“I hate them too,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Don’t…”

“I do. At least, I hate that they remind me of what I was, or could have been. Shit, I was a little idiot. You would have hated me. I was comfortable and arrogant and selfish on my knees. I liked being blind to everything because I was in love. And I thought for some reason that living for love was the most valiant thing in all the worlds. Even made Eo into something in my head that she wasn’t. Romanticized her and the life we had—probably because I saw my father die for some cause. And I saw all he left behind, so I tried to cling to the life he abandoned.”

I trace the lines on my palm.

“It makes me feel small to think I started doing all this for her. She was everything to me, but I was just a piece of her life. When the Jackal had me, that’s all I could think about. That I wasn’t enough. That our child wasn’t enough. Part of me hates her for that. She didn’t know all this would happen, wasn’t even aware that the worlds had been terraformed. All she could have known was that she was making a point to the couple thousand people in Lykos. And was that worth dying for? Was that worth killing a child for?”

I gesture down the hall. “Now all these people think she was divine or something. A perfect martyr. But she was just a girl. And she was brave, but she was stupid and selfish and selfless and romantic; but she died before she could ever be more. Think how much she could have done with her life. Maybe we could have done this together.” I laugh bitterly and lean my head against the wall. “I think the shittiest part about getting old is now we’re smart enough to see the cracks in everything.”

“We’re twenty-three, dipshit.”

“Well, I feel eighty.”

“You look it.” I flip him the crux, earning a smile. “Do you…” He almost doesn’t finish the thought. “Do you think she watches you? From the Vale? Does your father?”

I’m about to say I don’t know when I catch the intentness of his gaze. He’s not asking about my family as much as he’s asking about his own, maybe even Quinn, who he always loved but never had the courage to tell. With all his savagery it’s hard to remember just how vulnerable he is. He’s adrift. Alienated from Red and Gold. No home. No family. No view of a world after war. Right now I’d say anything to make him feel like he’s loved.

“Yes. I believe she watches me,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “And my father. And yours too.”

“So they have beer in the Vale.”

“Don’t be sacrilegious,” I say, kicking his foot. “Only whiskey. Streams of it as far as the eye can see.”

His laughter stitches more of me together. Bit by bit, I feel like my friends are coming back to me. Or maybe I’m coming back to them. Suppose it’s the same thing, really. I always told Victra to let people in. I could never take my own advice because I knew one day I’d have to betray them, that the foundation of our friendship was a lie. Now I’m with people who know who I am, and I’m afraid to let them in because I’m afraid of losing them, disappointing them. But it’s this bond that Sevro and I share that makes us stronger than we were before. It’s what we have that the Jackal doesn’t.

“Do you know what happens after this?” I ask. “If we kill Octavia, the Jackal? If we somehow win?”

“No,” Sevro says.

“That right there is a problem. I don’t have the answer. I won’t pretend to. But I won’t let Augustus be right. I won’t bring chaos into this world without at least a plan for something better. For that we need allies like Quicksilver. We need to stop playing terrorist. And we need a real army.”

Sevro picks the detonator back up and breaks it in two. “What are your orders, Reap?”

Sevro and I stalk back into the ready room where the Howlers are packed and prepared to depart the station. Rollo and a dozen of his people watch us tensely from their side of the room. They know they’re about to be abandoned. Quicksilver follows behind me, restraints left behind in his cell. He’s agreed to our plan, with a few adjustments. “Well, look at this….” Victra says, seeing our bruises and bloody knuckles. “You two finally talked.” She looks to Ragnar. “See?”

“Shit’s sorted,” Sevro says.

“And the rich man?” Ragnar asks curiously. “He wears no manacles.”

“That’s because he’s a Son of Ares, Rags,” Sevro says. “Didn’t you know?”

“Quicksilver’s a Son?” Victra explodes into laughter. “And I’m secretly a Helldiver.” She looks back and forth at our faces. “Wait…you’re serious. Do you have proof?”

“I’m sorry to hear of your mother, Victra,” Quicksilver says hoarsely. “But it is a pleasure to see you walking, truly. I’ve been with the Sons for over twenty years. I have hundreds of hours of conversations with Fitchner to prove it.”

“He’s a Son,” Sevro says. “Can we move on?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Victra shakes her head. “Mother was right about you. Always said you had secrets. I thought it was something sexual. That you liked horses or something.” Sevro shifts uncomfortably.

“So you find us a way off this rock, rich man?” Holiday asks Quicksilver.

“Not quite,” he says. “Darrow…”

“We’re not leaving,” I announce. Rollo and his men stir in the corner. The Howlers exchange confused looks.

“Maybe you wanna tell us what’s going on?” Screwface asks gruffly. “Let’s start with who’s in charge. Is it you?”

“Howler One,” Sevro says, punching my shoulder.

“Howler Two,” I say, patting his in turn.

“Prime?” Sevro asks. The Howlers nod in concert.

“First order of business, policy change,” I say. “Who has pliers?” I look around until Holiday pulls hers from her bomb kit and tosses them to me. I open my mouth and stick the pliers to the back right molar where the achlys-9 suicide tooth was implanted. With a grunt I tear it out and set the tooth on the table. “I’ve been captured before. I will not be captured again. So this is worthless to me. I don’t plan on dying, but if I do, I die with my friends. Not in a cell. Not on a podium. With you.” I hand the pliers to Sevro. He jerks out his own back tooth. Spitting the blood on the table.