Nyx pushed Ariadne to the ground and covered her with her body as return Morsfire battered the table. Glass from shattered vases cut into Ariadne’s legs, but she couldn’t focus on that. Any moment, the Oracle would be deploying another line of defense. One couldn’t risk Nyx taking out too many royal guards.

This wouldn’t work. What would? Think. Think. Think! She shook her head as if she could rattle a plan loose. She pressed her fingers to the rug, focusing on textures. This was fine. Focus. Focus.

Yes.

Nyx opened fire again as Ariadne counted, her voice firmer this time. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Texture. Renewed focus. The Oracle would be filling the command . . .

Ariadne scrabbled at her pockets, shoving two tiny filters up her nose. She’d brought a bunch—just in case—because she knew what Oracle could do. What One’s protocol was when things grew too messy. Ariadne grabbed for Nyx.

“What—”

“Just trust me!”

With a soft swear, Nyx holstered her Mors and shoved the filters in. They both clamped their mouths shut.

Not a moment later, the alarms cut off. Ariadne heard the hiss of gas from the overhead dispensers, and a thick haze blanketed the hallway. Down the hall, the surviving soldiers dropped hard to the floor, unconscious but alive. The stuff was strong enough to fell a Lacustrian sea monster.

Quiet. Noise gone. The silence was like an embrace.

Nyx moved her fingers in an indication to go. They crept quickly down the hallway. When Nyx went to move the way they came with Eris, Ariadne held her back and shook her head. <One will be sending the rest of the Royal Guard that way. We’re going to have to go another route.>

<So, how are we getting out, kid?>

<Give me a second.> Why couldn’t she think now that it was quiet? Logic had been her comfort in the face of chaos.

Soldiers in gas masks hurried in formation through the thick mist of the hallway. Shouts echoed around her.

They broke into Morsfire.

Nyx grabbed Ariadne. <Run!>

They kept low, sprinting down the hallway as blasts dotted the walls around them. Was Ariadne feeling light-headed? She hoped the filters were holding.

Numbers. Counting. One, she thought fiercely, her lips forming the word. Two. Three. Four. Five—

<Nyx! Go right!> The map of the palace emerged from Ariadne’s tangled thoughts. Yes. This was the way.

Nyx spun Ariadne into a wall a moment before a shot sizzled the wall where her head had been. Then they were running again, their breath a roar in the quiet hallway.

<Clo, where the fuck are you?> Nyx returned fire behind her.

<Still at the hangar. They’ve closed up the hatch and I’m playing whack-a-silthole with a bunch of security and this ship’s Mors weaponry.>