It didn’t matter how much she regretted what she’d done in the past, or how many people Nyx had killed, how much she knew she’d bathed her soul in blood. Undoing the Oracle’s programming had been like cutting out a piece of herself. She still felt empty. She knew how messed-up that was. You didn’t regret a damn thing when you had it programmed into your head that you shouldn’t.

Eris remained silent, letting Nyx work through her thoughts. Nyx wondered if Eris had thought the same when she left. Was there a void where her heart should be, or did something else eventually take its place? Gods, she hoped so. And she hated that she hoped.

“All right,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “All right, damn it.”

Eris nodded. She rose, but Nyx’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist hard. “Rhea and Ariadne are my responsibility. If anything happens to them . . .”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Eris lowered her gaze to Nyx’s fingers. “On my missions, their lives come before mine. Yours too.”

“So, you’re the captain, and if this ship is bound for a crash landing?”

“I’m throwing your ass on a bullet craft whether you like it or not.”

Nyx’s lips curved upward. This was different from Ariadne and Rhea. They were both good, heroic. And Nyx wasn’t good. She killed too damn easily. But this woman? They shared a background. Eris was just as bad as Nyx, but she was trying to be better than her nature, and that changed everything.

They strode back to the command center in silence, but it was almost comfortable. When the doors opened, Rhea’s eyebrows rose. “You changed your mind.”

Nyx lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

Ariadne grinned. “So, you’re coming?”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re stuck with me, kid.”

Rhea mouthed thank you to Eris. Nyx pretended not to see.

Ariadne started chattering. “I’ll help you fit the Pathos. It’s just a very, very small incision in your cerebrum, takes five minutes with a laser—”

“Great,” Nyx says dryly. “So, I just got a chip out of my head and now you’re putting another one in.”

Her hand went to the back of her head where the scar was hidden beneath her hair. Since Ariadne couldn’t leave the Temple, she’d hidden a bot in a flower delivery for Rhea in the Pleasure Garden. That little bot had acted as her hands as she performed the surgery through the vid-screen. Rhea had held Nyx’s hand the whole time. You’re doing so well, she would say. Almost done.

It took every ounce of effort Nyx had to keep from screaming.

“This one connects to the cerebrum, not the cerebellum,” Ariadne told her. “It won’t mess with your motor functions.”

“Not sure I find that reassuring.”