"Two days," Ellia murmured, brow furrowing. "We've never stacked heists this close. Too much heat. Too much risk."

  She rolled the thought around like a stone in her palm. This run wasn’t just another swipe at Triarch coffers—if it worked, it would buy the Flock time, safety… maybe even a future. But the margin for error had shrunk razor-thin.

  As the weight of that settled, the ground beneath her boots shifted from stone to soil. The hard, cobbled lane softened into the familiar crunch of the farmlands—the island’s old lifeline, and in a quiet way, hers, too. Ahead, a dilapidated wooden gate sagged on its hinges, groaning just enough to pry open a flood of recent memories.

  The earth beyond was scuffed and scarred, still bearing the faint ghosts of that night.

  So much had changed since then.

  Mimi—gods, Mimi—had been tested in ways no girl her age should have been. Not by gods, not by Prax, but by the cruelty of a single man who thought teaching a thief a lesson meant showing her how powerless a body could feel under someone else’s weight. She hadn’t killed him; she couldn’t. And Ellia, even now, felt the echo of that failure in the girl’s eyes.

  That moment had rattled Mimi—not because she froze, but because she believed freezing meant she wasn’t worthy of the Flock. Three years of training, of devotion, and she thought she’d wasted it all in one heartbeat.

  But she’d stood again. She’d fought again.

  She’d earned her feather.

  She’d bonded to the Raven.

  And her offering… whatever Mimi stirred in that temple had awakened something old, something quiet, something that now hummed beneath the skin of every member of the Flock. It felt as though a hidden circuit had finally completed itself, a current running through them all with a unity Ellia had never experienced before.

  It had cost Mimi dearly to reach that moment.

  It cost them all something.

  And now they were at it again just two days after the most dangerous heist of their lives.

  As Ellia’s thoughts spiraled through everything that had shifted in the past few days, a chime cut through the haze.

  Ding. Ding.

  Her communicator buzzed.

  Dante—her Dante. The owl.

  He’d stayed behind at the wooded temple, the ancient sanctuary hidden beneath the canopy where the Flock held their trials. Where Mimi had stood barefoot in the dark, facing a power none of them yet understood. Dante was there now, waiting for the soul-bonded Raven to return and no doubt prying into whatever strange changes the grove had undergone overnight.

  Ellia, meanwhile, was headed somewhere very different—

  the abandoned Temple of Zeus, buried deep beneath a ruined marble effigy.

  Their true home. Their bunks, their stores, their makeshift kitchens, their entire heartbeat hidden below a toppled god.

  And this wasn't even counting the other two temples cluttering the island—

  the bright little shrine of Apollo up in the city where she’d scouted the rooftops,

  and the old, half-collapsed temple of Apollo by the coastal road, used as a rendezvous point when shadows were safer than streets.

  Four temples on an island small enough that you could sprint from one end to the other in under an hour, that is, if you didn’t run into a beast in the wooded midsection.

  Too many temples. Way too many.

  No wonder newcomers got confused. Even the Flock mixed up names sometimes.

  Dante never did, though.

  Of course he didn’t.

  His message popped up, crisp and clean:

  Targets eliminated.

  Bodies delivered.

  Sanctuary secure.

  Important info to disclose.

  Good. One fire put out.

  The rest could wait until she reached Zeus’s bones beneath the hill.

  Ellia had already passed the first two homesteads and now walked alongside a weather-grayed fence that climbed toward the terraced hillocks behind the clustered houses and outbuildings. On the far side of the rail, a flock of sheep huddled in a woolly mass—save for one straggler sprawled directly in her path, a horned lump asleep to the world.

  She eased around it, careful not to jostle horn or hoof. The animal didn’t so much as flick an ear. A few more minutes and she’d be at headquarters—the heart of their operation, even if the Triarchy still thought of this hill as nothing more than a burned-out shrine and some forgotten groves.

  Scaling the ancient terraces, Ellia threaded her way through branches heavy with olives, pausing at the base of a massive tree. The old guardian’s trunk was as broad as three normal olives braided together, its limbs spiraled in a living helix. It had been here a century at least. Maybe two.

  It had watched joy and famine, birth-cries and war-shouts. It had watched its siblings cut down and burned alongside the homes they shaded. It had drunk in the blood spilled into its soil—of those who tended it and those who tried to claim the land with fire and iron.

  When the Triarchy took Delos, the survivors who once lived in these hills were dragged into factories, barracks, and brothels. The groves went untended. Many trees withered or were uprooted, the terraces cleared to harvest sunlight instead of olives. But this one had clung on. Roots deep. Branches full. A stubborn pillar in an island that refused to forget what it had been.

  Ellia laid her palm against the helical trunk.

  "Thank you," she whispered. "We’ll bring the island back, and you’ll get the care you deserve. Through darkness and light, may the twins guide your flight."

  Then she drew her hand away and kept climbing. The grove fell behind her, but the promise did not.

  Pressing forward, Ellia slipped through the yawning gap of a barbed-wire fence, leaving the quiet sanctity of the grove behind. She ascended a rugged stone embankment, her movements a blend of practiced finesse and rising urgency. When she crested the ridge, the broken silhouette of the old Zeus sanctuary came into view—its once-mighty effigy now slumped and armless, the fallen altar strewn in rubble like the aftermath of a forgotten war.

  Ellia tipped her mask back and spat, wiping her mouth with her sleeve before ducking beneath the hill’s crest. The god had done nothing for her people. His abandoned shrine served them far better in death than he ever had in life.

  Rounding the eastern face of the hill, she found the inconspicuous exhaust vent—a jagged opening in the mountainside that revealed nothing of the city hidden within. She squeezed past the idle fan blades, slipping into the darkness of a wide passageway. Six feet across, maybe eight. She never bothered to measure. When you walked something a thousand times, your body knew the width well enough.

  Her hand found the rope along the right-hand wall—a thick, knotted guide-line strung through the haven like a lifeline. She gripped it and moved forward, boots whispering against the cool stone. At the fork, the rope veered right. One knot. Her marker.

  She tilted her head back and whistled into the void—sharp, slicing through the dark.

  A reply came instantly: a high fortissimo note, followed by a clipped half-tone.

  The signal was clear.

  Welcome home. Proceed.

  A lantern flared at the far end of the tunnel.

  Ellia quickened her pace, stepping into the lit stone hall that served as the Flock’s true nest. The moment her boots crossed the threshold, command snapped through her like a switch being thrown.

  "Guide me to her," Ellia ordered. “Then get our Prax shard stores inventoried and ready to load onto the boats. All of it. Nothing moves until Galia or I give the word. Prep every bird for rapid departure. And someone find Mimi—send her to the central chamber. Immediately.”

  Her voice ricocheted through the stone.

  A unified thud—fist striking chest—echoed back, the Flock's salute. Two silhouettes broke formation. One darted toward the maze of corridors; the other fell into step beside her, guiding her deeper into the sanctum.

  They moved through a cavernous hallway carved straight from the mountain’s bones. The stark severity of the stone was softened only by the ethereal glow of Paradox shard resonators. Lodged in crevices between blocks and suspended from the vaulted ceiling, the shards cast shifting, otherworldly light that crawled across the walls in luminous veins.

  To the right, seven doors punctuated the hall, each framed by the warm ember-glow of a shard. Storerooms. Quarters. Improvised workshops. Life carved into rock.

  Opposite them curved the outer wall of the central chamber—an enormous cylindrical heart buried directly beneath the ruined Temple of Zeus above. Four great columns rose within, their keystones bearing the long-dead weight of a god’s monument.

  No one truly knew why this place had been built. Monks, hierophants, and oracles had once tended to these chambers, but the layout hinted at stranger purposes: holding cells, half-collapsed tunnels that led to nowhere, and ancient corridors too dangerous to explore. One bird had vanished in them once—three days lost in a labyrinth of stone before re-emerging half-starved, half-mad, and wholly unwilling to speak of what he’d seen.

  Ellia’s pace didn’t falter. This place was a relic of forgotten intentions—

  but now it belonged to the Flock.

  And tonight, it would decide their future.

  The sacred texts and relics—once the heartbeat of these underground chambers—had long since been relocated to a repurposed holding cell, now crammed floor-to-ceiling with scrolls, icons, and the few priceless artifacts they hadn’t bartered away. In the early years, they sold what they had to survive. A moral wound, yes, but hunger did not care for sanctity. They could have brokered higher prices, bargained, schemed—but when choosing between keeping a relic or feeding a child, the decision was never truly a decision.

  Those days were behind them now.

  Their coffers weren’t overflowing—not yet—but for the first time in years, they weren’t scraping by. The recent awakening at the temple, the coming negotiation with the Tetra… Ellia could feel it in her bones. They were on the cusp of something larger than survival. Something hopeful.

  They reached the second-to-last door—the old auxiliary holding cell that sat just before the living quarters.

  Ellia’s stomach dropped.

  Her hands balled into fists before she could stop them, nails biting crescent moons into her palms.

  “The holding cell? You put the poor girl in the holding cell? She’s not a prisoner! For Olympia’s sake!”

  Her voice ricocheted down the stone corridor, sharper than intended. She forced herself to inhale deeply, shoulders rising with the breath. Calm. Control. Apology ready on her tongue.

  She slid the lock, opened the door, and exhaled slowly to keep the edge out of her tone.

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  The girl sat on the cot, shoulders folded inward, thumbs fidgeting in her lap. A tray with picked-clean leftovers rested on a wobbly stand. The room wasn’t cruel—but it wasn’t welcoming either.

  Ellia removed her mask entirely, as if shedding a layer of authority.

  “Sorry for the accommodations,” she said gently. “We were dealing with a situation, and I didn’t explain things clearly enough.”

  “It’s alright,” the girl murmured, her eyes lifting for only a heartbeat before drifting back to the floor. Small. Guarded. Expecting nothing good.

  A cold ache unfurled beneath Ellia’s ribs—one she hadn’t felt in years.

  The void.

  Her own memories rose like a tide:

  Stolen freedom.

  A world bleached of color.

  Food that tasted like dust.

  Days with no shape. Nights with no hope.

  The dread of the next set of footsteps in the hall.

  Powerlessness so complete it hollowed a person from the inside out.

  She felt a tear slip free before she could stop it. With a swift motion, she wiped it away.

  No child would feel that way under her watch. Not ever again.

  Ellia cleared her throat, smoothing her voice into something lighter—gentler.

  “One peculiar evening,” she began, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “I found myself double-booked.”

  The girl blinked—startled, but listening.

  “Simultaneously,” Ellia added, tilting her head as if confessing a scandal. “Two men, one hour. Our mistress almost never allowed that sort of thing… but the coin they offered could blind even the gods. Naturally, I was thrilled.” She rolled her eyes. “Those men were the kind who liked their theatrics. Rope. Cuffs. Wax. You know the type.”

  A flicker—small but real—passed through the girl’s eyes. The first glimmer of engagement.

  She gave the tiniest nod.

  Permission to continue.

  Ellia let the humor soften, her voice slipping into something quieter, steadier.

  “You know… that night wasn’t remarkable because of them.”

  Her smile shifted—less playful, more knowing.

  “It was remarkable because of what it taught me about myself.”

  She drew in a slow breath, the mischievous curl of her lips returning—this time hiding steel instead of sorrow.

  “Want to know something funny?” she said.

  “When I was your age… younger…I thought my life was already decided for me.”

  Ru’s eyes flicked up—just enough to show she was listening.

  “I was thrown into a brothel at eleven,” Ellia continued lightly, as though recounting an old fable rather than a tragedy. “Too young to ‘work,’ thank the Twins—but not too young to scrub floors, fetch food, braid hair, dress wounds, hide bruises, and listen. Gods, I listened to everything. Their routines, their secrets, their escape fantasies, their nightmares… and every creaking floorboard in that cursed building.”

  Her smile warmed—not sad, but knowing.

  “By sixteen I knew that brothel better than the mistress did. Knew where she hid coin. Knew which locks stuck. Knew which girls wanted more, and which ones barely held themselves together. And I knew—deep in my ribs—that if I didn’t leave soon, I’d never leave at all.”

  Ru swallowed, her fingers going still.

  “So when my ‘big debut’ arrived,” Ellia said, making air quotes with a dramatic tilt of her head,

  “as I said the mistress got greedy. Double-booked me. Two men, same hour. Greed makes people stupid.”

  She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “But greed also makes them predictable.”

  Ru’s brows knit with the faintest curiosity.

  “I had already spoken to the other girls,” Ellia explained. “Galia—she raised me more than anyone—helped me map where everyone would be. Who was close to the stairs. Who could climb out a window. Who could run fast. Who needed to be carried. We planned it all in whispers.

  One chance. One hour. No mistakes.”

  She held up a finger.

  “So when the two men arrived… I played along. Sweet little debutante making their fantasies come true.”

  She winked. “Let them think they were the hunters and I was the fawn.”

  A short breath of laughter escaped Ru—tiny, uncertain, but real.

  Ellia’s smile softened.

  “I got them relaxed. Off guard. Tied up—nothing unusual in that place. And once they were nice and secured…”

  Her eyes darkened with a fierce, quiet pride.

  “I walked out, shut the door, but not before litting the curtains.”

  Ru’s breath hitched.

  “The fire spread fast,” Ellia said, not bragging, not apologizing—simply telling the truth. “We got everyone out through the servant’s corridor. Most of the girls were ‘claimed’ by rival brothels as soon as they were seen without a post—vultures, the lot of them. But the ones who trusted me? The ones who still had fight in them?”

  She gestured broadly around the stone chamber.

  “We ran. We hid. We made a home under the bones of Zeus. And that was the first night the Flock drew breath.”

  Now she crouched, lowering herself to Ru’s eye level.

  “I wasn’t strong then,” Ellia said softly. “Not brave. Not magical. Just a girl who refused to let her fate be written by someone else’s hand.”

  A pause.

  A breath.

  A gentle, steadying smile.

  “You’re safe now, Ru. Truly safe. And you get to decide what you become from here on out. You get to choose your place in the world. We’ll help you. We’ll fight with you. And if you stay with us long enough…”

  Her hand extended.

  “…you’ll learn how to set fire to the things that once tried to cage you—metaphorically or otherwise.”

  And for the first time since Ellia opened the cell, the girl sat taller.

  As Ellia finished her tale, the girl's expression transformed by degrees.

  At first, Ru simply listened—quiet, tight, guarded—her thumbs still worrying the edge of her sleeve.

  But as Ellia spoke of hidden plans whispered between frightened girls…

  of fire lit as a doorway rather than a punishment…

  of choosing freedom rather than waiting for it to be granted…

  Ru’s gaze slowly lifted.

  A spark—small, trembling, but real—began to kindle behind her eyes.

  Not shock.

  Not pity.

  Recognition.

  When Ellia extended her hand, it wasn’t just an invitation.

  It was a lifeline thrown to someone still half-drowning.

  Ru grasped it.

  Her grip was firmer than Ellia expected.

  The girl rose, spine straightening inch by inch, like someone remembering they had bones at all. Together, they stepped out of the holding cell and into the wide stone hall beyond. The shift—dark cell to open passage—felt symbolic, as though the girl had crossed some invisible threshold.

  Ellia guided her onward with the ease of someone who had done this before—someone who had ushered more than a few wounded birds into flight.

  “The final door down there leads to the living quarters,” Ellia said, gesturing toward the end of the corridor. “There’s a bed for you in the far left corner—yours if you want it. And another one for your brother across the room. We keep the boys and girls separate; I trust you can guess why.”

  She propped her thumb like a hitchhiker then held it at her crothch with a dry smirk.

  Ru let out a startled, honest laugh—light, unguarded, and desperately needed.

  Ellia smiled. “There. That’s a good sound. I want to hear more of it.”

  A faint blush warmed Ru’s cheeks.

  “Now,” Ellia continued gently, “about the promise I made you—your brother. Are you in touch with him?”

  “Yes,” Ru blurted, too fast, too eager.

  Ellia's expression softened. Then she blinked as something occurred to her.

  “Twins above—I've been talking this long without asking your name.” She planted a hand to her forehead in theatrical shame.

  “Rula,” the girl said shyly. “But… everyone calls me Ru.”

  “Which do you prefer?” Ellia asked.

  Rula hesitated—just a heartbeat—but the decision seemed to settle something inside her.

  “Ru. From now on… Ru.”

  “Good. Ru it is.” Ellia extended her hand again, this time not pulling someone from the dark, but welcoming them forward. “Right now, I’m Ellia.”

  Ru shook her hand—still timid, but with a spark beneath it.

  “Right now?” she echoed.

  “Without the mask, I’m Ellia. Sometimes ‘Captain,’ depending on who’s talking.”

  She tapped the side of her temple.

  “With the mask, I’m always the Raven. When in doubt, ‘Captain’ works.”

  Ru nodded, newfound confidence flickering. “Understood, Captain.”

  Ellia hid a smile. I’m going to like this one.

  “Alright,” she said, shifting gears. “Business time. Is communication with your brother private? And you mentioned he works at the port—what exactly does he do?”

  “He has his own communicator,” Ru answered. “And we speak in a Greek dialect our mother taught us. Not many people know it. It’s like our code.” She paused. “And he works the Seagate.”

  “The Seagate?” Ellia repeated, stopping dead. “You’re telling me your brother works the actual gate mechanism?”

  Ru nodded.

  Ellia broke into a grin—sharp, delighted, incredulous.

  “The Twins really are on our side. That’s perfect. Too perfect. Can you call him now?”

  Ru swallowed. “Do you have a communicator I can use? And what should I even say?”

  “You need to make him understand the stakes. That this is life-changing—for both of you.” Ellia began to outline the message, but Ru suddenly lifted both hands in a gentle stop.

  “Captain… wait.”

  "Apologies, Captain," Ru interjected, her voice bright with a mix of eagerness and certainty. "But there's really no need to worry. He listens to me. We have this codeword—‘Bataboo.’ It sounds silly, but it's sacred to us. It means trust me with your life.

  When we were younger, we played tricks on each other constantly. It got bad enough that we couldn’t tell jokes from real danger, and it started hurting the trust between us. So we created ‘Bataboo.’ Whenever one of us says it, all doubt stops. It's our vow to be completely honest—no games, no fear."

  Ellia’s approving smile appeared before Ru even finished. She unclasped her communicator and placed it in Ru’s hands.

  “Alright. Here’s what you ask him: Is there a ship called Herme registered to leave port between three and four this morning? If yes, he must delete the registry from the system.”

  She lifted a hand to stop Ru’s confusion before it formed.

  “This won’t stop the departure entirely—the ship’s name will still be on the physical manifest—but the gate won’t open automatically. And the next step is key: can your brother reach the manual toggle?”

  “He’s in charge of the toggle,” Ru said quickly. “At least… I’m pretty sure he is. I know he opens and closes the gate.”

  “That’s the toggle,” Ellia confirmed with a relieved sigh. “Twins be praised. When he opens the gate manually, Herme will be instructed to tie up for inspection—to check systems and update their BIOS. As soon as he closes the gate, he must cut the power line after the junction box, where the automatic and manual feeds merge.”

  Ru stared, teeth clenched. “Uhhhh…”

  Without missing a beat, Ellia snatched a marker from a nearby stand and dragged it across the wooden surface, shoving a book aside to make room. She drew a bold Y.

  On the left branch, she boxed a tiny computer.

  On the right, she sketched a manual switch.

  At the base, where the lines joined, she wrote gate and added another square.

  “He needs to cut anywhere in this section.”

  She pressed the marker hard, making ink pool before dragging it down the lower arm to emphasize the area.

  The marker tip flattened with a sad squeak.

  Ru nodded promptly. “Understood!”

  “Good. After he sabotages the system, he must board Herme immediately.” Ellia’s tone sharpened—commanding but not unkind. “Tell him to tuck a feather behind his ear before he gets on. So we know it’s him. And above all, Ru—he needs to trust the bird.”

  Ellia paused, realizing she’d grown intense. But how could she not?

  Freedom was always a battle.

  Mistakes cost lives.

  “Make your call,” she said at last. “I’ll give you space.”

  Ru shook her head. “No—stay. In case I stumble. You don’t need to talk, just… be here.”

  Ellia nodded, a small crease appearing between her brows.

  Ru placed the call.

  It rang.

  And rang.

  No answer.

  She inhaled sharply and left a single-word message: “BATABOO.”

  Ellia began pacing, muttering a quiet prayer to Artemis and Apollo. If this didn’t work, she needed another plan—fast.

  Thirty seconds later, the communicator buzzed, slicing through the tension like a blade through cord.

  Ru launched into the explanation in their private dialect—rapid, rhythmic, thick with childhood familiarity. Ellia couldn’t understand the words, but she understood tone: urgency, trust, absolute conviction.

  Ru never mentioned the Flock by name. Only hinted at an ally.

  “Bataboo” repeated throughout the conversation—a mantra, a shield, a binding oath.

  When Ru glanced at the diagram Ellia had drawn, she began walking her brother through the setup—but halfway through her brother cut her off, saying something that made Ru’s face break into a bright, relieved smile.

  “Exactly,” she said, certain now.

  The plan had clicked into place.

  It’s simple, Ellia thought as Ru hung up. Disable the gate so we can’t be followed. Just long enough to get a lead. Then… the real work begins.

  Ru lowered the communicator, breath shaky but steadying.

  “Herme is scheduled to cross the gate at three twenty sharp. He’ll have everything arranged by then.”

  Her voice wobbled, just enough to betray the weight of what she’d asked her brother to do.

  “Please… we’re counting on you.”

  Ellia set her hand on Ru’s shoulder—firm, grounding, certain.

  “No doubt,” she said. “You’re one of us now. Go rest. Eat until you can’t think. Sleep it off. Someone will show you around later. I won’t see you again until much later—I’ve got preparations to make and people depending on us.”

  She added a wink for good measure.

  Ru’s lips twitched, then softened into a shy grin. She tested the bed with tentative fingertips, as though unsure whether softness was real, then sat—and bounced lightly, startled by the comfort. Her face shifted from joy to disbelief to something deeper and quieter. Ellia recognized the storm of it intimately.

  Then Ru laughed.

  Not a polite laugh. Not a fragile one.

  A full-bodied, sudden, bubbling laugh—the sound of something unshackling inside her.

  Ellia’s chest tightened, then loosened. That laugh was freedom. The same kind she’d tasted the night she ran from her own cage. The sound of lungs pulling their first real breath. Of possibilities. Of wings.

  She began to step away when a hand brushed her shoulder. Ru stood there, holding out the communicator.

  “It dinged.”

  Ellia smiled and took it. “Thanks.”

  But before she could read it, Ru’s arms wrapped around her. A fierce, trembling embrace.

  Her cheek pressed into Ellia’s shoulder as she whispered—almost broke—

  “Thank you… thank you… thank you.”

  Three little words, delivered like a prayer.

  Ellia’s throat tightened. She returned the hug—steady, warm, anchoring. After a breath’s worth of shared understanding, she eased back.

  “You’re welcome. Now rest while we go get your brother.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You’ve done more than you know,” Ellia assured her. “Now sleep.”

  She slipped into the hall, inhaling deeply through her nose—resetting herself, bracing herself. Only then did she check the communicator.

  Important information. Need to share!

  Her stomach dropped.

  Dante—her Dante—rarely used exclamation points. That alone told her everything.

  She quickened her pace toward the central chamber, fingers already typing.

  Will make contact soon.

  Message sent, she pushed open the nave doors with a force she didn’t know she’d gathered. The moment they thudded shut behind her, the communicator blinked:

  Delivered.

  A small comfort. But enough.