She’d let Zelus rest after the grueling pace she used to exit the Three Sisters quadrant, but anxiety still burned within her. It didn’t matter how much distance she put between Zelus and the heart of the Empire, nowhere in the Iona Galaxy seemed far enough. Every time she considered pausing, she thought about that Evoli man back on Macella. She thought about Briggs. She thought about the weapon they’d given to Damocles and all the damage he could do if Ariadne’s failsafe didn’t work.

The stars had always felt safe to her. Space was vast; there were so many places Clo could hide.

Right then, the expanse of the galaxy felt like the sticky web of the Empire — and she was caught inside it.

The door opened behind Clo. “Go away,” she called, focusing on plotting routes to Ismara. She turned with a scowl that disappeared when she saw who it was.

“All right,” Rhea said, retreating a step. “I just wanted to ask how much longer we’d be jumping. Ariadne threw up a few times and I’m starting to get nauseated too.”

Clo took her fingers from the controls. She’d forgotten that Ariadne and Rhea still weren’t used to the hyperjumps of space travel. Clo was fine as long as they were in the abyss. It was only as she careened toward a surface, the hull of the bullet craft lighting up like a shooting star, that her stomach betrayed her. “That was the last one. Sorry.”

Rhea paused, illuminated by the light streaming through the hallway. Her hair was braided around her head like a crown. She’d taken to swapping her dresses for flowing blouses, spare military trousers, and boots stolen from the dead of Asteria.

“I can leave you alone if you want,” Rhea said, still hesitating at the door.

“No,” Clo said. “Please stay.”

They hadn’t had time to speak alone since the night before they went to the Three Sisters. Clo had been too much of a dipwell to even say goodbye to Rhea before she crawled through the depths of the palace.

Their eyes met. Clo flushed and looked away.

“What’s the pilot’s prognosis?” Clo asked, clearing her throat and staring back out at the stars.

Rhea approached the command chair and leaned against the edge of the console. “Too early to say, but it looks like his programming goes deep. The Oracle’s been upgrading.”

“Always bound to be high on One’s to-do list, right?” Clo asked, fiddling with the controls. “You need your soldiers loyal, especially for all those war crimes.”

Rhea smelled like something floral and spiced, too exotic for Clo to recognize. In contrast, Clo was sure she smelled like engine grease, as usual. Awkwardness bloomed within her, pink as a blush.

Clo stretched back out along the pilot’s chair, and this time, Rhea was the one who looked away shyly. Clo almost smiled.