“I don’t have anything else,” Kyla snapped. “I have ten spies dead in the Three Sisters, and possibly dozens more have had their covers blown by the Oracle. Zoe is the only godsdamned identity that hasn’t been compromised and might hold up to an inspection on Macella.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Look. Just get on that planet. Meet with General Damocles. Sell him something. Get him to trust you. Sher and I need to know what the fuck is going on.”

Eris swallowed. The last time Eris had seen Damocles, he’d had a spray of blood painted across his cheekbone. Eyes bright with triumph. The full monster out behind the mask.

“Sell him something,” Eris repeated. “That something will have to be a weapon, Kyla. Zoe’s an arms dealer.”

“I know, Eris.”

“That something will have to be a weapon impressive enough to justify a meeting. Enough to take her out of retirement. It’s not something we can half-ass.”

“I know, Eris.”

Eris let out a slow breath. She needed to make the commander understand. So she tried another tack. “Kyla, I can’t . . .” Eris’s fingernails dug into her palm. “I may not be able to keep my promise to you. As Zoe. Not for this mission.”

The silence on the other end was so heavy. The real Zoe Eirene-X-2 had traded in death. Capitalized on it. Eris couldn’t promise not to kill anyone when the woman she was playing was the type to watch a massacre with a smile on her face. It’s just business, as Zoe would say.

Eris, at the end of it, would have to live with the guilt.

“I know that, too,” Kyla said. “But I can’t think of another way. If Ariadne’s right and that cargo is intended to be used to make high-density blasts, then this is what we have to go in with. We give Damocles something he’ll think he can use.”

Eris squared her shoulders. Do your job. “Fine. I need more time, and specs aren’t going to be good enough to earn a face-to-face meeting. With Zoe’s reputation, he’s going to want a prototype. Something he can test.”

“We don’t have time, Eris.” Kyla made a frustrated noise. “Ariadne will help you with the design, and Clo’s built weapons before. We need one quick.”

Clo straightened. “Are you seriously asking me to make a killing machine for Damocles?”

“Clo—”

Ariadne cleared her throat. “I . . . may have something.” At Eris and Clo’s questioning look, she said, “The Oracle gave me a project—had a fancy code name and everything—but never saw the result. I designed a lot of weapons for fun.”