“Your clearance is good for one more year,” Olafson said. “You can start now as a consultant, help us bring down the Machinehood, and cancel your contract anytime. I can’t make you a permanent hire as an analyst, not with you being flow-restricted. Does that make the offer more palatable?”

A year of working for the government again. But a different group at the top, said one part of her mind. All politicians are the same, countered another. The first part replayed the attack on Jackson. You wanted to be the first to capture a Machinehood operative. What difference does it really make whether you’re employed by Platinum or the US government? What are you afraid of?

Christ, sometimes she hated when she made sense.

She was scared, of course, not for her own life but for the people she loved and the others she had served. She could’ve run at the enemy—screaming, weaponless—and let them end it seven years ago, but she chose to live. She’d forced herself to face weapons again as a shield. Maybe it was time to go back to the Maghreb and put her squad’s ghosts to rest, too, to finish what they’d started.

Por Qué spoke in her ear. “Arvindh Olafson has sent you a contract. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes,” Welga muttered.

Olafson had spoken the truth: the contract lasted as long as the time remaining on her clearance and was nonbinding. A slight smile played around the corners of his mouth. He had her, and he damn well knew it.

Too out of shape to rejoin the special forces. Too old to look good as a shield. Too genetically flawed to take flow. If the JIA offered her a way to make a difference in the world, to save lives, how could she say no? Doubly so if it meant getting closure for the events in Marrakech. Could she trust the government not to fuck this up a second time? Maybe it didn’t matter. If she had a chance to do it right… Connor would understand, wouldn’t he? He’d do the same in her position. They’d made a promise to each other, but this went beyond keeping her word.

She subvocalized, “Por Qué, append my signature to the contract and return it.”

Olafson grinned and extended a hand. “Welcome to Operation Organica.”

She shook it. “Now answer my question: Why would the al-Muwahhidun murder three funders in full view of the world? The caliph tries to maintain a veneer of nonviolence. He’ll demolish infrastructure, let children starve, but he won’t kill people except in self-defense. Or at least he didn’t used to. Has something changed in the Maghreb?”