The Oracle hadn’t wanted a distinct voice, even when Ariadne suggested it. No, One had learned Ariadne’s own voice—her inflections, her tics, even the rhythm of her breathing—and kept it as One’s own. Stolen it and turned it cold.

Ariadne fought to keep her expression even.

Rhea must have noticed, because she brushed her shoulder against Ariadne’s. “I don’t know about you,” she said casually, “but after this, I’m planning another dance party.”

Ariadne choked back a laugh. “You mean where you make out with Clo the whole time?”

“We didn’t make out. We—”

“Gazed deeply into each other’s eyes?”

Rhea smiled slowly. “She does have lovely eyes, doesn’t she?”

“You should see the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention. All worshipful-like. I love it.”

“I love it too.” Rhea sighed. “I’m gone for her.”

“I know,” Ariadne said. They were both quiet as they continued through the ships, and Ariadne felt her anxiety mounting again. “Thank you. For trying to distract me.”

“We’ll get through this,” Rhea said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll stop it.”

They neared their quarry: Eleuther. The ship carrying the fuel for the military fleet. Ariadne had designed the sleep programming on all the soldiers who boarded any ship dispatched to military zones. She knew its system and how the Oracle appeared on the interface.

There were only skeleton crews guarding the ships. Most Tholosians were closer to the palace, unarmed but still around to lend help if anything went wrong. With luck, nothing would. In and out, galaxy crisis averted.

The soldier guarding the ship snapped to attention as they approached. “Delegates aren’t supposed to be back here,” he said, studying their uniforms.

Rhea gave a perfect Tholosian salute. “We’re extra security sent from Commander Octavia,” she said. Ariadne wondered if Rhea had purposely used the name of Talley’s partner on Ismara.

He frowned. “I don’t have any orders.”

“It’s above your clearance,” Rhea said, then before he could respond, she reached out and pressed a pressure point at his wrist. “Relax, soldier. You look tired.”

“I am,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Of course you are,” Rhea crooned. “They work you so hard here, don’t they? You’ve been scanning ships, organizing security . . .”

“Yes. No rest.”

Rhea made a sympathetic noise. “Avern, you poor thing. You must want to lie down and sleep.”

He shook his head, fighting her influence. “But—”

“Sleep.” Ariadne watched as Rhea pressed her fingers harder, her eyes narrowing. “Sleep.” The soldier collapsed against Rhea and she grunted. “Gods, he’s heavy. Help me with him.”

Ariadne scanned her tag and helped Rhea drag him into one of the docking bay’s supply closets; together, they bound his hands and feet, and gagged him with an old oil rag.