held out her hand to stop her. “No, I know him!” she yelped, staring at Cyrus.

“They’re armed, Dee!” gasped the man with the knife, gesturing towards the pistols on both of their hips. “We need to report them.”

Feeling he had very little to lose at this point and desperate to cling onto any hope available, Cyrus muttered, “It’d be really nice if you didn’t…” and locked his pleading eyes with Delia. Her confused expression softened for a moment, it snapped right back.

“What — what’re you even doing here?” said Delia in exasperation, holding each side of her face in despair. Alarm shone in her face as she added, “Cy — did you — were you hurting those people? Were you part of — ”

“Of course not,” said Leta at once and Cyrus nodded fervently in agreement.

“Dee, you can’t really believe this,” said the man. “They’re armed. They’re not one of us. They’re obviously part of the raid. And we need to report them.”

“Arker’s right, they could be dangerous,” the other woman said.

But, thank the gods, Delia shook her head. “If we report them, they’ll be killed,” she groaned. “Do you want that kind of blood on your hands?” Both Arker and the woman looked away from her in shame. Apparently, they did not. Satisfied, Delia turned back to Cyrus. “Me either. But what I do want. Is answers. What’re you doing here, Cyrus?!”