“This way,” Ariadne said. The girl’s tablet had a blinking dot to indicate the coordinates she’d found back on Macella.

Clo’s skin prickled in alarm as they progressed. Not even wind in the trees, she thought. No animals rustling through the thickets. The coordinates led the group to a warehouse. The warehouse—the entire island, really—was completely still. Flat shelves of red mushrooms lined the bottoms of the trunks of trees and rocks of what might have been rough ichor in its natural habitat.

Clo rubbed her arms. Rhea reached out to take her hand, squeezing gently. Despite the thick material of their gloves, the gesture brought Clo comfort. A warm sense of home and belonging. She flashed Rhea a grateful smile and the other woman returned it.

Soon, the only sound between them was Ariadne’s rapid tapping as she used the tablet to hack the building’s security. It was no match for Ariadne. Within a few minutes, she whooped in delight. “I’m in!”

The warehouse door gaped open with a metallic creak. There were no heat signatures on Ariadne’s scanner, but Tholosian soldiers had ways to cloak themselves if they wished to avoid detection. Clo, Eris, and Nyx pulled out their Mors, keeping the weapons raised as they crept into the dimly lit warehouse. The skylights along the ceiling let in just enough light to see inside.

But there was nothing there. It was completely empty except for the dust motes dancing in the dim light that filtered through the shatterproof, barred windows and crops of mold in the damp corners.

Nyx lowered her Mors and ran a hand through her hair. “Great. Nothing. A false trail.”

“No,” Ariadne said, annoyed. “The intel on the Oracle’s database was good. The ichor had been here as recently as last week. They must have just moved it. I don’t like this.”

Nyx glowered harder. “Maybe they knew we were coming.”

“No, they didn’t,” Ariadne shot back. “I was careful. Even if they moved the ichor, there should still be records somewhere. Manifests.”

Silence descended on the dusty warehouse, shafts of weak sunlight filtering through the gloom. Next to Clo, Rhea shivered. She looked uneasy, her face pale.

“You okay?” Clo asked her.

“I feel nauseated. I—” Rhea paused and tilted her head, as if listening. “Check for false walls. I don’t think this place is empty.” At Clo’s confused expression, Rhea folded her arms over her stomach. “I heard . . . I felt . . . I just . . .” She trailed off, pausing by the far wall. “Nyx. This wall. There’s something here.”

The soldier strode over and rapped on the wall. Hollow. Nyx ran her hands along the seams of cool concrete until she found the hidden latch.

A doorway, stairs descending underground.