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“It’s not just that,” Cora said, even though it was very much also that. “It’s really hard for rorquals to take a new pilot. I don’t know if you know anything about them—”

“Not much, so assume I don’t.”

“Okay. You know they’re not social animals by nature?”

“I guess I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, the entire idea is foreign to them. They get it, conceptually, but they really only experience it through their pilot. So when you switch in someone else, it feels . . . weird to them. Wrong. Uncomfortable. A lot of times they don’t accept it, and they can’t be flown anymore after that.”

“How often is ‘a lot of times’?”

“Um . . .” Cora’s throat grew thick, but she pushed through, trying to match the clinical tone Signy had set at the start. “Statistically, it’s like a fifty-fifty chance. Token flip.”

Signy looked bothered, which was good, in a way. Bothered meant she was getting it. “What happens to them if they won’t take a new pilot?”

“They, um. Y’know. Get put down.” Cora cracked her knuckles idly. “It’s kinder that way.” She’d always been told that was the case. She didn’t know if it was, but that was what people said.

Signy played with her mug, rocking it back and forth on its lower edge against the countertop. “Do you consider Colibri a friend?” she asked.

“The easy answer is yes,” Cora replied.

“What’s the less easy answer?”

Cora ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to explain this in a tidy way. So often, when she talked about what it was like to be in the saddle, people who weren’t pilots or who didn’t work with pilots looked at her like she was describing drugs or sex or something. Colibri was like none of those. Colibri was her own thing. “There isn’t a quick way to sum up what she is to me,” Cora answered. “But I have to protect her.”

“As much as you have to protect yourself?”

“Yes,” Cora said, without hesitation.

“Is mindbleed a risk to her, in any way? Are you endangering her while you’re like this? Or if you’re with her while you’re medicated?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” Signy asked, a little harder.

Cora nodded. “I’d never risk her.”

And with that, the truth hung between them, heavy but clean.

Signy reached under the counter and hit a button. A series of clicks and thunks arose from the airlock. The shop, it appeared, was now closed. “Would you like some tea?” Signy asked. “I’ve never had a customer with mindbleed, so I need to look a few things up, and I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

Cora’s eyes went wide. Oh, man. Oh, fuck, Signy was gonna do it. She was gonna help. Cora did her best to keep things cool, even though she wanted to yell and sing and dance on the counter. “You mean you’ll—”

“I need. To look. A few things up.” Signy got to her feet. “Tea, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Cora said smartly, like she’d just been dressed down by her boss. She didn’t like tea, but refusing anything at this point seemed like a dumbass move. “Yes, I would love some.”

A cup of tea was poured. Cora took sorghum, too, even though she didn’t like that, either. Signy disappeared behind the curtain again, and Cora returned to the shelves, biding her time and trying to keep her hopes chained back. Neither of those tasks was easy.

Something like an hour passed. The shop was dead quiet, but every so often, Signy broke the silence, calling out a question from the back room.

“Do you know your blood type?”

“AB.”

“Are you allergic to mushrooms?”

“Uh . . . no?”