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You sing your song so sweetly after sunshine passes by.

Cress caught sight of the guard peering at her in the window’s reflection. She stiffened, realizing she’d been singing aloud. He quickly looked away, but Sybil was watching her now too.

Not just watching. Glowering.

Cress gulped. “Sorry.”

Sybil set her portscreen on her lap, fixing her attention more fully on Cress. “You probably don’t realize how old that song is. A lullaby that’s been sung on Luna perhaps as far back as colonization.”

“I did know that,” Cress said before she could stop herself. It was her favorite song. She’d researched it once.

Sybil’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. “Then you must know that the song was written at a time when Earth and Luna were allies. Some consider it to be a song symbolizing peace between the two planets. Some feel that it is unpatriotic today—that it suggests Earthen sympathizing.”

Heat rushed to Cress’s cheeks again and she sat straighter, shaking her head. “That’s not why I like it,” she said. “I just like … I mean, it has my name in it. Crescent Moon. Sometimes I think … I wonder if maybe my parents named me for the song.”

The thaumaturge gave an abrupt snort, startling Cress. “That is highly unlikely,” Sybil said, looking out the window. “From what I recall of your parents, they were not given to such flights of fancy.”

Cress stared at her. “You knew my parents?”

Sybil was quiet for a time. Expressionless but for a smug tilt of her mouth. Finally, she slid her attention back to Cress. “The only thing you need to know of your parents was that they willingly gave you up to be killed in the shell infanticide.” Her eyes glinted, pleased with her own cruelty. “Your mother herself put you into my arms. All she said was, ‘A shell. How mortifying.’”

The words struck Cress harder than they should have. Of course she’d known that her parents had given her up to be killed. That was the law—even though shells weren’t actually killed, just hidden away, but most civilians didn’t know that. Her parents would have believed she was dead, and Sybil never tired of reminding the shells how unwanted they were. That if it wasn’t for her saving them, they would all be dead, and no one would mourn them.

But Sybil had never told her that part before. Mortifying.

She sniffed and turned away before Sybil could see the tears building in her eyes.

Out the window, Cress saw that they were approaching something—another spaceship? She squinted and leaned forward. It was spherical, with three enormous winglike appendages tilted away from it.

“What’s that?”

Sybil barely turned her head. “It’s a satellite.”

Cress squeezed both fists around her hair. “We’re going to crash into it.”

A wisp of a smile flitted over Sybil’s mouth.

The podship began to slow. Cress watched, enraptured, as the satellite grew larger in the window until it was taking up her entire view. There was a clamp on one side, pre-extended. The guard latched onto it on his first attempt, and the podship shuddered around them. A cacophony of noises followed—thumps and rattles and whirring machinery and hisses and thuds. A hatch was extending from the satellite and suctioning against the side of the podship, creating a tunnel for them to exit into.

Cress furrowed her brow. Were they stopping to refuel? To pick up supplies? To outfit her with her new secret Earthen identity?

The podship door opened, and Sybil stepped out into the tunnel, beckoning for Cress to follow. The guard kept his distance behind her.

The hatch was narrow and smelled of metal and recirculating air. A second door was closed at the end of the corridor, but opened upon their approach.

Cress found herself in a small round room. A desk circled the space, and the walls above it were covered in invisi-screens, angled to be seen from anywhere in the room. Only one wall was empty—noticeably empty.

A sense of dread settled in Cress’s stomach, but she couldn’t tell what it meant. Sybil had stepped aside and was watching Cress, waiting, but Cress didn’t know what she was waiting for.

There was a second door identical to the one they had just entered through—perhaps another hatch for a second ship, she thought. And a third door led to …

She stepped forward uncertainly.

It was a bathroom. A sink. A toilet. A tiny shower.

She turned back. Goose bumps covered her skin.

“There is a recirculating water system,” said Sybil, speaking as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation. She opened a tall cabinet. “And enough nonperishable food to last for six to eight weeks, though I will replenish your supplies every two to three weeks, or as needed, as I come to check on your progress. Her Majesty is hopeful that you’ll be making great forward strides in our Earthen surveillance now that you’ve been so meticulously outfitted with the exact requirements you specified. If you find you need anything more for your work, I will obtain it for you.”

Cress’s stomach was knotting itself now, her breaths coming in shorter gasps as she took in the invisi-screens again. The holograph nodes. The processors and receivers and data boards.

State-of-the-art. All of it.

It was exactly what she needed to spy on Earth.

“I’m … to live here?” she squeaked. “Alone?”

“For a time, yes. You said you needed to be closer to Earth, Crescent. I’ve given you what you requested in order to serve Her Majesty. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

She started nodding without realizing it. Tears were gathering in her eyes, but she brushed them away with the palm of her hand. “But where will I sleep?”

Sybil paced to the too-empty wall and hit a switch. A bed lowered out of the wall. It was larger than the bunk Cress had in the dormitories, but that did little to cheer her.

Alone. She was being left here, alone.

“You have your first orders,” said Sybil. “Is there anything else you require?”

Cress couldn’t remember what her first orders had been. She’d been so focused on going to Earth. So excited about trees and oceans and cities …

And now she didn’t have any of that. She didn’t even have the dormitory or the other shells anymore.

“How long?” she asked, her voice wavering. “How long do I have to stay here?”

When Sybil was silent, Cress forced herself to look up and meet her gaze. She hoped for sympathy, kindness, anything.

She shouldn’t have hoped. If anything, Sybil looked only irritated at Cress’s weakness.

“You will stay here until your work is done.” Then, after a moment, her features softened. “Of course, if your work is satisfactory, then perhaps when you are finished we can discuss your return to Artemisia … as a true citizen of Luna.”

Cress sniffed loudly and tilted her head back as much as she dared to hold in the tears.

A true citizen of Luna. Not just a shell. Not a prisoner. Not a secret.

She looked around the room again. She was still horrified, but also more determined than she had ever been.

“All right, Mistress. I will do my best to please Her Majesty.”

A glimmer of approval shone in Sybil’s eyes. She nodded and gestured at the guard, who turned without ceremony and marched back toward the podship.

“I know you will, Crescent.” She turned to follow him out the door. There were no parting words, no reassuring smile, no comforting embrace.

The door slammed and Mistress Sybil was gone and that was that.

Cress was alone.

She gasped and exhaled and moved toward one of the small windows, intending to watch them debark from the satellite and return to Luna.

A glow in the opposite window caught her eye. She turned and drifted to the other side of the tiny room instead.