The alarms clamored through the palace. Ariadne flinched. So much noise, too much noise, too much too much. She wanted to scream. At any moment, the royal guards would be there to arrest them. Nyx would be executed. Ariadne would be taken back to the Temple.

Ariadne froze. They were going to be trapped. She was going to be under the Oracle’s eye again, and this time, she’d never make it out. This time—

“Ariadne.” Nyx shook her shoulders. “Do you understand?” Ariadne nodded jerkily. Nyx shoved her forward. “Then let’s go.”

Nyx opened the door and peeked out. All clear.

<What’s the plan?> Clo sounded alert but not surprised.

Ariadne would have frozen again if not for Nyx propelling her forward. Clo knew. She knew that Eris was Princess Discordia this whole time. The fight on Ismara—

<If we survive this, you and me will have a talk about secrets.> Nyx’s thoughts were so cold, Ariadne shivered. <Ariadne and I are going to make our way to the hangar. Load up and clear us a path, because we’ll have company.>

<What about Eris?>

Nyx’s hold on Ariadne tightened. <She told us to get out, so that’s what we’re doing.>

Ariadne was shocked, but Nyx sounded furious. As a soldier, Ariadne knew Nyx hated surprises and hated secrets among her friends. Ariadne felt the same: If plan A fell through, then plans B, C, D, through Z shouldn’t come with finding out one of your colleagues was a dead princess who was once more brutal than her own brother. Contingency plans were difficult enough; they were downright impossible with lies.

<I should have seen,> Ariadne thought as Nyx dragged her out of the room. <I should have guessed.>

<Kid, I’m going to need you to do me a favor and focus on not dying. We can deal with Eris’s bullshit later. Got it?>

Out in the hallway, the alarms were almost deafening. Soldiers rounded the corner from the main stairwell and opened fire. Nyx shoved Ariadne behind her and kicked a hallway table over for cover. Delicate vases shattered to the floor around them. Ariadne cringed. Too loud. Too messy. She couldn’t think.

“Eighteen soldiers,” Nyx said to Ariadne. “Count my blasts.”

“W— Why?”

“Keeps me motivated.”

No. Nyx was trying to keep Ariadne distracted. Ariadne felt a surge of gratitude.

Nyx whirled, steadied her gun against the table edge, and fired off at a rapid pace. One. Two. Three. Ariadne counted the blasts, focusing on the numbers, the feel of the words formed by lips and tongue.

Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Numbers made sense. Numbers were easy. She didn’t have to focus on anything but saying them.

Eight. Nine—