Crow winced as the doctor applied the gauze to his head, the arcane chemicals leaving the soaked fabric and hurriedly repairing the skin of his split scalp. He should have been grateful for the treatment, and for the organisers ruling that he and his team would receive it due to Unison’s attack being outside the Sieve.

Instead, as the caustic medicinal fluid attacked the bacteria and dissolved the grit still lining the gash, he found himself unable to dwell on much outside of the sustained, acidic pain seeping into every millimetre of the wound.

“Stop fidgeting,” the attending medic chastised him. At first he had been unsure of the man’s abilities; his face, round and pudgy with a hawkish pull near the bottom, betrayed an age not far removed from Crow’s own.

Whether he was unsure or not no longer had any bearing, Crow couldn’t bring himself to disobey any of the man’s instructions.

A bout of swearing came from across the room, and, careful not to shift his head in the process, he glanced over at its source. Unity was being held down by a pair of strong-looking assistants while a woman wearing the Bermudan medical officer’s garb forced a vial of strange, pinkish liquid past his lips.

The boy was making quite a fight of it, thrashing and shifting wildly like an unwilling dog in a bathtub. The cursing was new, though, and quite reassuring. Half an hour ago, the artificial’s throat had been far too wounded for any such noise as that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crow saw Karma Alabaster shift her stance. The woman had been overseeing their treatment since it began, though her attention had mainly been levelled on Gem.

She’d been a daunting sight, well over six feet high, face and stare as sharp as a cleaver and her raven-dark hair tied back in an edict of utter practicality. Thick lips, narrow chin, angular cheeks and a shockingly delicate brow all produced an stupefyingly beautiful visage.

Furnished with her severe countenance, that beauty added, not detracted, from the almost supernaturally commanding atmosphere about the woman.

Crow had noticed for quite some time that the room’s various medical personnel had been giving the Princess a wide berth, yet not in such a way as to show fearfulness or disliking.

Every other exaggerated separation was accompanied by a hasty, almost sneaky, glance at her.

Eyes drinking in her appearance, as if committing it to memory. Crow realised why.

Alabaster was a great woman, and they were unsure of how to interact with greatness if not from a distance. Thinking back on his own interactions with the Olympian, Crow wasn’t sure that he hadn’t behaved in much the same way.

Perhaps in response to Unity’s newest topic of gargled screaming, Alabaster was staring directly at him, an eyebrow arched disapprovingly at the boy. Crow couldn’t blame her, some of the things the artificial was proclaiming about medics, women and Alabaster’s choice of attire may well have burnt cotton, were there any present.

It was nothing short of a relief when the last of the flask’s contents disappeared down into the boy’s mouth. The medics held him for a few moments more, and Crow noticed his throat shift with a swallow, then they released him.

The first thing he did was cough, spitting more curses out as he folded over in his bed. Neither the doctor nor her attendants remained to hear what exactly he had to say about them, however.

Crow felt another jab of sulphuric pain, this time reaching down to the bottom of his cut. He’d have thought it to be brushing against the bottom of his skull, were it not for his being told the wound was never that deep to begin with.

“I said stop fidgeting, we’re almost finished.” The doctor muttered irritably.

Just as Crow opened his mouth to apologise, the pain suddenly subsided. The speed with which it vanished left him stunned for a moment, and by the time he’d adjusted to the vacuum left by the searing irritant, a cool, soothing sensation had already begun oozing deep into the now absent gash.

“This paste should stem the bleeding, as well as stop the pain. It’ll lose effectiveness after about eighteen hours, but until then it will still function. And it’s very, very, expensive, so don’t waste it by bathing until that time’s passed.”

“Okay,” Crow answered. He wasn’t quite sure what else to say, his doctor had quite a peculiar tone which seemed to leave no room for anyone’s thoughts or reactions but his own.

The finishing touches of his treatment’s last stage took the better part of half a minute, and yet it passed shockingly slowly. The cooling feeling of the latest substance had quickly turned to numbing, and the sudden relief from his head wound lulled Crow into a deeply satisfied waking stupor.

He hardly noticed when the doctor pulled back and headed off to treat someone else, seeming rather hurried from the corner of his eye.

“Oi, come over here and- HEY!”

Crow turned to the sound of Unity’s impotently annoyed voice, wondering for a moment whether it had been directed at him. He saw, with equal parts horror and awe, that it was not. Karma Alabaster had walked straight past the artificial’s bed, making a beeline for Crow’s.

The soft mattress sank down as she sat on one end, as though it were cowering away from her presence. He couldn’t blame it.

“Crow Tempora,” Alabaster said, in what he imagined was supposed to be a greeting. “You saw the incident with Unison yourself, yes? Tell me what happened.”

He stared dumbly for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak. Then his tongue and lips seemed to disagree about what he was saying, resulting in an unintelligible splutter rather than any meaningful words.

The Princess waited patiently, not saying anything, or even so much as showing the slightest flash of irritation at his delay. Somehow, the calm, detached neutrality of her face made her stare all the more disconcerting.

Finally, Crow was able to force out some semblance of human speech.

“Uh, sorry, what would you like me to go over?”

“All of it, from the beginning to the end. Don’t miss any details, recount every word and expression to me. I need to know everything, understand?”

Crow found himself nodding for all of a second, before swiftly stopping the motion and struggling to find a way of phrasing his sure-to-be disliked answer.

“I don’t think I can remember that much, ma’am.”

The Princess grew, if anything, more severe, leaning forwards across the bed until her face was only a foot or two from his own.

“Then tell me as much as you can remember.”

There was no time for Crow to dwell on the utter systemic shock that came from seeing Karma Alabaster speak in such a way, nor the total absence of her usual smile for that matter. Considering either of such things may have delayed him, and that would be precious moments spent not doing as she instructed.

Crow didn’t think failing to comply with her order was a good idea, and so he abandoned all thought, save for that directed to his memories of the attack.

Getting through the incident took surprisingly little time, partially due to Crow’s being unconscious for some of it. Alabaster seemed ever so slightly miffed at the entire middle-section of the incident being missing from his memory, but said nothing, and before long he had reached the end.

Upon hearing him go over Gem’s bluff, the woman smirked slightly. It was a fascinating expression to see on her, as far from her usual, beaming smile as midnight was from noon. It was no less captivating, simply captivating in a different way.

Like the promise of comfort and luxury, compared to the promise of danger and excitement.

The corners of the woman’s mouth flattened after a moment, removing all trace of the expression. She began to climb to her feet, the bed shifting as it retook its previous shape in absence of the additional pressure.

Just as Alabaster straightened up, however, she paused. After a moment, that pause apparently turned into a decision, and she stepped towards Crow, leaning down to bring her head closer to his once more.

Her voice was quiet, her tone hushed and soft, as she spoke.

“By the way, I noticed you’ve gotten quite close to Gem.”

Unsure of what to say, and beginning to feel very much like his participation was unrequired anyway, Crow remained silent. Alabaster continued.

“I don’t particularly care how the two of you have fun, but I’ll just give you a quick warning out of courtesy. You’re probably going to convince yourself she likes you as a person, that she finds your attitude, personality or worldview interesting.”

She paused, arching a questioning eyebrow. Crow answered with a reluctant nod, and she continued.

“That would be a mistake. Gem has spent her entire life with magic as first, second and third to her. You’re one of the first people she’s met with talent and arcane gifts close, if not comparable, to her own. Understand?”

Mouth suddenly dry, face suddenly burning like it had been slapped, Crow nodded once more. Numbly. Thoughtlessly.

Alabaster seemed satisfied at that, and turned to leave his bedside. Crow supposed he should have been grateful for the advice on its own.

***

Karma made her way through the medical ward swiftly, though she was careful not to barge into any of the staff as they scurried around.

The place was packed, sterile, metallic walls and acidically-whitened sheets all befouled by grease and mess from the steady stream of occupants which had been switched out from the ever-present queue over the past few days.

She’d been in field hospitals before, and her surroundings had certainly not gotten so bad as they had been there. The air was pungent, but not flooded with the acrid scent of iron and rotting waste that came hand in hand with a truly overwhelmed medical establishment.

Things weren’t far from that, however. Tamaias’ battle had left many thousands injured, even prioritising the magical treatment for mystics left the Crux’s supplies strained. It wouldn’t take much to tip things over the edge into utter, abject privation.

A hundred paces long and one quarter as wide, the medical wing was quite a spacious room. Even with the mass of hastened medical operatives and injured mystics filling it to six-fifths its intended capacity, the high ceiling gave an undeniable impression of vastness to its dimensionality.

It was for that reason that the walk to Gem, who had been placed near the back as opposed to entrance-adjacent like her teammates, was quite a long one. Just another symptom of the hectic, frenzied overtaxation the entire department was afflicted with.

The girl’s treatment, at least, had been finished by the time Karma reached her bedside. A quick glance revealed no serious harm to the girl, even in the form of cuts or scrapes. That wasn’t uncommon in mystics, skin hardened by magic was difficult to cut open even on jagged stone or metal. Karma had been surprised to see the gash on Tempora’s head.

Gem greeted her with a weak smile as she sat down next to her.

“Hi Karma.”

The girl’s words were partially drowned out by the bustle of pained patients and orders delivered with the utmost medicinal authority, and Karma realised the background noise was far greater on this end of the room than the other.

Perhaps Gem’s separation hadn’t been accidental. Could they have placed her at the side reserved for priority patients, fearing Gilasev Menza’s wrath?

“Hello Gem,” Karma answered.

The smile came easy to her, looking at her friend. After the sheer, visceral worry that had seized her upon sensing Unison’s approach, the girl could have been missing an arm and it would have been relieving that she lived.

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, and Karma eventually addressed the serious matter looming over them.

“How badly were you hurt?”

Gem’s words were accompanied by a dismissive wave of her hand and shake of her head.

“Oh, not seriously. The worst of it was just from aggravating my ribs.”

She gestured to a new set of bandages at her side, and Karma felt a rush of excitement. The medical staff must have panicked, judging by the look of the wrappings they were lightly infused healing relics. If Gem kept them on, she could shear another half-week from her recovery time.

Thanking the Gods for frantic doctors, Karma answered.

“That’s good to hear, I heard you were thrown through a sofa.”

She was answered by a nod.

“I was, but it wasn’t a very durable one. If I’d been in Olympus it might’ve been more troublesome.”

Karma laughed, imagining just how much “trouble” Gem impacting a slab of sandstone or marble coated in cushions would have caused. For once, she was glad to be far from home.

She glimpsed something in Gem’s eyes, there for a moment and gone the next. So brief she could hardly have said it was there at all, and yet it filled her with dread all the same.

“Gem, how are you doing?” She asked. Then, after a pause, added. “Not physically, I mean.”

Apparently, her friend got the message. Gem took a long while before speaking, her face falling, then rising again in a clear attempt to hide her true feelings.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, quietly. Karma leaned in to better hear the girl’s half-whispers. “Karma, I don’t think I want to carry on taking part in the Sieve. Or at least… I didn’t?”

Karma didn’t say anything, simply waiting for Gem to speak more. She wasn’t waiting long.

“Right after the… Well, right after my task, I was sure that I was done. That I’d either drop out from my injuries, or just drop out of my own volition because of the… memories. But then Astra paid for the relics used to treat me, with her own credits. And I realised that it’d all be a waste if I were to just leave after that.”

Her eyes dropped down, and Karma placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, hazzarding an answer as she felt the trembled beginnings of sobs run through Gem’s upper body.

“Gem, focus. Gem!”

The girl didn’t look up, it was as though she were lost in her own thoughts. Karma recognised the reaction, Karma was no soldier but she’d dealt with them. Shell shock. Battle, mixed with fear and the unique panic that came from total helplessness.

Recalling the way that vampire had tormented the girl, Karma wasn’t surprised to see her experiencing a similar sensation.

A pang of guilt ran through her at the realisation that Gem had likely been suffering in silence ever since their last meeting, while Karma was interviewing Immortals and negotiating investigations.

She burnt the feeling out before it could fester. Gem was her friend, but she was one girl. Karma had made the right choice in putting Olympus first. The lives of millions were inarguably of greater priority than those of individuals.

Looking at the trembling, dry heaves threatening to overtake her ward shook that certainty ever so slightly.

“Gem!”

Karma removed her hand from the girl’s shoulder, gripping her chin between two fingers and turning her head to face her. She wasn’t surprised to see tears where there hadn’t been just a few moments ago.

“Okay,” Karma began, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “I want you to focus on me for a moment, can you do that?”

Gem nodded hesitantly, and she continued.

“Keep your concentration on me, not wherever your mind goes.”

Once more, her friend nodded.

“Alright, now I’m going to tell you something that you might find quite difficult to accept. If you choose to stop taking part in the Sieve, you don’t have to apologise to anyone. Understood?”

The girl frowned slightly at that, the confusion clearly etched into her features. That, by Karma’s reckoning, was a good sign.

Staring into those pale, almost luminescent blue eyes, Karma was sure she’d get lost in them for a moment. Menzas had a certain intensity to them, even when unsure and wavering about themselves, that seemed to pull on their surroundings.

“Now, you mentioned you’re not sure whether you wanted to continue or not. Were you torn on the desire, or torn between the desire to drop out and a sense of obligation to your teammates?”

Gem took her time considering that before answering, a slight frown creasing her smooth features before she did.

“I...I don’t know.”

She seemed to falter before continuing.

“I thought for sure I wanted to stop, but… well, when Unison attacked, I used my magic to defend myself. And when I did…”

Karma saw the shame for what it was as Gem trailed off, nudging the girl’s arm with her elbow and smiling in what she very much hoped was a reassuring way.

“Gem, if you’re concerned because of all that Solifate crap about temperament and humility in power, don’t be. You shouldn’t let some ancient book tell you how to live your life.”

Gemini Menza was in quite a curious position, politically speaking. While she was recognised by most as a noble, and part of the luminary Menza family at that, her father, Gilasev, had technically abandoned the family some decades ago.

Of course, Gilasev Menza was no fool. Karma knew that first hand, she’d met him. He’d known that even as a Deity, he couldn’t afford to exist as an entirely isolated element. Which was why, ever since the end of the last Unixian Faction War, he’d been considered a Herald. One of the Solifate’s holiest individuals.

The position was not hereditary, and yet with Gem’s magical aptitude being what it was, most of her father’s perceived divinity had been extended to her, too. This gave her all the privileges of a noble, without needing to associate with the main bulk of the Menzas.

Having met several Menzas, including the current head of the family, Karma couldn’t honestly say whether it was better or worse that her friend’s social position depended entirely on her pleasing a large number of ancient religious zealots who had, not two dozen years ago, attempted to purge several entire species of sentient magical creatures from their own continent.

The overwhelming pressure Gem would surely have lived under to maintain her appearance of perfection was the reason that, when she shook her head in response to Karma’s reply, it came as quite a surprise.

“I’m not worried about being disavowed for the Solifates, or anything. It’s not like they’ll get anyone to go poking around in my head to see whether I’ve been enjoying myself too hard.”

Karma hid her confusion, simply gesturing for the girl to continue.

“It’s just… I could fight and move perfectly well against Unison, in fact using magic again made me want to. I might’ve carried on fighting him if he hadn’t, you know, been powerful enough to rip my head off.”

And like that, it all made sense.

“So,” Karma began. “You’re feeling guilty that the thrill of using magic was enough to motivate you, where returning your teammate’s generosity and help wasn’t?”

Gem laughed, shortly and bitterly.

“You make it sound so incredibly simple, phrasing it like that. Is that just because I’m being incredibly obviously selfish?”

“No, it’s because you were, for all of a few seconds. When your brain chemistry was being altered by a tidal wave of magic flowing through you for the first time in days. Do you still want to rush back into the fight?”

The girl didn’t answer that.

“My point exactly,” Karma said. “Gem, if you re-enter the Sieve, you should do it because of a decision you make on your own. Don’t let anyone pressure you into or out of it.”

“What about receiving advice?” The girl asked.

Karma had to pause for a moment at that. As she stared at her friend, it occurred to her, perhaps a fortnight too late, that she’d been left alone in an unknown city by her father for the first time in her life. No wonder she was so desperate for someone to give her direction.

Making a mental note to knee Gilasev Menza quite hard between the legs at their next meeting, Karma answered.

“In that case, my advice is to decide for yourself. Ignore what you feel you’re obligated to do, focus on what will make you happiest. Can you do that, Gemini Menza? Can you promise to be selfish and dismissive of everyone else, for a change?”

The joke, apparently, was not lost on Gem, who cracked a smile alongside Karma.

“Cow.”

Leaning down, Karma pulled the girl into a one-armed hug before straightening up to leave. She met unexpected resistance as Gem took several moments longer than she’d expected before letting go, though it was beyond even her to fault the girl for such a display.

***

Flint had entered the medical wing with the intention of being serious, stern and unshakable.

His time outside of Wrath, and some considerable explaining from Pyrhic, had made him realise that he was more than just a trench soldier. More, even, than just a sniper. Flint was bodyguard to one of the most important people in Dewlz, in the entire world for that matter.

The days of being cowed by the authority of officers or politicians were long behind him. He had only a single duty, and that was to protect his charge. A duty he’d come close to unknowingly failing just hours before.

When he stormed into the medical wing, it had been his intention to confront his ward and force her to explain the bizarre recklessness which had possessed her to face down an Immortal without so much as informing him.

Unfortunately, his unwavering, newfound self surety was snapped like a twig underfoot the moment he encountered a force he had not quite taken into consideration.

The air of the medical wing reeked of blood, both old and fresh, infection and the toxic cleanliness of carbolic acid. Men and women rushed one way and the other, carrying instruments and treatments in all directions to and from waiting patients, and the entire atmosphere was permeated by a constant, low-energy thrum. The kind that came from ongoing pain and exhaustion.

A single glance brought Flint back to memories of hastily constructed, overly-strained field hospitals. And he had gotten no more than five feet inside before being confronted by one of the staff.

The conversation had been short and decisive. No matter how hard he’d tried, Flint’s attempt to steel his backbone had failed miserably when confronted with an angry medical operative. In hindsight, the fact that everyone in Wrath had been conditioned from birth to obey such people had been his downfall.

Being delegated to continue waiting outside had been somewhat disgruntling, but at least a private enough affair that it fell short of outright embarrassment. The absence of any seats in the corridor, and the irritatingly small space he could stand outside the path of the constant stream of people moving in and out of the entrance, still made Flint wish he’d fought just a little bit harder to remain.

He wasn’t wishing for overly long, thankfully, as Alabaster stalked from the medical wing less than ten minutes later.

Striding past, the woman didn’t so much as glance at Flint before hurrying down the corridor in the brisk, loping stride he’d come to expect from her. Having expected some kind of acknowledgement of, if not his right to an explanation then at least his presence, he remained stunned by the perfunctory attitude.

By the time he had regained his wits and begun hurrying after, Alabaster had already made it eight paces from him.

“Where in the Teary Eyed God’s arsehole do you think you’re about to crawl off to?” He called out, words striking the back of the Princess’ head.

She didn’t turn back, or even begin the motion of doing so, before answering.

“I have to interrogate a Fable, as well as see after the arcstock crystals I was trying to procure for you before this incident delayed me.”

Flint caught up by the time she finished, coming into step alongside her and staring pointedly at what he could see of her face. There was no sign of guilt, regret or even any real emotion from what he could draw line of sight to.

“Oh, sorry there, your highness. See I was under the impression that it was my fucking job to protect you when you were going to face off with Immortals, seeing as how I was dragged out of my home and halfway across the world to do just that.”

She glanced at him irritably.

“You’re angry because you were taken from one of the deadliest battlefields in the world?”

It took a great effort on Flint’s part to suppress the surge of rage her sheer ignorance dragged up from the pits of his mind. Through either greater control than he’d known he possessed, or a small miracle, he only shouted at the woman, rather than punching her.

“YES, THE BATTLEFIELD WHERE MY FRIENDS WERE FIGHTING AND DYING. WHERE I’M NO LONGER ABLE TO HELP, OR EVEN SEE, BECAUSE I’M STUCK GUARDING A STUPID TART WHO SEEMS TO INSIST ON MAKING MY JOB AS DIFFICULT AS POSSIBLE.”

The Princess stopped walking, and Flint stopped along with her. She turned to him, a look of pure, silent fury etched across her face. Her luminary eyes seemed alight with rage as she spoke, voice barely a whisper.

“Bite your tongue before speaking to me like that in public, Wrathman.”

There was fire in her words, and an unspoken challenge. Flint didn’t back down from it. He’d been given an order to protect her from Hercules himself, failure would most likely mean his death. And staring down officers whilst they tried to kill him in their stupidity was nothing new for him.

“Bite your ankles before rushing into danger without me present, Olympian.”

Alabaster seemed genuinely surprised by his defiance, and Flint quickly spoke to exploit the silence her shock bought him.

“I don’t care what you want to do here, at all. Whatever political games you’re playing to line your pockets have nothing to do with me. What does, though, is whether you live or die. Because I’ve been given orders to stop the latter from happening, and if the best way for me to do that is to follow you around without question, I’ll do just that. Understand?”

Her eyes narrowed, appearing almost reptilian with the icy intelligence behind them.

“You don’t have the right to follow me.”

More on impulse than anything, Flint stepped closer and brought his face within a hand of hers.

“My orders are from Hercules himself, I have the authority to do anything I think will guarantee your safety, and to neutralise any threat I see to your life. If I deem you a threat to yourself, I’ll happily keep you tied up in your quarters until the Sieve’s over.”

She was silent at that. Not just verbally, but gesticulatively. Every inch of the woman’s body froze, the only visible movement in either her face or her posture was a slight twitching. The quivering of muscles burning with energy and eagerness, yet held in place by patience.

It wasn’t calm, nor anything close to it. Simply the kinesics of imminent action, like a Riphound tensing before a hunt. Karma Alabaster was beautiful, clever and stern. She’d struck Flint as a politician, at best a particularly punctilious officer.

Her rage revealed the diamond-hard warrior he’d overlooked, hidden behind all the pretense and finery.

“Very well then.” She said at last.

Flint had grown tense as he waited for her answer, yet hearing the detached, reptant voice with which it was delivered served only to heighten his apprehension.

“What concessions,” the woman hissed, “would you demand of me?”

Though he had spent no small amount of time mentally preparing himself to lock horns with Alabaster, the sheer whiplash at seeing her shift temper so rapidly nearly shook all pre planned demands from his head.

Quickly regathering them, he did his best to keep the agitation from his voice.

“I want to be informed and present whenever you’re doing anything even remotely dangerous, whether the Kin are there with you or not.”

“If I’d waited to send for you today, Gemini Menza may well have been dead when we arrived.”

“I don’t care, my job’s to protect you, not them.”

She narrowed her eyes at that.

“Would you have me prioritise that as revenge for being dragged away from your own friends?”

Her query was delivered with the steady sobriety one might expect from a scouting report, and yet its implications sent a sharp pang deep into Flint’s chest. He shook it off, searching his suddenly dry mouth to find the words that lay impotent at its floor before answering.

“No,” he muttered at last, words needing to be squeezed out between rage-tightened teeth. “But I can’t have you just rushing off whenever you feel like it, especially not into danger like that.”

“And I can’t have those close to me perish because I was too busy attempting to find you to help them out when I already had two perfectly functional bodyguards.”

Flint found his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“So keep me around more often!” He roared, barely remembering his ward’s previous words in time to modulate his tone. The resulting half-shout apparently did little to faze her one way or another.

s

“I can’t do that,” she said calmly. “That would render you useless as a bodyguard for Pyrhic, and if you fulfil that role then you’ll be saving me no small amount of pain and danger in the long term with the amount of places you can safely go that I or my publicly known subordinates could not.”

“I. Don’t. Care. About. Your. Work.” Flint replied. “I never did, and I’ve told you. All I care about is keeping you alive, and I clearly can’t do that while letting you out of my sight.”

Alabaster met his gaze for a few moments, saying nothing. Flint found his rage begin to chill, directed at her placid eyes. It almost made him consider dropping the topic. It was of far too great import for such a reckless dismissal, of course.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, to add more to his argument, she spoke in his place.

“If you care about my safety,” she said calmly. “Then you will do everything in your power to keep me from dangerous situations. However you should know, practically speaking, confining me to my quarters most certainly is not within your power.”

Flint opened his mouth to correct her, but fell silent at only a single gesture from the woman.

“My fellow organisers do not like me, at all. They see me as a young, arrogant, foolish upstart, and for that matter they’re correct on all but one account. And yet I am still an organiser, just like them. And one of the two in this city with ties to the Jaxif Faction. That means that my absence would be noticed immediately, and investigated.”

“The moment my location was discovered, there would be at least two Immortals eager to rescue me for the sole purpose of humiliating me publicly by showing my captor to be easily overcome and, by extension, showing myself to be easily overpowered.”

She arched an eyebrow as she trailed off, something Flint realised she did quite often, and then crossed her arms expectantly.

“Well, Locke? Do you believe you can fight off an assault from an Immortal, let alone their servants simultaneously? For that matter, do you believe my Kin will be so easily cowed by your rather creative interpretation of Lord Hercules’ orders?”

Flint could think of nothing to say, and his speechlessness bled into another bout of anger.

“Tough shit, fighting off a bunch of Immortals is a better bet than a Deity.”

Alabaster’s gaze hardened once more.

“In that case, how about a compromise of some kind?”

“What compromise?”

“You can accompany me at all times, save for when you’re with Pyrhic on her information-gathering missions.”

He raised his voice to speak, and she cut him off.

“And, I will refrain from risking my life in any way during your absence. With the sole exception of situations similar to the one today, which I can assure you was both under my control and quite a rarity.”

Flint wanted to hit the woman. He wanted to scream at her, to let her know exactly how much a pampered, spoiled bitch her actions betrayed her for. Eclipse, he wanted to shoot her in the foot. And yet, in the seconds he spent considering which option would get him court-marshalled faster, he came to a realisation which drained all the rage from him and replaced it with a low, steady hate.

She didn’t care how much danger her disregard for his orders placed him in, nor what Hercules’ legendary rage would drive the Deity to do to Flint if his daughter died under his protection.

Biting his tongue, Flint nodded.

“Alright then,” he mumbled.

It seemed to him that her suggestion was the most generous offer he’d be able to get from such a woman.