Achilles: “No one’s coming for you, ever. You know why?”

Thisbe: “Pray tell.”

Achilles: “You’re evil.”

Thisbe: “You must be kidding.”

Achilles: “Murder has consequences, Thisbe, the unnatural betrayal and murder of your lover, of three lovers!”

Thisbe: “Unnat—”

Achilles: “No semantics. I know what terrible acts are forced on men by desperation and the will of Fate, and what terrible acts we bring into the world ourselves. You kill people because you enjoy killing people.”

Thisbe: “And Mycroft doesn’t? You don’t?”

Achilles: “Not in cold blood. You risked exposing O.S., and blackmailed your own bash’ into letting you get away with murder, because you enjoy pushing people to suicide, just for selfish fun. No one wants that, Thisbe. No one wants you. No one will ever want you. The trial starts tomorrow, Prospero’s trial, the great trial that will test the mettle of all these leaders and Hives and peoples, and you won’t be there because you’re not worthy of it. I’ve talked to Papadelias. You’re not going to be tried for being part of O.S. You’re going to be tried for the murders of Luca Cormor, Quinn Prichard, and Alex Limner—your lovers, Thisbe, whom you drove to their deaths for nothing!”

Thisbe: “My portfolio. I’m the only one in the bash’ who has one of my own. Even Ockham just has their government commissions, but I took the initiative.”

Achilles: “Would you have tried it on me? If I weren’t immune since I never watch movies. Did it bother you, having someone in your life you couldn’t play like a puppet? Or did you comfort yourself thinking that you could crush me between finger and thumb, like the bug you seem to think all other human beings are?”

Thisbe: “I’ve hurt you. It wasn’t like that, Major, not between us. What we had was—”

Achilles: “You are nothing to me, Thisbe! You love nothing and you honor nothing.”

Thisbe: “You won’t get better terms by throwing a tantrum. I know from your face you’re thinking about what my craft could do on a riot field. Do you want me to fix Mycroft? Consider it done. Shall I fix Carlyle Foster? Fix the Senate? Anyone? Mycroft started to ask me for help with something involving Cardigan. I can do it. I don’t know what it was, but I can do it.”

Achilles: “Sniper…”

Thisbe: “Yes?”