She ought to read up on the overseas operation, research what she could about the al-Muwahhidun. The tactics of the Machinehood echoed the caliph’s, but the mismatch in motives nagged at her like a protruding hangnail. Follow your instincts, Olafson had said. The Eko-Yi connection hadn’t been pursued by anyone beyond Anne Crawford’s entry. If Connor was going to live there, she ought to make sure it was safe, that she wasn’t throwing him into the path of the Machinehood again.

I should’ve taken Ammanuel into the refinery with me instead of him. He’s never been in real combat.

Stop wasting time on tangents and focus!

The flow pills sat in the tray and stared at her. It took practice to think with the enhancement, but she’d had a little practice in high school. Some part of her brain must remember what to do. And really, could a few doses hurt? It wasn’t like she’d need them on a daily basis, and they would help her get through dozens of pages of analysis quickly. Plus, it might help you implicate Eko-Yi and keep Connor grounded, whispered a traitorous part of her mind. Then you can take care of him and settle the ghosts of Marrakech, too.

She was holding on to a promise to her long dead mother. And for what? She didn’t believe that Laila was somewhere in heaven, looking down and judging her actions. The zips might already be killing her. Taking flow this once could allow her to accomplish all her objectives—finding the Machinehood, helping Connor, and preparing for the Maghreb. She needed to get over her fear and do it. Whatever it takes.

Welga reached out to the tray, her heart pounding. Sorry, Mama.

Flow had a ten-minute onset. She closed her eyes. Her skin tugged and itched where it had repaired itself. The rest of her body sat in dull numbness. Her muscle aches disappeared from her perception. She breathed and let the faces of loss float in memoriam. Laila Boothe-Ayala in her vivid heyday. Jack Travis exuding charisma and kindness. Her squad mates, fierce and determined. Briella Jackson, poised, passionate, dead.

An alertness seeped into her consciousness. Her thoughts took on a rapidity and clarity that felt familiar. Yes, she could work with this.

She called up the genomes for Jun-ha Park’s immediate family. Neither parent had matches for the unusual segments their son shared with the blood on the fragment. The sister had left Earth as a minor, so her DNA had never been recorded. Welga dug into Jun-ha Park’s medical case files. The entries came from a trio of researchers who had published multiple papers about the boy’s condition.