Knees locked and trembling, Mimi stood before the council.

  They were gathered in the heart of headquarters—a long-forgotten underground temple once devoted to Zeus, now reclaimed by the very children the god had failed. All surface entrances had been destroyed when the Triarchy invaded Delos, but Ellia had unearthed a hidden access point through the ruins of an old ventilation shaft.

  The temple, built before the Forgotten War, was entirely stone—walls, floors, even the massive vaults that loomed overhead. Combined with its subterranean depth, the cold was unrelenting. Mimi couldn’t tell if her legs trembled from nerves or from the chill soaking into her bones.

  Her gaze drifted upward to the dome-vaulted ceiling. Banners of the old gods hung in solemn tribute—all but Zeus. His absence was deliberate, louder than any curse.

  Directly above the council’s thrones hung the banner of Apollo, its golden threads catching what little light the chamber allowed. Mimi inclined her head slightly, as if petitioning the god for favor—or forgiveness.

  Her eyes flicked across the chamber to its opposite side.

  There, suspended above a shattered altar, hung the banner of Artemis. The fabric was pristine, but the stone beneath it was split clean down the center—as if something divine, or angry, had cracked it long ago. A silent reminder that Delos belonged to twins, not one—and that one of them had once turned her back on this place.

  The thought chilled Mimi more than the stone ever could.

  She lowered her gaze to the three masked figures seated before her.

  She knew them all, even if protocol demanded anonymity beneath their ceremonial masks. But knowing didn’t ease her nerves. Her fate lay in their hands.

  Her mission had been a success—mostly. She’d played her role with finesse, improvised where necessary, even secured a bonus. But she had failed to reach the extraction point. And that failure, however justified, now stood between her and everything she’d worked toward for three years.

  Of course I’d screw up the one mission that actually counts, she seethed inwardly, biting back a curse. Her justification would have to be airtight. No hesitation. No stumbles.

  The idea of not earning her feather— after three years of sweat and scars—stoked a deeper defiance. This wasn’t just some task. It was her birthright. She knew what she’d done was right. Efficient. Tactical. Necessary.

  The council shifted in their seats.

  Mimi closed her eyes. A kaleidoscope of memories bloomed behind her lids—faces, footfalls, the flash of steel. The colors sharpened. Organized themselves. Became coherent. When she opened her eyes again, the nervous sheen had burned away, replaced by something flintier. Calculating. Her brows drew inward, not with fear, but focus.

  She exhaled slowly, deliberately. Licked her lips. Swallowed. Then stepped into the fire.

  “Seeing as we already know the mission was a success,” Mimi began, her voice pitched with the careful control of someone trying to sound older than she was, “we also know that my part of the operation was flawless… right up until the very end.”

  She held each council member’s gaze—three masked figures cloaked in ceremony and quiet power. Their expressions were hidden behind the stylized visages of their chosen birds, but Mimi knew who was who. She’d spent three years studying them from the shadows—how they breathed, how they shifted their weight, how they tilted their heads when they were about to tear someone a new one. She even had nicknames for them, though she’d never dare use them here.

  If she made it through this debrief, she’d receive her own mask. Her feather. Her place among the flock.

  If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be exiled or punished—just reassigned. Gear maintenance. Water filtration. A life behind the walls instead of beyond them. Safe, sure, but… hollow. That didn’t feel like a future. Not for someone like her.

  Fueled by that dread, Mimi straightened—barely—letting her defiance masquerade as confidence.

  “So, yeah,” she continued, “I was the one sneaking aboard Kali Tyche to open the side-tender garage. The disguise worked like any other time. I thought it’d be more complicated, you know, being this ship is the shiniest, biggest thing I’ve ever tried to scam my way onto—but nah. I didn’t even have to chase anyone down or shout. They were practically waiting for me at the gangplank.”

  Her hands flicked as she talked, the words picking up speed. “I swear, ever since I started serving the savory bougatsa along with the sweet, I sell out before they even cool. No one likes soggy filo, it’s just—”

  A council member cleared their throat. Loudly. One of those deliberate, echoing clearings that said: get back on track. Or, more accurately: shut up.

  Mimi snapped her mouth shut, nodding once in apology. Right. Just the heist. No unnecessary garnish. She could do that. Probably.

  “Kali Tyche was at the fueling dock right on schedule,” she said, reining herself in. “Before trying my luck at the gangplank, I scoped things out. Went down to whatever pump Spiro was on and gave him his usual—a savory bougatsa and a pack of cigarettes.”

  She mimed handing something off, then continued, “By the time I closed my pouch and turned, there were two men and a lady at the gangplank, noses up, sniffing the air like bloodhounds. They waved me over, invited me aboard. I sold two sweet bougatsas, one savory, and five packs of smokes. After collecting what they owed plus a little ‘tip’”—she wiggled her brows, making it very clear the tip had not been enthusiastically volunteered—“I asked if there was anyone else aboard who might want a Delian delight or some smokes.”

  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, replaying it. “The big guy told me to go below deck and find Tarek—said he’d been whining for cigarettes all shift. Then the lady offered to walk me partway, since she was heading toward the galley and would pass his post.”

  Mimi spread her hands, a tiny spark of pride slipping through the nerves. “Two minutes later, I was standing outside the humming room.”

  All three masked heads tilted. Mimi winced and corrected herself quickly.

  “I mean the Prax reactor chamber. The—uh—humming room.”

  A nod from the Falcon, plus a soft chuckle—definitely Ellia—eased a little tension from Mimi’s spine.

  “So,” Mimi continued, “by then the sun was just sinking and I had about fifteen minutes before pickup. No time to waste. Luckily for me, our guy Tarek is a full-blown stogie fiend. He bought almost everything I had—left me with four packs—and then immediately went outside to smoke. Perfect.”

  She rolled a hand dismissively. “The lady kept on toward the galley, so I offered the other guard a sweet or savory bougatsa. Dude didn't hesitate—took one of each. As soon as he paid—plus my tip”—she winked—“I remembered the jammer Ellia gave me. You know, the cute little knick-knack that scrambles camera feeds without alerting command.”

  The Falcon tilted her head. “We know what a jammer is, Mimi.”

  Mimi blinked. “…Right. Just, uh, for the record. Protocol and all that.”

  She mimed squeezing something in her pocket.

  “So I turn it on. And immediately the guard almost drops his bougatsa when his communicator beeps. He answers, and guess what?”

  She waited. The council did not respond. Not a glance. Not a breath.

  Yikes, tough crowd, she thought, forcing down a knot in her throat.

  “What?” she asked herself dramatically. “The cameras! Down again. Third time this week, apparently. Server room must’ve been near. So he stomps off muttering about updates and how command’s gonna skin him.”

  Mimi pointed down an invisible hallway. “Before he got too far, I asked if anyone else wanted a snack or smokes. He said galley is third left and through the double doors. Then off he went—dropping filo everywhere like a breadcrumb trail.”

  She leaned forward conspiratorially. “So I head for the humming room. But just as I get close, I hear the outer door open. So I pivot, hands up, smiling like I belong there.”

  She mimicked a man’s exhausted slouch.

  “It’s Tarek. And he looks—gods—he looks like he regrets every life choice that led him to this shift. Before he can close the door, I’m already blocking it. Kinda startled the poor Triarch.”

  A sharp clap echoed—Falcon’s hands meeting once.

  Mimi nearly cried at the effort of not rolling her eyes. These people were dry.

  Silence returned. Mimi filled it.

  “Anyway! Tarek was bored out of his mind and obviously wanted to be at the bottom of a drink with a cig. So I told him that his—uh—not his homie!” she snapped as the Owl leaned forward in suspicion. “Relax. I didn’t say homie. Do you want details or the recap? Because right now you're giving mixed signals.”

  A click of someone’s tongue, then the Owl gestured for her to continue.

  “As I was saying—Tarek was bored. I told him the other guard was off fixing cameras, then I leaned in conspiratorially and made him an offer he couldn’t resist: one of those special cigarettes made by Dionysus.”

  At that, all three councilors leaned forward.

  Mimi couldn’t stop herself—she grinned.

  Got ‘em.

  “Tarek’s eyes lit up—literally. Then dimmed again and he started smiling like a banshee. He checks for witnesses, throws an arm around my shoulders, and leads me back outside. Less than a minute later, I’m richer, he’s lighting up, inhaling, and—boom—he’s face-down on the deck.”

  She held up her hands. “I don’t know why anyone smokes that stuff! I just wanted him distracted long enough to sneak inside. Was he supposed to pass out?”

  The Raven nodded. “Normally it doesn’t. We spiced it up a bit.”

  “A bit?” Mimi sputtered. “I know he wasn’t huge, but half a puff and he’s crawling like a stunned crab before collapsing? Did you dip it in beast tranquilizer or something?”

  “Something like that,” Ellia said. “Now keep going—we have much to do before tonight. If your deviation is unanimously ruled necessary.”

  Mimi shrank slightly, then forced herself upright again.

  “Right. So, Tarek’s out cold, so I clean him out.”

  She unclipped the leather pouch from her belt and tossed it. It clinked when it hit the floor—but none of the council reached for it.

  Her chest fell. Not even a nod. Ugh.

  Fine. Lesson learned.

  “So, with stogie-boy napping, I unlocked the reactor room. Didn’t even need the cipher—Tarek had a keycard. Swipe, slot, back in his pocket. No alarms. No trace.”

  She lifted two fingers.

  “It took me maybe fifteen seconds to find which cradle held the artifact-grade battery. And listen—I don’t know why, but it didn’t just look different. It felt different. Like the air bent around it.”

  Her voice slowed, softened.

  She looked down involuntarily, recalling.

  “It was like reality leaned toward it. Or away. I don’t know.”

  When she glanced up, the council was writing. All three.

  Her pulse jumped.

  There was one more thing. Something she hadn’t told anyone. Something she wasn’t even sure happened.

  Her eyes drifted upward—drawn without permission—to Apollo’s banner. Gold thread, sunlit even in shadow.

  And suddenly she was back in the reactor chamber.

  Her knuckles brushing cold metal.

  That impossible surge.

  A flash—too bright, too intimate to be hers.

  A cascade of images, emotions not her own.

  A face haloed in molten gold.

  Eyes like twin suns turning toward her—seeing her.

  A voice without sound, a warmth without source.

  A god.

  It had to be.

  Apollo.

  The memory hit so sharply she forgot to breathe.

  Why me?

  Why that moment?

  Why would touching a battery—no, an artifact—show him?

  Her heart thudded. She nearly spoke—but something in her gut snapped shut around the truth.

  Not yet.

  Not until she understood it herself.

  If she even could.

  Silence stretched.

  Too long.

  Far too long.

  A sharp CRACK broke it—a deliberate clap, a pen against stone, she wasn’t sure.

  Mimi jolted.

  The Falcon’s voice cut through the haze, gentler now but edged with concern.

  “Little bird… are you alright?”

  Mimi forced herself to look up, schooling her expression into something steady, something believable—burying Apollo’s face deep enough that nothing leaked through.

  “Yeah,” she said, swallowing. “Just… recalling the layout. I’m fine.”

  But her fingers still trembled.

  And she didn’t dare raise her eyes to the banner again.

  Mimi chewed her lip, then nodded—once, sharp. She should tell them. Every instinct said so. But the memory of Apollo’s face was still a raw nerve, a bruise she didn’t understand. So she folded it away and focused on the part she could explain.

  “Anyway,” she said, forcing her voice steady, “while the battery was exposed, I dropped Ellia’s little ghost-eye on the containment cradle—the coin-sized lens thing? Nearly jumped out of my skin when it started scanning. You could warn a girl next time something’s about to shoot beams of light everywhere.”

  No reaction. Tough crowd.

  “Couple seconds later, the simulation bar lit up around the rim—full circle. Wild. It captured the whole chamber, battery and all, just like that. With the imagery saved, the extraction crew just had to swap the real core and flip the ghost-eye on. Anyone doing a lazy check or half-asleep audit sees a perfect projection and calls it a night.”

  She rolled her shoulders back, settling into the rhythm of the retelling.

  “After that, I cracked the side-tender garage from inside the humming room and used that goop stuff you gave me on the door sensor—seriously, what did that do?”

  The Falcon exhaled sharply—annoyed, though trying not to sound it.

  “Newer ships have a diagram in the command room with lights for every pressure-sealed door. Red if the door isn’t fully closed. The compound lets the sensor read green even if the lock isn’t fully engaged.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Ohhhhhh,” Mimi nodded sagely. “Got it. Fake-sealed door. Nice. Okay—after that I shut everything neat and tidy and checked the time. One minute before pickup. Perfect timing, right?”

  She hesitated, her bravado dimming.

  “Then… I made for extraction. That’s when things went sideways.”

  She inhaled.

  “The moment I touched dry land, someone shouted from Kali Tyche. One of the deckhands realized he’d tipped me.” A tight cringe. “Apparently that was his drinking money. I told him I’d give it back, but he made such a scene that his buddies checked their pouches too. Next thing I know, four of them are storming down the docks like I kicked their dog. I’m pretty sure it was the three who invited me onboard and told me to find Tarek-- plus an extra guy I didn’t recognize. They probably wanted to cover their asses since they were responsible for inviting me on board. Too late.”

  She gestured broadly, mimicking chaos.

  “I faded into the crowd, kept low, moved up Main. They split—two went up the central street, one cut left along the water, and the last one…” She flicked a hand.

  “Right toward the extraction point.”

  The council leaned in—not visibly, but in that subtle way trained predators give attention. Mimi resisted the urge to beam. Praise addicted, she told herself. Fix it later.

  She wiggled her hips, caught herself doing it, and dove into the next part.

  “I cut across Main before the other two even passed the fish butchers. Stayed one block north so I could keep eyes on the target without him spotting me. Then I got his attention. He took the bait—good boy—and I peeled off toward the edge of town to draw him away.”

  Her voice dipped.

  “Yeah… I’m not repeating the tactic I used. It worked, okay?”

  She plowed ahead.

  “He chased me, naturally. But it was old town—empty, quiet, fresh rain on the cobblestones. Perfect hunting ground. No crowds. No cover. Just me, slippery stone, and enough room to play the game.”

  A razor-edged smirk.

  “Keeping him at a safe distance was easier than stealing sand from the beach.”

  Then—

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Not loud. But pointed. Precise. Familiar.

  Ellia’s rhythm.

  Mimi froze.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Had she rambled? Sounded too proud? Too flippant?

  The tapping meant: Focus. Respect the weight of this.

  Mimi swallowed, forcing her shoulders down.

  She reined herself in—tight, disciplined, controlled.

  “Right,” she murmured. “Staying on track.”

  Chewing her cheek, Mimi steadied her breath.

  The next part—she didn’t want to get into it.

  But she had to. Anything to shut down that infernal tapping.

  “When I reached the top of town, the sun was down. Completely. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could hear him—footfalls, wet on stone, trying to hide under the rain.” Her voice thinned to a thread. “He stayed a few blocks back, just far enough to make me doubt I was imagining it. So I cut left toward the old road. Passed Papou’s station first. He gave me the all-clear—just a flick of his chin—but I still didn’t like the odds.”

  She swallowed, jaw tightening until her teeth creaked.

  “From there, I crossed the main square and headed toward the temple and the mid-town safehouse.”

  Her shoulders rose like hackles.

  “That place was supposed to be empty. But those damn sea-cocks had broken in—lounging around like they owned the place. Drinking. Smoking. Stinking up everything they touched.”

  Her disgust was clipped, sharp; each word landed like a slap.

  “I didn’t stick around. Still no sign of my tail, but I wasn’t taking chances. So I didn’t risk the rendezvous. I turned back toward… home.”

  She winced the second the word left her mouth.

  “I mean—back to headquarters. I couldn’t jeopardize the operation. If he’d stayed too close, I planned to break off toward the Midland woods. Lose him in the thickets. Draw him away.”

  A soft throat-clear cut through the chamber.

  She stiffened instantly.

  The owl-masked councilor leaned forward, his voice deep and deliberate—judicial.

  “And why didn’t you contact anyone once you knew you wouldn’t make the extraction?”

  Mimi swallowed. Her throat felt lined with sand. The attempt to speak produced a rasp, then a painful cough. She forced three gulps of air down before her voice finally obeyed her.

  “I reached for my communicator to warn Galia,” she said, quiet but firm. “But I saw him. Still following me. Just far enough to blur into the dark. If I sent a message and he caught me… he could check the logs. Trace the signal. Compromise everything.”

  She lifted her chin a fraction.

  “So I didn’t. And sure, I could’ve used the open radio frequency—but if he was a Hero of Olympus, or even lightly augmented, he’d hear the ping before I finished speaking. I couldn’t risk it.”

  She added, almost rebelliously:

  “And Tarek’s eyes did that glowing thing you warned us about, so—I wasn’t taking chances.”

  Damn, she thought, I’m getting good at this fast-talk stuff.

  She hid the smirk that tried to climb out.

  The owl-masked councilor gave a single, measured nod. Approval without indulgence.

  It steadied her—but only a little.

  Because there was more.

  Much more.

  “He kept to the edge of my vision,” she continued. “Always behind a corner, always in a puddle’s reflection, always just outside focus. Letting the rain do most of the hiding. I didn’t want him to know I’d clocked him, so I played dumb. Pretended to be lost. Squinted at signs. Closed every cattle gate like I was some rule-abiding idiot.”

  She huffed, brittle and humorless.

  “All just excuses to pivot, track his distance, and confirm he was still there while I looked for the right moment to split.”

  Her voice faltered.

  Her brow pulled tight—realization hitting her like a blow from inside.

  The exhaustion wasn’t just from tonight.

  It was layered.

  Old.

  Calcified from months of preparation, sleepless nights, and the unspoken obligation to never, ever be the one who fails the flock.

  Every member carried weight.

  Every route had a plan A through E.

  Every mistake had a cost.

  Tonight, the bill had finally come due.

  Her eyes stung before she realized tears had formed.

  They fell without warning—hot streaks that warped the chamber, turning the masked council into smudged silhouettes. Her chest hitched as the weight of everything—every step, every decision, every breath taken while running for her life—crashed down like a wave breaking over glass.

  “Mimi,” came the Raven’s voice—soft, firm, unmistakably hers.

  It cut through the fog like a bell chime in a blizzard.

  “It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” Ellia said. “But we need the rest. For the flock to clean up the aftermath, we need the whole picture. Just a little longer, little bird. If not for you…”

  A breath.

  A shift.

  “…then for the flock.”

  Sniffling, Mimi wiped at her face, though the tears kept slipping out in ripples.

  She blinked hard—once, twice—then scrubbed her cheeks again, forcing the trembling in her lips to still.

  The images surged back—relentless, disordered, like scattered projector slides:

  Noise.

  Rain.

  Breath.

  Darkness.

  Blood.

  Every third slide—a sensation:

  Her body flailing.

  Her vision tunneling.

  The edges going black.

  Then her hands flew to her neck.

  A forgotten detail slammed back into focus.

  Mimi fumbled at her collar, pushing aside the rain-stiff ruffles of her pale-blue linen. Beneath it, bruises—deep, violent purples—banded her throat in uneven rings, disappearing beneath the black velvet line of her undershirt.

  The room inhaled as one.

  All three council members stiffened. The stillness shattered as Ellia surged upright, palms slamming against the arms of her throne. Her voice cracked through the chamber like a tidal breaker on stone.

  “Mimi!”

  The single word consumed everything.

  The whispers beyond the doors ceased. Boots went still. Feathers stilled mid-rustle. Even Ellia’s ever-tapping foot froze.

  The only sound left was Mimi’s heart—hammering in her chest, syncing unconsciously with Ellia’s rhythm: firm, relentless, protective.

  Mimi looked up. Met Ellia’s gaze. Tried to speak—nothing came out.

  Tears welled again, but Ellia’s voice caught her before she could fall apart.

  “Little bird,” she said, fierceness softening but not fading. “Tell us what happened. Let us help. Let us bring justice to you.”

  A beat. A shift.

  “And if not for you…”

  Her tone dropped, final as a vow.

  “…then for the flock.”

  Mimi shut her eyes.

  For the flock.

  For the flock.

  For. The. Flock.

  When she opened them again, something behind them had changed. The trembling stilled. Her gaze sharpened—not from defiance, but from clarity, from choice.

  “Papou’s plot,” she said quietly. “I’d lost sight of him by then. Thought maybe I was free. My plan was to cut through the front gate, swing around to the back, then take the old dirt road behind Papou’s fields. From there I could cross the farmlands, buy myself space, slip into the woods, and head toward headquarters.”

  She exhaled.

  “I didn’t make it past the gate.”

  A breath in—thin, steady, intentional.

  “When I opened it, I got hit. A welter slug. Back of the thigh. Right on the bone.” Her hand brushed the spot instinctively. “I dropped forward, straight into the mud. Didn’t even have time to flip over before I felt him. Legs. Either side of my back.”

  She stopped. Breathed. Sniffled.

  For the flock.

  “The next part happened fast,” she said. “But not so fast I forgot.”

  Her voice went rough—sandpaper over an open wound.

  “He grabbed fistfuls of my hair and dragged me along Papou’s wall. He kept ranting about how thieves needed to be taught a lesson. That it was his ‘civic duty’ to make sure I didn’t stay a thief my whole life.”

  She swallowed but continued.

  If she wanted her feather, she had to lock herself away and speak the truth.

  Not for her—but for them.

  “I managed to roll onto my back while he was dragging me. Then I grabbed the fingers tangled in my hair.”

  She paused, eyes narrowing as she relived the moment.

  “What is it?” asked the owl-masked councilor.

  “I mean no dishonor,” she said quickly, hands flexing in her lap, “and I would never withhold information. But the next part happened faster than I could consciously register. Everything I was taught—every drill, every reflex—hit me at once. I acted on instinct.”

  “What instinct, little bird?”

  This time it was the falcon, voice sharp but curiosity-driven.

  “Pace and cadence do not matter. Only your choices. Speak.”

  Mimi nodded, closing her eyes.

  “I grabbed his fingers and pulled. Didn’t do much—just pissed him off—but it made him yank harder. As he pulled, I used his momentum to bring my legs overhead and kicked. My heel hit the pit of his elbow where the bicep meets the forearm. I think it pierced the skin and snapped off inside—my heel is still missing.”

  Pens scratched parchment—one line marking technique, another marking “missing heel.”

  Mimi ignored both.

  “Pissed and in pain, he started spitting venom about little thieves who never learned right from wrong.”

  Her lip curled; fear transmuted to iron.

  “He yanked me harder, dragged me between his legs, and sat on top of me. Knocked the wind out of me. My arms were pinned at my sides—I couldn’t move. Then he grabbed one of my wrists and slammed it into the mud next to my face. That broke my communicator.”

  A tremor grew under her skin, flickering down her arms.

  “He pulled out a dagger,” she said, breath quaking, “and started talking about how his village marks thieves—a finger per offense.”

  Her voice sank. “I couldn’t move. I twisted, tried to push, but I couldn’t.”

  She looked at the council then—eyes hooded, apology woven into every angle of her posture.

  “The arm pinned at my side managed to grab the stiletto in my boot. But I couldn’t get it free. And even if I had…”

  Her voice shrank, then resurfaced, quieter.

  “…I don’t think I would’ve been able to kill him.”

  Her chin dipped.

  “And not just because of what it would mean for the flock.”

  Her eyes fell to the floor, grief pooling in their corners.

  “…but because I found a picture in the pouch I’d lifted from him. A wife. Two kids.”

  Her breath stuttered.

  “The Triarch was a father. I know what it’s like to lose that. I couldn’t give that fate to someone else.”

  A heavy silence descended—thick as velvet, sharp as a blade.

  Mimi, unaware—or uncaring—of the council’s reactions, let a grim, almost feral smile tug at her lips.

  “That’s when the Triarch scum-bag shifted his weight,” she said, voice tight. “Gave me just enough room to knee him square in the nads—the family jewels, if you will.”

  The falcon blinked once. The owl didn’t move. The raven’s shoulders rose in the tiniest suppressed snort.

  Mimi barreled on.

  “I ran—well, tried to. By the time I scrambled out from under him and turned, he snagged my ankle. I stumbled, got back up, and grabbed his coin pouch. I was gonna throw it at his stupid face, but before I could pivot he was already behind me. An arm locked around my neck and he started squeezing.”

  Her hands drifted unconsciously toward her throat.

  “He just kept talking,” she said, disgust edging into her tone. “Stuff about how the quicker I passed out, the quicker he could drag me back to the ship. Something about Libya. Something about ‘doing time.’ I—”

  The bravado flickered as memory pressed.

  “Who in their right mind would just let someone strangle them?” she said. “Not me.”

  Her voice wavered despite the bite she tried to keep in it.

  Although she tried to disguise it in humor, the truth was simple: that moment had terrified her.

  The powerlessness.

  The inability to breathe.

  The realization that a single man’s hands could erase everything she was.

  She never wanted to feel that small again.

  NEVER.

  Steeling herself, Mimi pushed through the memory.

  “I stomped his boot. Didn’t do much at first, but the mud suctioned around it. When he tried to shift, he slipped—just a little. His hold loosened.” Her lips twitched into something vicious. “I threw my head back as hard as I could. Praise goddess Tyche—one hit broke his nose and knocked him on his ass.”

  A few notes scratched across parchment.

  Mimi continued.

  “While he was screaming and holding his face, I jabbed him with that backup sedative you gave me. The blue one not one of those Dionysus stogies.” She threw an arm towards the council, mimicking the jab. “A second later he slumped forward. And then… everything caught up to me.”

  Her shoulders drooped.

  “I tried to keep moving but… I just passed out. Next thing I knew, Ellia was standing over me.”

  Pens stopped. Silence stretched.

  Then all three councilors looked up at her.

  Mimi’s expression had changed.

  Her eyes had narrowed into slits. Her brows crashed inward. Her jaw jutted. Ragged breaths pulled through teeth like a cornered animal.

  Before anyone could speak, Mimi launched into a frantic rush of words.

  “All in all, I fulfilled my part of the heist,” she declared, hands fisting at her sides. “I boarded Kali Tyche. Placed the ghost-eye. Opened the tender garage. Got off the ship. And I’m here standing before you.”

  The council opened their mouths—

  Mimi cut them off again.

  “If the damn Triarch hadn’t noticed his missing pouch, everything would’ve been perfect! If he’d noticed five seconds later I’d have been in the clear. And yeah, I admitted I couldn’t kill him—but that shouldn’t be a weakness! There was nothing about killing Triarchs in the heist overview—absolutely nothing! Killing him would’ve complicated everything, and—and—”

  Her voice cracked.

  “…and I was almost the one who lost everything tonight.”

  For the first time, she stopped.

  Her face twisted, eyes bright with unshed tears.

  A beat—

  Then a sound broke the tension.

  A chuckle.

  The raven’s mask dipped with soft laughter, the relief in it warm and unmistakable. Ellia rose, her voice carrying that familiar mix of command and comfort.

  “Worry not, little bird. Everything you’ve said is valid.”

  Mimi’s face bunched again—half frustration, half relief.

  “I know. And that is why I deserve my feather. I’ve spent the last three—”

  “ENOUGH.”

  Ellia stepped off the dais, removing her mask as she descended.

  The warmth of her smile unraveled every frayed nerve in the girl.

  “I speak for all of us when I say you dealt with your situation to the best of your ability—and the best the circumstances allowed.”

  Before she could reach Mimi, all three councilors’ communicators buzzed at once.

  A chorus of beeps and buzzes echoed beyond the chamber walls. The shuffling in the hall shifted into a roar of cheers.

  Mimi’s stomach plummeted.

  She darted her gaze between the councilors.

  “What is it? My communicator is a little broken, remember?”

  They didn’t answer—not immediately.

  Her heart spiraled.

  Maybe the cheers were panic.

  Maybe the Triarch had rallied the others.

  Maybe the entire operation had—

  Ellia’s smile widened.

  “Kali Tyche has left the port,” she announced. “The heist was a success.”

  Relief crushed her.

  Mimi collapsed to her knees, folding inward as sobs wracked her body.

  She might’ve fallen deeper—into dark, spiraling fear—if a gentle hand hadn’t touched her shoulder.

  “Mimi,” Ellia murmured. “You’re safe. There’s nothing to fear now.”

  Ellia crouched, guiding Mimi’s arm over her shoulders, lifting her with ease.

  Then she turned to the remaining councilors, expression sharpened to steel.

  “Swallow team to Papou’s,” she ordered. “Clean the scene. No trace of a scuffle. With Kali Tyche already gone to sea, we can’t risk suspicion. If command comes sniffing around and discovers the tech is missing at sea, everything unravels and they will investigate Delos.”

  She checked the glowing band on her wrist.

  “After that, sweep to the old temple of Apollo. I have a new recruit scheduled to meet us in an hour and twenty-three— 0330 to be exact. She’s coming from the brothels. Scout her first. If there’s even a whiff of betrayal—leave her.”

  The councilors nodded and slipped out through the altar doors.

  “And leave something for the old geezer,” Ellia added. “Coins. Paradox crystals. A couple Xaos shards. This mess landed on his plot—he’s earned more than silence. Take it from headquarters coffers.”

  Finally, she turned back to Mimi—her voice softening again.

  “As for you, little bird,” she said gently, “gather your things and rest. Tonight, a feather falls in your honor.”

  Mimi swayed, eyelids heavy, exhaustion pulling at her.

  Ellia steadied her.

  “Go, little one,” she whispered. “Drift among dreams of laurels. And when next we speak… may they have been bestowed upon you.”