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He’s actually serious.

“Because they’re scum?”

He leans over the table. “No. Because it’s dangerous. For you. And for them.” There’s a forcefulness in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be Fully Integrating. You want people to think you’re plotting something? You want people to think Rike is? Do you know how that would end for him?” He lowers his voice. “How that might end for all of you?”

He makes a subtle sweeping motion at the Mess Hall.

And I can see it. There are Rhavnan faces here, dotted around.

I think it through. “I need to Fully Integrate⁠—”

He finishes my question. “Or you’re all out the airlock?” He pushes back his combed hair. “I don’t have the answer to that. But yes. Quite possibly⁠—”

He’s cut off by someone slumping down beside him.

“Congratulations on making it through your first night alive,” Riss says to me, brusquely.

“Thanks,” I say, uncertainly.

To Cosmer, she says, “Only one attempt on their lives so far – which I thought we handled pretty well. I feel like that calls for a celebration.”

“Well, we know where Dezeeves stashes his rum.”

Riss bursts into laughter.

This is clearly a joke I don’t get.

The two of them are obviously good friends. Seem comfortable in each other’s company. But I actually can’t see there being anything more to their relationship than that.

For some reason, that thought brings on in me an odd sense of relief.

“Did you eat?” Drake – now beside me – asks, a little roughly.

“No. But I’m fine.”

I realise we’ve unknowingly – or maybe knowingly – seated ourselves in the same arrangement as yesterday. Drake and I opposite Riss and Cosmer.

Riss glances between Cosmer and I. “So – putting Chap’s attack aside – was it good between you last night?”

Cosmer, who had been trying to take a sip from his flask, sputters.

“What did you say?” he chokes.

She looks at all of us like she can’t believe we’re the same species as her.

“The sleeping arrangements. Did they work for you?”

“Yes,” Cosmer answers, wiping his mouth. “Why wouldn’t they have?”

“Good. Then we’ll keep them as they are.”

She gestures vaguely in Drake’s direction.

“Although you got lucky, Cosmer. This guy snores like an ogre. And that’s to normal ears, not mine.”

“Ogre?” Drake says, copying the Hevallan word Riss used. “What is that?”

I translate it for him into a Rhavnan equivalent – which is surprisingly tricky, as Rhavna has so many words for different mythical creatures.