They were both anxious, tired… just like everyone else in Thólos. There was no point in further argument. Instead both Claire and Maryanne fell into hurried preparations. Things needed to be built for Claire’s scheme, and technology learned. Maryanne’s explanations, the way she could make something dangerous from nothing, reminded Claire just how out of her element she was.

Rudimentary bombs, how to override basic access panels—Maryanne was teaching her instead of just making them herself, wordlessly reminding Claire that their association would soon end and that the fumbling Omega would be on her own.

When all the tools were ready, Claire showered, scrubbing off any lingering trace of Corday’s scent. Maryanne was in that bathroom applying lipstick as if they were planning an outing, not an attack against the tyrants holding the city. Blinking at the mirror, Maryanne froze, jaw agape at the sight of the Omega’s naked body.

The Alpha touched without asking. “What is all of this?”

Claire didn’t need to look down to know what Maryanne found so disturbing. “The price of my freedom.”

Careful fingers traced the yellowing handprint over Claire’s throat. “And your neck?”

An incoherent noise, a mockery of speech got stuck in Claire’s mouth. “It’s nothing.”

Maryanne took her chin and turned Claire’s face to meet her own big brown eyes. She smiled, teasing. “Your feet are disgusting. You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

And the pain was a blessing, the perfect distraction. “Shepherd didn’t allow me access to shoes. I had to run in the streets barefoot.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t bother me and it won’t slow me down.”

Maryanne crouched to see why fresh blood was running down her old friend’s shin. “Your knee needs stitches.”

“Nothing I can do about that right now.”

“Sit down, I’ll do it.”

It was so backwards to have Maryanne Cauley be the one to tend to her; as kids it was always the other way around. Watching the fully grown woman pull a needle and some metallic thread through her skin, feeling the pinch and burn, the world seemed so very strange. “Whatever happened to your mom?” Claire asked.

“Who fucking knows,” Maryanne muttered as she made another tight stitch. “Probably OD’d years ago.”

Claire just hummed, distracted. “My dad died four years back. Roadway accident.”

“Your pop was always pretty cool.”

Claire had to agree. “Yeah… I’m glad he’s not here to see this.”

Maryanne rubbed her lips together as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, she stood and gathered clothing appropriate for the mission and shoved the horrid black garb of Shepherd’s Followers towards Claire.

The Omega didn’t balk, just dressed silently while Maryanne squeezed her limber body into a matching uniform.