“Lidia,” the Hammer purred, possession in his rich voice, and then he was gone.
She lay in bed, fighting past the twisting in her gut, the nausea that wasn’t solely from her cycle. Only after ten minutes had gone by did she rise from the mattress.
She hurried into the bathroom, still humid from Pollux’s shower—usually so hot she wondered if he was trying to scald the evil from himself—and pulled out the bag of feminine hygiene products that she knew he’d never open. As if touching a tampon might make his cock shrivel up and drop off.
Inside the bag lay a burner phone. A different one arrived in a box of tampons every month. She ran the shower again, blocking out any identifying noises that could be picked up from the palace’s cameras on the walls outside or by anyone on the other end of the line. Then she dialed.
An operator answered. “Fincher Tiles and Flooring.”
She shifted her voice into a lilting, sweet croon. “I’m looking for custom ash-wood floors, seven-by-seven pieces?”
“One moment, please.”
Another ring. Then another female said, “This is Custom Ash-Wood Floors, Seven by Seven.”
Lidia let out a small breath. She had only called once before, long ago. They’d sent her burner phone after burner phone, in case of an emergency. Each month she’d destroyed them, unused.
Well, this was an emergency.
“This is Daybright,” she said in her normal voice.
The female on the line sucked in a breath. “Solas.”
Lidia continued quickly, “I need all agents mobilized and ready to move in three days.”
The female on the line cleared her throat. “I … Agent Daybright, I don’t think there’s anyone to mobilize.”
Lidia blinked slowly. “Explain.”
“We’ve taken too many hits, lost too many people. And after the death of Agent Silverbow, a good number abandoned the cause.”
“How many are left?”
“A couple hundred, perhaps.”
Lidia closed her eyes. “And none can be spared right now to—”
“Command’s put an end to all missions. They’re going into hiding.”
“Patch me through to Command, then.”
“I … I’m not authorized to do that.”
Lidia opened her eyes. “Tell Command I’ll speak to them and only them. This information is something that might buy them a shot at survival.”
The dispatcher paused, considering. “If it’s not—”
“It is. Tell them it’s about something they’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”
Another pause. Thinking through all she knew, probably. “One moment.”
It was the work of a few minutes to get the human male on the phone. For Lidia to use the passcodes to identify herself and verify her identity, as well as his. To explain the plan she’d slowly been forming. For Ophion to survive another day, yes … but even more so, for their unwitting help in making sure Ruhn survived.
Two days. Lidia left him with a time, a start location, and an order to be ready. There’d be no missing the signal. She could only hope Ophion would show up as the commander had promised.
Lidia ended the call, and crushed the phone in her fist until only shards of plastic and glass remained. Then she opened the bathroom window, pretending to air out the steam as the tiny pieces blew into the starry night.
* * *
Bryce faced another river, this one waist-deep and frigid. But at least the star kept pointing ahead this time, no swimming required. They splashed through the water in silence, Bryce’s still-bleeding hands stinging at the river’s kiss, and she shivered as they emerged on the other side.
“So that eight-pointed star,” Nesta said into the quiet as they began walking again, shoes squishing, “it’s a symbol of the Starborn people in your world. It means nothing else?”
“Why all the questions about it?” Bryce asked through chattering teeth. Azriel walked a few steps behind, silent as death, but she knew he was listening to every word.
Nesta went silent, and Bryce thought she might not answer, but then she said, “I had a tattoo on my back—recently. A magical one, now gone. But it was of an eight-pointed star.”
“And?”
“And the magic, the power of the bargain that caused the tattoo to appear … it chose the design. The star meant nothing to me. I thought maybe it was related to my training, but its shape was identical to the scar on your chest.”
“So we’re obviously destined to be best friends,” Bryce teased. Nesta didn’t smile or laugh. Bryce asked, “Is that … is that why you volunteered to come to get me?”