For the next twenty minutes, as they skirted the lively town and slipped into the quiet of the olive orchards on their way to the desalination plant, Mimi regaled Ellia with tales of her mask’s formidable features. Ellia listened indulgently, unwilling to dampen the girl’s fervor.

  In truth, Mimi’s mask was superior.

  Functionally identical, yes—but sleeker, lighter, and more intentional in its design. Less something worn to disappear, more something meant to become. Ellia made a mental note to commend the birds stationed at the workshop. Their craftsmanship had sharpened—not just technically, but philosophically. The masks were no longer only tools of anonymity. They were statements.

  Observing Mimi—her miniature counterpart in motion—Ellia recognized the shift for what it was. The workshop hadn’t just improved. It had grown. And Ellia was a firm believer in rewarding growth.

  Once things cooled off, she’d bring them a shard-cuterie board. Cheese, salami, fruit. And—quietly tucked among the food—Prax shards. Incentives worked best when they felt like gifts.

  Experimenting with her enhanced nocturnal sight, Mimi darted through the shrouded landscape as though it were midday. She bounded off a boulder nestled between two gnarled olive trunks, soared onto the stone wall that marked the terrace edge, then sprang onto the sturdy limb of a neighboring tree. She clung there easily, vertical, her gaze fixed on Ellia with a triumphant glint.

  The mask amplified everything—confidence included.

  Its craftsmanship surpassed Ellia’s not only in silhouette but in utility. The lenses, cast in deep, non-reflective black, absorbed light rather than scattering it—a critical advantage for work done under watchful eyes. The filtration system was ingeniously compact, tucked low along the beak and jawline. Dual canisters, sleek and unobtrusive, barely extended beyond the upper cheekbone, hinting at future integration points for armor her own mask lacked.

  A mask designed not just for hiding—but for endurance.

  Their beaks shared a similar avian profile, though Mimi’s tapered downward instead of projecting forward, a subtle refinement that lent her silhouette a sharper, predatory grace. And then there was the embellishment Ellia herself had commissioned: three white feathers set into Mimi’s brow.

  A promise.

  A nod to the Raven’s transformation—and to the day Mimi would stand beside her as an equal, not an echo. Even among the flock, identity mattered.

  Ellia vaulted the wall and dropped into the lower terrace, her heel sinking slightly into damp earth still holding the night’s chill. As she passed beneath Mimi’s perch, she caught the awe threading the girl’s voice.

  “Look at the moon,” Mimi breathed. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Ellia followed her gaze. The clouds parted just enough to let the near-full moon spill silver across the groves, light threading through olive branches like quiet fire.

  Mimi turned to say something more.

  Then gasped.

  It was as if the breath had been torn from her lungs.

  She dropped.

  Ellia reacted instantly, catching Mimi mid-fall—but the sudden weight drove her to one knee. Momentum carried them forward. Mimi slipped free, landing on the soft earth as Ellia braced herself above her, hands planted, breath sharp.

  For a heartbeat, the world stilled.

  Then Ellia felt it.

  The mark along her forearm tingled—familiar, insistent. Not pain yet. A warning.

  “Not again,” she groaned.

  The tingling returned—familiar at first, almost tolerable—then sharpened into a buzzing that sank beneath skin and into bone.

  Pain followed.

  Her muscles seized, but unlike the fire that had raced through them earlier that morning, this was cold. Not a simple chill. A bone-deep quake, as if their skeletons had iced over and might shatter under strain. Their teeth began to chatter. Gooseflesh erupted across their skin. Each breath arrived in broken pieces, trembling its way into lungs that suddenly felt half their size.

  Mimi’s shaking worsened fast—violent, uncontrolled, like a body trying to reject itself. And then Ellia felt the second wave, deeper and wronger: their veins began to burn, not with heat, but with frostbite. As if their blood had turned to slush—shaved ice scraping through every passage, grinding against the inside of their own bodies.

  “I-it’s o-okay,” Ellia forced out. “S-stay st-strong.”

  Mimi’s arm jerked outward and clipped Ellia hard enough to knock her balance. Ellia toppled forward, landing on Mimi in a tangled heap.

  The moment their bodies fully connected, the sensation spiked.

  It wasn’t just cold anymore. It was current—a live wire threading through both of them, magnified by contact. Ellia tried to push herself up, but the tremors made her arms useless. After two failed attempts, she collapsed beside Mimi instead, both of them writhing, breath stuttering.

  Their hands brushed.

  Mimi latched on.

  Fingers tangled. Locked.

  ELLIA.

  The voice cracked through her mind like a shout inside a cathedral—too close, too loud.

  “Mimi,” Ellia gasped aloud, forcing the words through clenched teeth, “we can do this. Think about the lights. The bond. The thing connecting us.”

  She pictured them—those pinpricks she’d seen burning behind Mimi’s eyes. Orange. Blue.

  And then the white.

  The white flared in her mind’s eye—

  —and an oppressive weight slammed down on them both, as if the sky had dropped. The shivering stopped instantly, not because they were better, but because they couldn’t move at all. Buried. Pinned. Inescapably still.

  Ellia… I think it’s working. Mimi’s thought trembled. I can’t move.

  “Don’t fight it,” Ellia whispered, more to herself than Mimi. “I don’t think we’re supposed to. I think we can only—”

  —surrender.

  The word wasn’t spoken. It arrived—a truth placed gently into her mind, like a rule she’d always known and only just remembered.

  The instant she let go, all the tension snapped loose—like a guitar string pulled to its limit and suddenly released.

  A reverberation rolled through their bodies. Not sound exactly—resonance. It vibrated a deeper layer of them. The tone pulsed through skull and spine, cycling between a high, piercing note and a low, soothing thrum, like a bell struck in a sacred hall.

  The tone pulsed through them—

  once.

  twice.

  Six times, the pressure climbed—sharp, insistent.

  Then it shifted.

  The resonance deepened, steadied. The remaining six followed, slower and calmer, as if answering the first.

  With each pulse, something in Ellia—her core, her inner self—swelled outward, reaching into the world like waves on a shoreline… then drew back, compressing into a dense sphere behind her sternum. Expansion. Contraction. Expansion. Contraction.

  Until the twelfth pulse hit—

  —and air slammed into their lungs as if forced there by unseen hands.

  Ellia’s back arched. Mimi’s too. They gasped in unison, chests heaving, struggling to regulate the cool breath that had been pushed into them. The scent of night flowers drifted in on the breeze—jasmine, damp earth, crushed leaves—sharp and real.

  Then the hum faded.

  And just as abruptly as it began, the episode ended.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Stillness returned.

  Ellia moved without hesitation, dropping to Galia’s side. She slid an arm beneath her shoulders and lifted gently. The chamber held nine others—every one of them collapsed in similar states of unconsciousness.

  Galia’s breathing was shallow but steady. The violent spasms had passed.

  Ellia reached behind her head and carefully loosened the falcon mask, easing it away. Galia’s chocolate-brown skin stood in stark contrast to the pale blonde hairline pulled tight against her scalp. At the roots, her natural black had already begun to reclaim the dye, darkening the color like ink bleeding through paper.

  Ellia uncapped her waterskin and pressed it softly to Galia’s lips.

  At first, she swallowed cautiously. Then greedily.

  Too greedily.

  Galia choked, coughing hard as consciousness snapped back into place. She sputtered, expelling water, gasping as her lungs fought to reassert control.

  “G–get out of here,” she rasped. “Go deal with the Tetra. I’ll be fine.”

  Ellia shifted her, propping Galia against the doorframe. “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” Galia said between coughs. “This one wasn’t as bad as the first time.” A breath. “You owe us an explanation later. But right now—we’ve got a heist to finish.” Her eyes sharpened. “Go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Ellia gave a short nod and motioned for Mimi to follow.

  As Mimi passed, Galia reached out and caught her sleeve.

  “Nice mask, little bird.”

  Mimi didn’t reply. She met Galia’s gaze, gave a small, knowing nod, and hurried after Ellia.

  They entered the adjacent chamber to find it already alive with tension.

  Five members of the bird-named faction stood alongside two from the Tetra Coalition, voices overlapping as they argued around a series of chalkboards.

  Three boards stood in a neat row at the center of the room, illuminated by the only lights—industrial bulbs hanging from a cable strung across the cavernous space. They were standing inside the main water tank of the headquarters itself: a massive stainless-steel chamber lined with copper plating, deliberately designed to shield the bunker from external detection.

  Perfect timing.

  Tinga was in mid-question, pressing the flock for logistical details they weren’t cleared to answer. Frustration edged her tone.

  Ellia stepped forward.

  Her voice cut cleanly through the noise.

  “We’ll have a support group on board with you from the very beginning.”

  The room stilled.

  Tinga spun to face her. Chalk smeared her sleeves, a thin line of white dust marking her chin. She did not look pleased.

  “It’s about time,” Tinga said. “Did you handle phase one? I had half a dozen contingency plans ready and it was a pain in my—”

  Ellia didn’t let her finish.

  “Phase one is green,” she said, stepping fully into the center of the room. “We’ve got an asset inside the registry office. Herme gets pulled from the digital ledger—clean. No alarms. No flags.”

  A few brows lifted.

  “The physical writ stays,” Ellia continued. “Which means the port authority sends an inspection team to reconcile the mismatch. Routine procedure. By-the-book.”

  She tapped the chalkboard once.

  “Herme is scheduled at the gate at three-twenty. That gives us under an hour. We intercept the inspectors, assume their credentials, and board as authorized personnel.”

  Tinga’s posture eased—just slightly.

  “Once onboard,” Ellia went on, “my tech installs a virus. Comms go dark. Transponder signature gets rewritten. While he works, the rest of us move to secure the ship.”

  “Overthrow the crew,” Tinga said.

  Ellia nodded. “Quietly, if possible. Permanently, if not.”

  The tension shifted.

  Tinga turned back to the boards, eyes settling on the middle one: PHASE TWO. Beneath it, five headings marched downward in precise columns.

  “If everything holds,” Tinga said, pointing to the first line, “we bring Herme straight here before the Triarchy can deploy another vessel.”

  Ellia raised a hand.

  Tinga pointed at her immediately. “Say it.”

  “If they deploy anyway,” Ellia said. “How do we keep them off the desalination plant? I don’t want Tri troops sniffing around our doorstep.”

  “That’s phase two,” Tinga replied. “If there’s a secondary vessel at the dock—any size—we take it. Can your tech transfer Herme’s signature?”

  Chip slipped in beside Ellia, murmured something low.

  Ellia nodded once. “He can mirror the signature. And spoof anything tied to it.”

  Chip leaned in again. “Anything computer-related.”

  Tinga’s lips curved. “Perfect. We slap Herme’s identity onto a decoy ship and send it screaming into open water. The Triarchy chases a ghost.”

  “While we return here,” Ellia said.

  Tinga tilted her head. “One question.”

  “Go.”

  “Why doesn’t the Triarchy already control this place?” She gestured vaguely toward the plant above them. “Seems like an obvious asset.”

  Ellia exhaled.

  “In short? They think it’s cursed.”

  An eyebrow rose.

  “There was a massacre here when Delos fell,” Ellia said. “Word spread fast. Drunk Tri troops decided to test the rumors.”

  She shrugged. “We made sure they didn’t leave.”

  Silence stretched.

  “All three slipped,” Ellia added dryly. “Fatal accidents. Angry spirits, apparently.”

  Dante’s face locked into a familiar, dumbfounded stare.

  Ellia grimaced. “Fine. There’s more.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck where the mask pressed. “I altered the ownership records. Put the plant under a name no one questions.”

  Tinga folded her arms. “And whose name would that be?”

  Ellia hesitated. Just a beat.

  “He’s got an eagle,” she said. “Throws lightning.”

  A pause.

  “…You put it under Zeus,” Tinga said slowly.

  Ellia didn’t deny it.

  Tinga’s face went slack—then split into pure amusement. Fine lines creased at the corners of her eyes as her cheeks bunched with laughter.

  “You didn’t,” she said. “You actually changed it to Zeus?”

  She shook her head, incredulous. “You can’t forge his name. Can you?”

  Ellia snorted. “I didn’t have to. The town hall notarized it for him.”

  She shrugged. “You think he does his own paperwork? No god wastes time on bureaucracy.”

  Tinga blinked. Then smiled wider.

  “…Do you still have the stamp?”

  Ellia tilted her head. “Maybe.”

  A beat.

  “Depends who’s asking.”

  That did it. For the first time since they’d entered the room, genuine interest lit Tinga’s eyes.

  Then Ellia caught the time.

  “Alright,” she said, snapping the room back into motion. “We mobilize now. Let’s confirm phases.”

  She pointed to the first chalkboard.

  PHASE ONE: Get crew onboard Herme

  PHASE TWO: Make the ship disappear

  PHASE THREE: Bring the ship back to Heist Mission Bunker

  Ellia took the chalk and checked off each phase—crack—the chalk snapping in half as she marked the third.

  “Suit up,” she said. “We’ve got Triarchy uniforms. No costume changes once we replace the inspection crew.”

  “How do we reach the port gate?” Tinga asked.

  “Breakwater path,” Ellia replied. “Ten minutes to the jetty. If things go south, we’ve got an evac vessel on standby.”

  She tapped her comm. “Switch to channel sixty-nine.”

  Then, glancing at Chip: “You ready?”

  Chip held up the USB without a word.

  “Tinga—” Ellia lifted a finger. “One moment.”

  She switched channels.

  “Galia. Status.”

  “We’re back on our feet,” Galia said. “All except one. She’s still out.”

  “You stay with her. Keep the bunker running. The other Tetra?”

  “All awake.”

  “Good. Bring them in.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Ellia closed the line and turned back.

  “Apologies,” she said. “Your people are mobile. They’ll be here shortly.”

  Tinga’s expression softened—just enough to matter.

  “Thank you.”

  Ellia caught the look on Tinga’s face—real gratitude, unguarded. The kind that only surfaced when a crew knew someone had their back.

  “Don’t mention it,” Ellia said easily. “You can bring Dante and one more.”

  She turned, counting on her fingers.

  “So far—Tinga. Dante.”

  “Mimi,” she added.

  The little Raven’s hand shot up like she’d been summoned by prophecy itself.

  “Chip.”

  The shorter bird mirrored Mimi’s enthusiasm, hand snapping up.

  “Zeph.”

  The stout bird raised his hand a beat slower, as if confirming reality first.

  “Lexi—”

  No response.

  Ellia scanned the room. Nothing.

  Then it clicked.

  Lexi had gone down.

  She frowned slightly, the thought threading itself together too neatly to ignore. Aside from herself, Mimi, and Tinga, there were no women left standing in the room.

  Artemis, she thought.

  Apollo.

  The implication settled uneasily in her chest.

  She finished the count anyway. “The mole assisting with the gate joins us. And myself.”

  Tinga frowned slightly, eyes flicking over the gathered group.

  “Why do more of your people get to go?”

  It wasn’t defensive.

  It was practical.

  Ellia didn’t bristle. She nodded once, acknowledging the question.

  “Because we’re more,” she said simply. “There are more of us to spare.”

  Tinga waited. Ellia continued.

  “You’ve got four people total,” she said. “Three, if one stays behind. And I’m assuming at least two of you are already awakened.” Her gaze was steady. “That makes you more dangerous than half my crew put together.”

  That earned Tinga’s full attention.

  “If this goes sideways,” Ellia went on, “I want you covered by people who can actually fight their way out. Not bodies for the sake of symmetry.” A beat. “And I want one of yours off the board in case this turns into a recovery instead of a heist.”

  Silence stretched—then Tinga nodded.

  “That’s… fair.”

  She hesitated, then asked, “Do you have weapons to spare?”

  Ellia laughed, sharp and brief.

  “Do we have weapons?” She tilted her head. “Everyone gets a killer and a stunner.”

  “A what—and a what?”

  Ellia waved a gloved hand. “I’ll show you the armory. First—go reconnect with your crew.”

  Right on cue, there was a knock.

  The door opened, and Galia stepped aside to let four figures through. They wore Tetra uniforms—wrinkled, sweat-stained, and reeking of salt and rust.

  Ellia took one look at them and smirked.

  “Perfect timing.”

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