The thought of influencing them still made her recoil. She’d tried to do it on Zelus, the night of the mutiny. But at the first Morsfire, the first bloodshed, she’d lost it. The sight of Nyx taking the soldiers out one by one—no pause, no hesitation—had frozen her thoughts. The pain and death had driven her to her knees. By the time she’d recovered, they were all dead, their blank faces burned into her memory. Nyx’s face had been nearly as still, locking away her guilt.

Rhea drew a shaking breath. This time, she’d be stronger. This time, she’d save them.

The ship was close, caught in Zelus’s beam but not fully docked. They slipped through the space, and Ariadne opened Lysicrates’ bay remotely. Their shuttle slunk in and landed. A parasite. An invader.

Rhea pulled her coat around her, cold despite the climate-controlled bay. Lysicrates was much smaller than Zelus, and she felt closed in, claustrophobic.

Nyx leaned toward Rhea. “Breathe. You can do this.”

“Right,” she said. It was not her first battle, and it would not be their last. But she couldn’t stop the dread that coiled in her stomach.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Cato and Nyx tossed the canisters into the air ducts. It would only take a few minutes for the sleeping solution to worm its way through the ship.

Nyx gestured for them to move forward.

They made their way through the corridors. Everything was stark. Too clean, too perfect. The hallways were metal, polished, the dim light from above making the chrome almost glow.

The Philanians lived far enough from the Three Sisters that their culture had shifted, but their loyalty remained unshakable, thanks to the Oracle. They prided themselves on two principles: take only what they need; use only what they must. They lived in small, spare quarters, trained long hours, and ate simple food.

Rhea sometimes wondered what they truly thought of the Empire’s ostentatious displays of wealth and excess. The delegates were on their way to a lavish feast, with more food than the hundreds of guests could hope to eat. Dresses, robes, and suits that cost eye-watering amounts of money, woven and sewn by people who ate as simply as the Philanians but only because they could not afford anything richer. An evening of shining lights, beautiful courtesans, the full display of the Empire.

They were loyal, but their beliefs were at odds with the Empire’s principles. In the past, that would have been enough to plant the seeds of doubt that grew and flourished into a rebellion. Now, even if they harbored hints of resentment, their emotions would inevitably be tamped down by the Oracle.

<Ariadne,> Nyx asked. <Where are the delegates and the soldiers?>

<In the bridge, as instructed.>

<Are they moving?>

<Hard to tell.>