Rohan hated that she was right.
He leaned both hands on the wall edge and looked down at the ash beyond.
"Dependency is the real chain."
"Yes."
"What about passage requests?"
Maerin was silent for a moment.
Then she said, "Bryan calculated your reserves again."
Rohan looked at her sharply.
"And?"
"You are closer than anyone expected."
"That is not an answer."
"No," Maerin admitted. "It is the gentlest beginning to a bad answer."
His hope tightened painfully.
Maerin faced him fully.
"With the glassmaw materials, the storm-silver shares, the salvage credit from the maintenance cache discovery, and the external value of your accumulated hunt portions, Bryan believes you can present a serious passage offer."
A serious passage offer.
For a heartbeat, Rohan felt the world open.
Then Maerin continued.
"You cannot present an offer they are likely to accept."
The opening closed again.
Rohan laughed once, bitterly.
"Serious enough to be noticed, not serious enough to leave."
"I am sorry."
The apology surprised him more than the answer.
Maerin did not apologise often, and never because facts were unpleasant. That meant she understood exactly how the words landed.
Rohan looked back over the wall. Somewhere far beyond the ash plains, the Gilded Heron was coming, with clean boots and smiling parasites and engines capable of leaving this planet behind.
"How far short am I?"
"On paper, less than half."
"That is better than I thought."
"On paper," she repeated. "Bryan says the conversion rate they offer will almost certainly change once they realise you are trying to buy passage rather than trade goods. They may claim your materials are impure, locally restricted, improperly certified, or already promised under expedition debt."
"I do not owe expedition debt."
"They may claim you do."
"That would be fraud."
Maerin’s expression was grim.
"Yes."
Rohan pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and forced himself not to say the first several things that came to mind.
"What about Veyrhold backing my request?"
"The elders may support it, especially after what you found. But support from Veyrhold can hurt as much as help. The merchants dislike anyone who looks like a symbol."
Rohan frowned.
"A symbol?"
"You are not shipblood. You arrived from nowhere. You earned standing quickly. You found the memory unit. You have been openly gathering external value for passage. If you leave successfully, people will talk."
"They already talk."
"More," Maerin said. "They will say if Rohan can leave, others can too. They will ask why not Liora, why not Pell when he is older, why not every family that can gather enough value. The merchants know that. They will not want you to become proof that the door opens."
Rohan swallowed hard.
He understood.
Of course he understood.
The Gilded Heron did not simply sell passage. It sold the belief that passage was technically possible while practically unreachable. A single successful departure could be managed. Four in Bryan’s lifetime had already happened. But each departure had to feel exceptional, isolated, unrepeatable.
If Rohan left after only seven months, after arriving as an outsider and gathering resources through Veyrhold’s support, the story became dangerous.
Not because he mattered.
Because the implication mattered.
"Then negotiating is a fool’s errand," he said.
Maerin did not answer immediately.
The wind moved ash against the wall below.
"I would not call it foolish to try through proper channels first," she said carefully. "But I would call it foolish to rely on proper channels alone."
Rohan turned toward her.
That was not a small thing for Maerin to say.
She looked uncomfortable with the words but did not take them back.
"You think I should prepare another way."
"I think you already are."
He said nothing.
Maerin’s gaze sharpened.
"Do you think I have not noticed you asking about shuttle cargo cycles, merchant guard rotations, landing flat layouts, atmospheric takeoff timing, and whether the Gilded Heron scans for biological heat signatures in freight?"
Rohan tried to appear innocent.
Maerin’s stare flattened.
He gave up.
"I have been asking hypothetically."
"You asked Jorren whether his shield could block a shuttle ramp from closing."
"That was less hypothetical."
"You asked Tavin how large a storm-silver crate is and whether a person could fit inside one."
"I said a small person."
"You are not a small person."
"I could fold."
"You would die of heat buildup, suffocation, or stupidity."
"That is a wide range of possibilities."
"Rohan."
Her voice was not sharp this time.
It was worried.
That was worse.
He looked away.
"I am not planning to throw myself into a crate tomorrow."
"The merchants arrive in less than a month."
"That still leaves time to choose a better crate."
"Rohan."
He sighed, the humour leaving him.
"I know it is dangerous. I know stowing away on an off-world merchant ship is probably one of the stupidest ideas I have had, and I understand that my list is not short. But what else am I supposed to do if they refuse passage? Wait two more years? Trust the same people who have been profiting from Veyrhold’s desperation for generations to suddenly be fair because I ask firmly?"
Maerin’s expression tightened.
"I am not telling you to trust them."
"Then what are you telling me?"
"I am telling you not to mistake desperation for a plan."
The words struck him harder than he expected.
For a moment, he remembered his first days in the Ashen Marches. The fog valley. The black slabs. The trembling ash. His decision to test Molten Assimilation because if he did not test it then, he would have to test it later when he was more tired, more desperate, and probably being chased.
That logic had saved him.
It had also nearly killed him several times since.
"I need a plan," he said quietly.
"Yes," Maerin said. "And if you are going to consider something illegal, dangerous, and likely to provoke the only ship that trades with Veyrhold, then you need one that does not get everyone here punished for your escape."
Rohan closed his eyes.
There it was.
The piece he had been trying not to look at too closely.
If he stowed away and the merchants discovered him, would they blame Veyrhold? Would they reduce trade? Increase prices? Refuse medical supplies? Punish a whole settlement for one outsider’s attempt at freedom?
Probably.