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“Money can’t solve everything,” I tell her.

“Wrong, but whatever.”

I bend down close as I dare to her. “It won’t help you here. Try some dignity. In the end it’s all you have.”

Her smile for me is cold. “I do love circularity. But when my men get here maybe we just leave you.”

“I don’t need your help, and I don’t need Ephraim to trade for me,” I tell her, and stalk back to the ship. Volga catches up with me.

“Where are you going, Lyria?” she asks.

“Not your problem.”

“Her men are coming. If we wait here, we will be safe.”

How can she say that when Victra’s men couldn’t even protect us from the Ascomanni in the heart of her flagship? If they come here…I shake my head.

“We owe her a debt,” Volga presses.

“I paid mine in that cell. So did you. You think she’s helpless because she’s packing a baby? She’s a Peerless Scarred, you idiot.”

“I am not an idiot,” Volga says, offended.

“You really want to get tangled with them? Is that what Ephraim would want you to do?”

“Ephraim is broken. I could run from that up there. But if I run from this…” She shakes her head, then raises it high. “My debt will be paid when I return her child to her.” She sets a hand on my shoulder. “Do it with me.”

I look at Volga’s knife tucked into her waistband. The blood from Fig’s eyes seeps through their hiding place in her shirt. She thinks she’ll get rich off this. Fool. “Hope she gives you all the money you ever wanted. Unlike you, I’m not for sale.”

I leave her.

Soon I’ve packed half the supplies I found in the wreckage and donned a set of gray thermal pants from a supply locker. With my feet slipping around in the too-large boots of some dead Gray, I start walking south, away from the crash site. Part of me waits for Volga to catch up with me.

She doesn’t.

All that lies before me is stone and icy sludge. A vast landscape that would swallow me without anyone noticing. This isn’t home. This is the first time I’ve felt truly alone since replying to Volga’s note. How does that already seem a lifetime ago?

I look back at the ship. It’s little more than a dot now. I don’t have a plan, but I don’t want to be saved by Victra’s men. I don’t want to be traded back to Ephraim and owe him for the favor. I’d rather freeze to death trying to go it on my own.

Walking along the fjord, I see several ships skimming just over the dark water down below as they head for the crash site. They’re little more than dots at this distance. That’ll be Victra’s men. Takes me almost a minute to figure how to turn on the oculars I foraged. When I’ve got them working, I focus on the lead ship. I roll the magnifier. Ship looks like a pelican, one of those old transports with those round bodies and slightly curved wings. A bit less stately than I’d expect for a Gold’s rescue party. No Julii or Barca insignia either. I switch to the next one. Another pelican, older. On its side is painted the face of a Pink model drinking a bottle of Ambrosia. I pause. Its lights blaze just as they did that day when my family was butchered.

I turn and run back across the plateau. I’m dizzy from exhaustion by the time I find Volga near the crash site, helping Victra out of her battered armor. Volga smiles at me.

“I knew you would come back.”

“Red Hand.” I gasp for air. “Red Hand is coming.”

Volga slings forward a scavenged rifle. “Red Hand? Are you certain?”

“It’s a day for vultures,” Victra mutters. She scans the sky, and I think she finally understands that, for some reason, her men aren’t coming. “They’ll kill me and the coldie.” She glances at me. “Might be worse for you, Gamma.”

I look at her belly. It’s about ready to burst. “Can you…”

She bolts, already ten meters away and moving fast. Volga’s on her tail. Shit.

I struggle after them in the deep snow. They’re incredibly fast. Victra’s legs drive her like pistons through the forest and straight up a huge hill as she cradles her stomach. Volga ambles along behind her, struggling to keep up. Soon they’re out of sight, and I follow only by their tracks. But soon those disappear as well. I search the ground, and something glows on a branch. A fading yellow handprint. There’s more on the tree limbs heading right. Thermal ghosts.

My hand drifts to my head.