Rhea ripped open the uniform around his wound, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell. The others might consider it a waste, but Rhea found a med kit and rooted around in the box for supplies. Gauze, tape, disinfectant.

She held up a syringe. Thank the gods, a stress blocker. The Legate must have had this on hand in case the crew needed to briefly deactivate the Oracle’s acute stress response during surgery. Rhea had injected Nyx with a dose while Ariadne remotely removed the chip from her cerebellum. Ariadne had excitedly told her how it worked.

Yes, a waste of supplies. But after the Evoli . . .

“I can’t stand back and watch anyone else die,” she told the pilot’s unconscious face. “Not even you.”

Rhea cleaned his wound, whispering a few words. Not a prayer—she’d left those gods and devils behind so long before. She’d never pray to any deity from the Avern again. No, she whispered something else, sent out into the quiet void of the universe.

It has to be better than this, she thought, as she bandaged the pilot’s injury. If we bring down the Empire, we have to make our lives worth more than this.

With a sigh, she sat back and waited for him to wake. An hour later, his limbs began to twitch. Rhea readied herself, Nyx’s Mors still clutched in her hand. She didn’t know how to use it, exactly, but she figured she could embellish her skills.

The pilot opened his eyes. He tested the ropes as he met her gaze. The blank look that was a product of the Oracle’s programming hadn’t kicked in yet. Good. The blocker was working.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “I’m Rhea.”

He shook his head as if to clear it, then winced. “Avern. What did you do to me?”

Rhea’s expression turned apologetic. “Hit you with an oil canister.”

“Unfuckingbelievable,” he muttered. His muscles strained as he pulled at the ropes again.

“You’re not going to get those off,” Rhea said. She held up the syringe from the med kit. “After treating your wound, I injected you with a blocker that works on your sympathetic nervous system. It’ll keep the Oracle in its background processing stage so One doesn’t flood your system with adrenaline and cortisol while we talk.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. If he’d hidden in the vents for nearly a week, he’d be malnourished. “I can get you something to eat.”

“Pass. For all I know, you’ll poison it.”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be.” She rose and left him, grabbing the first thing she saw in the canteen: Ariadne’s dessert bars. The girl was going to kill her when she found out.

When she returned to the command center, he looked more alert. She unwrapped the bar and held it to his mouth. “Eat.”