You only get one miracle, Redana. You only get one person saved from you. You can’t call down Olympus to stop you every time you want to hurt someone.

She hooks her fingers in Dolce’s wool and lifts him up off the ground with the strength of an Olympic athlete. The things coming out of her mouth aren’t understandable words anymore. They’re just [i]hurt[/i] and [i]betrayed[/i] syllables sliding out from between her lips.

She slams him against the instruments so hard that not even the insulating wool can protect him entirely, and screams, even as the ship begins its long, slow drift out of the storm. It won’t escape unscathed, but it’s not going to dive into destruction, either.

She’s crying. She’s crying and shaking and falling apart, but she’s still got a grip on Dolce as she slams him into the wall again, and again, and again, until she tosses him aside and, growling like an animal, claws at the clogged pipe. Someone who was patient and careful could clear it. Redana is likely to just get it crammed in deeper.

But what when she realizes that? Will she call down the thunder? Will the Nemean tear open the hull? Will that incredible capability for violence finally be turned against the crew by a gods-maddened princess, and yet another journey to Gaia fail, torn apart by Aphrodite?

The defense of the crew and ship falls again to the (bruised, battered, brave) Captain.