“Where are you going?” Gwynn turned around to see Sorrel walking from the balcony to the door, a fire in her deep brown eyes and a stride filled with purpose.

There was a dread in her stomach, a part of her knew what was coming next.

“I’m going to talk to Coppelius.” Sorrel stopped by the door and pulled her boots back on. “Make sure he’s settling in well and all.”

“Briar. . . “ Their mother stopped looking through the holo-channels and her voice took on a sympathetic but cautionary tone. “I’d really rather you didn’t. Leave that boy alone.”

“What do you mean?” From the look in Sorrel’s eyes, the stony expression that crossed over her face, Gwynn knew that her sister already knew the answer.

“I’m proud of you, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think he needs any more help from us.” Celine’s eyes drifted wistfully towards the larger box of Valiant’s things. “I understand wanting to help. . . but he’s dangerous. There’s something off about him. Surely you can see it?”

“What are you talking about?” Sorrel crossed her arms over her chest and Gwynn internally braced herself.

“While you were out in the forest, I couldn’t help but think about it, all of those soldiers and then the fleet for one person. . . “ Celine trailed off before meeting Sorrel’s eyes. “Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong. But what if he did? What if he really is that dangerous? He’s already led to the destruction of our home, land our family’s held for generations. Maybe we don’t need to be involved any further, before he destroys our new one.”

Sorrel’s mouth opened, then closed. Then it opened again. “But what if he isn’t?”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sorrel.” Celine’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Something’s not right about all of this.”

“But maybe that’s why we should help him—how else will we get answers?” Gwynn recognized the earnestness in her twin’s voice. It was the call to the stars, the curiosity that burned in her blood, the desire to break free. It was the call that Sorrel heeded and Gwynn tried to block out.

“But you won’t.” Celine sat on the bed. “He’ll keep his secrets, and you’ll be left wondering if you ever really knew him at all.”

“Dad kept secrets?” Gwynn couldn’t help herself from blurting it out.

“There were parts of him I could never understand, the parts of him that he left in space.” Celine looked back to her box of Valiant’s things. “He saw something out there that caused him to leave his spacer days behind, I just know it. But he never told me what.”

“I thought Dad left because he was in love.” Sorrel frowned. “That wasn’t true?”

Celine smiled sadly. “It was only a part of the truth. I think you and I both know his true love was the stars. Something happened, for him to leave it all behind. He kept longing to go back, but he wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he knew he was at risk for the star-sickness,” Gwynn suggested.

Celine shook her head. “This was before that. But I’m not talking about your father, Sorrel. This is about you getting in over your head.”

Sorrel blinked, then tilted her head. Something in Gwynn’s stomach lurched. She wanted to throw herself between them, to outstretch her arms and stop her somehow, before things went too far.

But Gwynn couldn’t even bring herself to do that.

All she could do was sit there, uselessly, with her hands folded delicately in her lap as everything fell apart.

“It doesn’t matter if you think I’m in over my head.” Sorrel’s voice was calm, her tone even. But her brown eyes blazed like her hair. “I’m not going to stay here for you. I’m not like Papa.”

Celine visibly recoiled, as if Sorrel had struck her. She opened her lips to speak, but stopped. Never had Gwynn seen her mother so speechless. Even Sorrel’s expression faltered, the sparks in her eyes flickering out. But only for a moment.

“You’ll see that I’m not like him.” She grabbed her jacket off of the sofa, and removed the red flight-scarf from their father’s box underneath. She approached Celine and pressed the scarf into her mother’s hands. “I will come back. Then you’ll see.”

Celine held the flight-scarf limply in her hands. She blinked up at Sorrel, her expression blank.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” It was a whisper so inaudible, Gwynn almost didn’t hear her. Sorrel then straightened, the fire back in her eyes.

And so she left, without another word. The hotel room door closed with a quiet click that carried all the finality of their jump into fast-travel, or the closing of their father’s coffin.

Celine broke down sobbing, pressing the flight-scarf to her face.

Gwynn embraced her mother. “It’s alright, Maman, it’s going to be alright.”

Celine resurfaced from the scarf and turned to Gwynn, uncertainty haunting her delicate features. “I’m glad I have you, Gwyneira. I don’t know what I would do, if I lost you too.”

With that, Celine embraced her, breaking down into a new round of sobbing. Gwynn merely hugged her mother tighter. But as she did, she felt a deeper sense of melancholy wash over her. It was a thing she would never voice—could never voice.

Because her twin was so determined to shine bright, Gwynn could never escape the shadows, the supporting role. Her own dreams of adventure beyond the stars would never come true.

Sorrel had all but assured that.

Sorrel’s heart was pounding as she stepped out into the hallway, the hotel door sliding closed behind her. Lightning coursed through her veins instead of blood, each step felt like it was preceding a free-fall. It was terrifying and exhilarating.

Yet she felt a sense of purpose as she approached the next door and raised her fist to knock. She was meant to help Coppelius, she somehow knew it. Every strange dream, every wild fantasy of what lay beyond the stars—it all led to him, she was realizing.

And now that her home was destroyed, what left did she have to lose?

She knocked on the door three times.

It slid open almost immediately to Coppelius standing there. His indigo eyes were unreadable.

“Sorrel? What are you doing here?”

“I came to help.” She drew herself to her full height.

“You can’t.” His expression grew soft. “It’s my fault you’re here—you don’t need to get yourself involved any further. This is where your role in the story ends.”

He paused, and something Sorrel could only describe as longing filled his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, more like an attempt to hug himself than an intimidating gesture. “I’ll never forget you, though.”

“I’d never forget you either.” There was so much loaded into those words, all the things Sorrel was struggling to say, to put into words that made sense. . .

Coppelius froze. In that moment, she knew he felt it too.

“Let me come with you.” Sorrel seized her opening. “I want to help you. And I want to know more about. . . well, all of it.”

She outstretched her arms helplessly. “Magic, your family, the sword we found—this galaxy is so much bigger than I ever thought it would be. Dreamed it would be. I’ve always wanted to be out in the stars, like my father before me. I have to do this.”

Coppelius stared at her for a long time. The silence was deafening. It seemed like a small eternity was passing before Sorrel’s eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he said in a very small voice.

With that, he stepped aside. Sorrel passed through the doorway, with a sense that there was no going back.