Rhita squatted on the dirt, arms across her knees, and rubbed her face wearily. Her entire body ached; hours of fear had done this to her. She needed desperately to urinate, but no one had yet made provisions within the barricade for a latrine, and she was too angry and confused to take the lead. Soon, however, she might be forced to.

She turned slitted eyes up at the stars, as miserable as she had ever been in her life, and felt their coldness sink into her face. They don’t know, they don’t care.

All absolutes meant nothing; how far could a goddess such as Athene extend? She seemed wholly inadequate beyond Gaia. The comfort of prayer meant little if she was going to die soon, and die in discomfort and ignominy, far from Rhodos.

“Damn it, I have to piss,” she said aloud. Jamal Atta stared down at her, his dark brows knitting.

“So do I,” he said. “We’ll—”

Rhita ignored him, fascinated by something above his head—a luminous green straight line, singular, unembellished, silent.

“—make an area over here—” Atta continued.

The line passed smoothly over their enclosure; she could not tell whether it was near or very far. Another green line crossed it and both lines moved their juncture rapidly to the edge of the enclosure. That made them seem close.

The gate. Something was happening at the gate.

The lines passed out of view. There was no unusual sound outside the enclosure—men conversed in soft gutturals; boots scuffed dirt, grass rustled in the cool evening wind. Darkness was almost complete. She smelled raw dirt and scared men and the green of the steppes.

Like an automaton, she followed Atta to the designated latrine, marked by boot-scuffed lines of sod. She pulled down her pants and relieved herself. A few men glanced in her direction, never too frightened to catch a glimpse of a woman’s naked flesh. Pulling back her pants, she stepped out of the scuffed lines and looked closely at her companions within the enclosure. They stood in dejected postures, heads hanging, faces coldly outlined by a faint crescent moon and the starlight.

This was what it had come down to. In truth, she now hoped something would come through the gate. It might be their only chance at reprieve.

Had the green light been real, or were her eyes playing tricks?

She stood still for several minutes with arms crammed beneath her jacket, the cold sapping her strength and numbing her face. The fabric of the barricades tensed and bellied in a freshet of wind; expecting a bullet, she flinched as a teardrop of rain splatted on her eyelid. A black wall of cloud slid smoothly over the moon. She could barely see around herself.