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T he rage I feel, I’m directing at Darax, even though most of it is internal.

I am angry with myself. I made promises which were not within my power to keep. I wanted this to be a safe place, for me, for Rosalie and the others. It was more about what I needed than what they needed.

I’m as bad as Darax, keeping the information about his brother and about the risks here obtuse enough I’d draw all the wrong conclusions.

I’m not on Earth now. I’m not behind my desk in the grubby Victorian terrace crudely cut up into a high street solicitors’ office. Dealing with my clients who had nowhere else to turn and had to hope their earnings were low enough they could get help from the government.

Even being on the breadline often wasn’t quite low enough. But despite the anger of my senior partners, I often helped them anyway.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to try to make it okay, regardless. If it came to legal work, most of the time, I could do just that.

But I’m in another galaxy, on an alien planet, and the rules are not the same .

I reach the quarters and slam my hand against the door.

It slides open, and I find the place in disarray.

Chairs are overturned, the cushions from the pit are everywhere, and one is sliced open as if it’s been seared with a laser.

The box which Scarlett was using to make us clothing is on its side, lights blinking sadly. Smoke hangs in the air.

“Fuck!” I kick at a cushion, and it goes flying.

Underneath is something unexpected. It’s a word, scrawled in what looks like blood.

Cockroach .

It has to be Rosalie. She’s so good under stress. She’d have thought of putting a clue of some description where she thought I might find it. And it’s a clue no alien could have faked.

After all, how would they know how to write English?

But what does it mean? Have they hidden themselves like cockroaches? Could Rosalie possibly have been clearer as she wrote out her last word in her own blood?

Against my better judgement, I swipe a finger through the ‘c’ of cockroach. It comes away black.

So, not blood then. Or at least, not Rosalie’s.

It’s small comfort.

“Little snack,” Darax rumbles from the doorway, “what have you found?”

I already feel bad for getting mad at him. It doesn’t mean I forgive what he’s done, but if there’s one thing I have learnt from this whole sorry situation, it’s that I need him to find my friends. To find Rosalie…again.

I’m still angry, but anger will have to wait.

“Rosalie has written a word here.” I point to it. “It’s a clue.”

Darax’s feet appear beside me, and he crouches down beside me, mimicking my earlier action by touching the word, although he then puts his finger in his mouth.

“Oh god, Darax, ew.” I wince. “Don’t.”

He smacks his lips. “Fee.”

“What the hell is fee ?”

“Hot drink for sarkarnlings,” he says.

I don’t know whether to risk it or not. Darax straightens up and begins a circuit of the room. When he’s not looking, I stick out my tongue and lick my finger.

I get a brief hint of coffee and burning.

“What does it say?” he asks me.

Vindicated, I stand up and fold my arms. “It says ‘cockroach,’” I announce.

“Cock-ruch?” Darax queries.

“It’s an Earth insect. They’re pests. They tend to live in dirty, dark places, and they carry disease.”

Darax stills in his pacing. “What do they look like?”

“Brown…um…six legs, sort of spindly, big bodies, smaller heads. Antenna.” I put my fingers up on my head. “Not pretty. Some of them can fly.” I shudder. “Or so I’ve heard. We only got small ones where I lived in England.”

Darax stares at me.

“What?” I ask. “I mean I never got close enough to one to do a major inspection of what it looked like.”

“It’s not that,” Darax replies. “You’ve just described a Veseli.”

“The Veseli took my friends?”

Darax growls, and the sound reverberates around the room.

“The Veseli violated my sector,” he says. “They came for you, and they took your friends instead. My brother has escaped his cell because of what they did, and now I have to answer for it to the warlords.”

“Your brother isn’t dangerous though, is he?” I ask.

Darax doesn’t look at me. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He doesn’t need to answer. And he knows how I feel.

“Stay here,” he says. “I need to muster my warriors to search for your friends, and I need to speak with the warlords.”

He turns and leaves. The door slides shut behind him with a chime.

For a moment, I hesitate. I don’t want to go with Darax, but equally, I want to be involved in the search for my friends.

However, when I approach the door, it doesn’t open. I place my hand over the locking square, but nothing happens.

“You utter bastard,” I groan. “You locked it.”

“And now I have you all to myself,” a voice growls from behind me. “It’s time to get acquainted with my brother’s mate.”