Clo opened the barracks door and stamped in, shaking sand from her boots. Sher and Kyla stood together; this must be one Avern of a mission for both Novan co-commanders to be there. They were often apart—training recruits, checking ongoing missions, or surveying their growing spy network.
Clo’s face softened at seeing Sher. He’d been away too long. Sher was technically her commanding officer; he’d been the one who plucked her out of the swamp water and given her something to believe in. Though she’d never tell him, she thought of him as a sort of older brother or uncle. The closest thing she had to family.
Sher was tall and lean, muscled from his past training as a soldier for the Empire. His dark brown hair was in desperate need of a cut and his stubble was longer than usual, meaning he’d probably been at some silthole of a forgotten outpost for the past month. His face was still unlined, his skin a light, golden brown, but he was older than he appeared—one of the first cohorts of soldiers completely genetically engineered and programmed for fighting. He’d been among the only survivors of that particular crop of infants, along with Kyla.
Kyla stood taller than her co-commander, even in flat-heeled boots. They were genetic siblings—born from vials within minutes of each other. After being forced to present as male during her time in the military, Kyla transitioned after escaping Tholosian rule fifteen years ago with Sher. Her skin was a warm brown, and her hair fell in long, black curls that no pin or hair tie could tame. What always struck Clo first was Kyla’s eyes: black as ink and so piercing, they made even the toughest soldier squirm.
“Okay,” Clo said. “I’m here. Hey, Kyla. Welcome back, Sher. And—wait a minute—” She reached for his face—an insubordinate move for anyone but her. “Look at that fuzz! You trying to grow a full beard?”
Sher dodged her hand. “Shut up, Alesca.”
“You are! Look, how patchy.”
“I was going for distinguished.”
“Of course you were.” She leaned in to him. “Distinguished. I’ll bet you’re trying to look all serious and broody for the troops, too.”
Kyla hid a smile.
Sher rolled his eyes and gave Clo a side-on hug—then immediately wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
Clo glared at Kyla. “See? What did I tell you? She wouldn’t even let me wash, Sher. I’ve been at the engines since dawn.”
“This is more important,” Kyla said, serious again. “Before I brief you, I’m going to need you to remember your training: keep a clear head; stay calm; don’t act without thinking; don’t—”
A throat cleared behind her. Clo twisted, taking in the small woman in fragmented pieces before her mind put them together. Delicate features, deceptively doll-like, skin too pale for the harsh desert, hair night-black. But those eyes weren’t really green.
The last time Clo had seen that face up close, those eyes had blared a luminous gold. The cold, brutish expression was just the same.
If I ever see ye ’gain, I’ll drain ye t’ the dregs, Clo had vowed the last time they met.
She felt Kyla’s hand clamp hard on her wrist before Clo’s hand could stray to the blaster at her belt.
Clo hated Eris. She hated everything the other woman stood for. Clo hated that she’d been drawn into Eris’s lies, that she’d let herself care for a murderer. No matter what good Eris did for the resistance, it would never erase that stain of what she’d done before.
And Clo hated Eris, most of all, for saving her life.
3.
ERIS
Present day
Clo had tried to pull a Mors on her. Eris glanced at where Kyla still had her fingers around Clo’s wrist hard enough to bruise.
“Still a slow draw, I see,” Eris said.
She skated near a lie; Cloelia Alesca might not be the sharpshooter Eris was, but what Clo lacked in skill she made up for in sheer raw anger and tenacity. Sometimes, that mattered more.
“Let me go, Kyla,” Clo snarled.
“Absolutely not.” Kyla’s grip tightened. “What did I just say? Clear head. Stay calm. Don’t act without thinking.”
Eris let out a short laugh. “Good luck getting her to do that.”
Clo lunged at her, stopped short only by Kyla’s interference. “Nice face you’ve got there,” she said. “Is it permanent now or can I still fucking tear it off?”
“Alesca,” Sher snapped.
Eris kept her expression even. The last time she had seen Clo, she’d worn a shifter over her true features. Her old face had been replaced by a new, unrecognizable one. It went with a new identity and life with the resistance. Clo, for all her annoyances, had been part of that life at the start. All it had taken was one glitch, and that was over.
The three people in this room were the only ones who knew Eris’s true identity—and that she was still alive.
“I figured I’d make this one permanent,” Eris said mildly. “Like it?”
Clo’s lip curled. “You can change your face, but you can’t hide who you are.”
When Eris was around Nova headquarters, Kyla and Sher let them both know each other’s schedules so a chance encounter never happened. It had been a dance, a successful one. It created the facade of harmony, of union within the rebellion. It wouldn’t do to have the kind of infighting that resulted in their best agent and their best mechanic trying to murder one another. But it was pretty clear to everyone with a pair of working eyes and ears that Clo hated Eris.
Eris had told Kyla as much, when she’d delivered the stolen Imperial ship and its crew of survivors. But she kept her true thoughts to herself: Kyla and Sher had lost their godsdamned minds if they thought Clo would agree to this.
“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” Eris told Kyla and Sher. “She can’t follow orders because you’re both soft with her. You treat her like a sibling, not a subordinate.”
Eris didn’t admit that watching Clo, Sher, and Kyla had stirred something inside her that had to be squashed down and destroyed: jealousy. She’d had that camaraderie with Clo once. She’d had it with someone else, too, and that person was long dead.
She pressed her palm to the firewolf carving. The animal figurine was a reminder that she was alone, same as always.
Sher straightened. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been disobedient with me. I let it slide because you do good fucking work.”
“There’s a difference between permitting occasional disobedience and being too soft. Besides”—Eris’s eyes lingered on Clo—“she’s reckless. A liability. You ought to keep her on Nova. Better yet, send her someplace else.”