Page 109 of Only the Wicked
“Icarus? Arachne?”
Her questions prove she indeed read the primer. Icarus ignored the warnings and flew too close to the sun. Arachne believed her skills were her own and not the gods. Both paid dearly.
“And Achilles,” I add.
“The Achilles heel?”
“That’s not the portion of the story that’s relevant. Achilles was the most powerful warrior. His war prize was taken from him, and feeling dishonored, he refused to fight. His refusal led to the downfall of the Trojans.”
“Huh, I always thought it had to do with his Achilles heel being the one weak point.”
“I simplified the Iliad’s version of the story.”
“Are you seeing yourself as Achilles?”
I’m not a warrior, but I’ve created a weapon.
I brush her hair aside before I can stop myself. The strands are damp, her skin soft. And she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, though whether it’s for the touch or the mythology analogy, I can’t tell.
“For the Greeks and Romans, pride was one of the worst sins a man could commit.” I inhale deeply to shake the fog clouding my thoughts.
“Does this have to do with what the Russians have over you?”
She’s inches from me and asking if a business deal that violated a sanction is throwing me into a spiral. It’s not. I don’t treasure years of court cases or having my reputation spun through the shitter, but no, I’m spiraling because it’s much worse than that. By creating ARGUS, I am Niobe, bound to suffer the wrath of the gods for declaring my child the most capable and powerful.
ARGUS was meant to be my legacy. Now it could be my undoing. If I refuse Russia, they expose the Saudi Arabia deal and trigger investigations that could strip me of my company. If I comply, I become complicit in something far worse than sanctions violations. The intelligence community, Sydney’s former colleagues included—public servants—remain targets. And if I take the company public as Miles wants, I lose control entirely. Three paths, all leading to destruction.
“Rhodes?”
I caress her cheek, and something shifts inside me. The white-hot fury that drove me from this room hours ago has cooled to something more manageable—still painful, but no longer consuming. Maybe it was Nana’s gentle wisdom about forgiveness, or maybe it’s the growing realization that I’ve betrayed myself far more than Sydney ever betrayed me. The anger is still there, but it’s directed where it belongs now: at the impossible situation, not at the woman who tried to navigate it. Syd’s a symptom of a much greater affliction. A warning of what’s coming.
“Are you Athena?”
“The goddess of war? In what way?”
“Well, you are a warrior, right? You worked for one of the world’s intelligence agencies. You went rogue to hunt down whoever betrayed your people.” I take a step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “And now, what? Where do I fit in? Are you here to assist me or to turn me into Medusa?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, but I see the calculation behind her eyes—weighing truth against lies, mission against emotion.
“I’m not Athena,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just Sydney.”
But that’s the tragedy of the myths. The mortals never recognize the gods walking among them until it’s too late. And I’ve already looked too long into her eyes to turn back now.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Sydney
I touch his wrist, tentatively, hoping for connection.
With a slight shake of his head, he withdraws, choosing a lone chair to sit.
He closes his eyes and, with a frustrated sigh, rests his head on the back of the chair.
“The leak—what exactly made you think it came from ARGUS?”
I understand his question. Leaks in the intelligence world have been occurring since before the world wars. There are any number of options.
