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“I had a secret chat with a mass murderer and agreed with several points. My definition of well is under review.”

“You did not excuse her.”

“No.”

“You did not obey her.”

“No.”

“You listened to the part of the warning that deserved to survive.”

I lean against him, mindful of his bandages. “You make me sound balanced.”

“You are not balanced.”

“Thank you?”

“You are trying.”

“That sounds more accurate.”

Sira sits on my other side, quiet and warm. “The release was the first step. Not the last.”

I look at the dark beyond the viewport, at the debris field, at the stars indifferent enough to be honest. “The fragments are out now.”

“Yes,” she says.

“They’ll spread.”

“Yes.”

“They’ll change things.”

“Yes.”

My chest tightens. “I’m scared.”

Ghar’s fingers lace through mine. “Good.”

I give him a look. “That was not supportive.”

“It was. Fear will keep you cautious. Love will keep you from becoming only cautious. Anger will keep you moving. Doubt will keep you from building a throne.”

Sira’s smile is faint. “A workable internal committee.”

“I hate committees,” I mutter.

Ghar’s mouth curves. “You will lead many.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“I am injured.”

“Convenient.”

The viewport catches our reflections: Sira pale and grieving but steady, Ghar bandaged and resolute, me wrapped in a thermal blanket with disaster hair and the expression of a woman who accidentally became the hinge on which several future arguments will swing.

The galaxy is already arguing.