Ariadne’s delegate had been three inches taller, so there were lifts in her shoes—the mods could only do so much. It was strange to be that tall, to have mods alter her body. She wasn’t certain she liked the fit.

Ariadne hoped that no one recognized their stolen faces as they made their way down the path to where the Tholosian military ships would be parked. A safe-enough distance from the palace. Completely unarmed ships, or so the Tholosians pretended.

The uniforms they wore reminded Ariadne too much of her own wardrobe in the Temple. She could almost taste the sludge the Oracle gave her for every meal. Ariadne tried to breathe through it, like Nyx had taught her, but the filters in her nose itched. The one in her throat was tight and scratchy. She wasn’t fully convinced these would protect them against the ichor’s spores, but since they didn’t even know where to start trying to develop an antidote, Cato said they were their best shot.

As they drew closer to the security checkpoints, Rhea and Ariadne fell into their role: they walked with immaculate poise, hands clasped behind their backs. Perfect, professional delegates.

They passed through several security scans, and Ariadne’s manufactured identity cards worked each time. She still held her breath, certain that they’d see right through her. She’d never been a soldier. She’d just been another tool for the Oracle to use. Each checkpoint brought them closer to her tormentor.

Ariadne knew she’d have to challenge the Oracle. Face her maker.

She was still reeling from the team’s panicked escape from Macella. Gods, she thought she’d grown so strong. But the short glimmer of One’s presence on the screens around the framework had turned Ariadne into a small child again, cowering at the commands of an AI who acted as the only mother she had ever known. Rhea’s touch had given her courage, but Ariadne knew One would not risk losing again.

The Oracle would be planning One’s next move.

Watching, waiting for the opportunity.

Rhea subtly nudged her; Ariadne’s posture had wilted. With effort, she forced herself upright again and made eye contact with the soldiers, offering that imperceptible nod they gave each other.

She’d made these soldiers, just as surely as the Oracle had. How many of them would recognize her voice without its disguise? It had been her voice over the comm on every ship, in every home. It had been her voice crooning in their minds as they slept, urging them to lie back, close their eyes, clear their minds, just before One ripped through their neurons and made them perfect killers.