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Like an animal in a hunter’s steel-jaw trap, she’d finally lost that part of her the trap held. The pain was indescribable. But there was freedom as well. And she knew that she didn’t need to cry anymore.

“I never betrayed you,” Lara said. She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

“I’m glad.”

“I tried so hard just to be Lara. But they wouldn’t let me. The whole universe wouldn’t let me.”

“Lara, I’m sorry,” Face said. “I have to place you under arrest pending investigation of this whole mess. Power your weapons systems down. Set your S-foils to cruise position. Don’t attempt any sudden maneuvers.”

“Understood, sir. I’m complying with your orders.”

• • •

Face felt sick to his stomach. He had wished, futilely, that he’d been wrong. But Lara had confirmed it.

A sudden fear struck him. He had been on a private communications channel with Lara, had switched to squadron channel to handle the Target Nu situation and then to respond to Wedge’s order that he move back to the formation, had switched to a private channel for his quick talk with Wedge—and then had gone back to his private channel with Lara. Hadn’t he?

He looked at his comm board. He was now set to squad frequency. He’d spoken last to Lara on an open channel.

His stomach suddenly got worse.

Donos heard the words but didn’t understand them. “I know that you’re Gara Petothel.” He knew that the name Gara Petothel meant something to him but he still couldn’t force his mind around the meaning of those words.

Ah, that was it. Naval officer Chyan Mezzine, a communications and intelligence specialist, had betrayed the New Republic by sending critical information to Admiral Apwar Trigit, a minion of Zsinj. Some of that information was what Trigit used to annihilate Talon Squadron—the X-wing unit commanded by Donos. Only he had survived. Then, later, the New Republic had put out a bulletin on her, indicating that her real name was Gara Petothel, that she was actually a deep-cover agent for Imperial Intelligence. Later, she had been declared dead, another victim of the destruction of Trigit’s Star Destroyer, Implacable.

But Lara Notsil was Gara Petothel.

Lara Notsil had destroyed his command. Had killed eleven pilots he had bound together.

Suddenly he was back there, in the smoky skies above the volcanoes of Gravan Seven, as ally after ally was ripped from the sky by Trigit’s pilots and their ambush. Again he felt the pain of their deaths. It was a selfish pain, part loss, part realization that he had failed them, part understanding that his life had changed in a way he could never set right.

The howl that escaped him was no animal noise. It was the wail of a man who’d just lost everything dear to him … and who suddenly had the destroyer of his happiness in his sights.

In spite of comm distortion, the howl made Face’s skin crawl. He knew who it had to be, and a glance at his sensor board showed Wraith Three turning away from his course to the rendezvous point on an intercept course with Face and Lara.

Wedge’s voice did not sound amused. “Wraith Three, this is Leader. Return to your original heading.”

Donos did not deviate from his new course.

Face said, “Wraith Two, come to three-three-two and accelerate to full speed.” He himself did as he’d ordered, turning away from Donos and running before him. Lara stayed with him.

It’s happening again.

The words were a wail of anguish inside Tyria’s mind.

Once again a fellow pilot was making an assault on a friendly target.

She turned in Donos’s wake and returned her S-foils to attack position.

Once again she had to put a fellow pilot in her weapon sights.

But this time her target was not just an ally but a friend. A squadmate. “Myn,” she said, “please don’t do this.”

Wraith Three came on inexorably but could not gain on Face’s and Lara’s X-wings. But he could fire a proton torpedo, which would cross the distance between them in seconds and could achieve a lock on Lara.

Face neatly sideslipped his X-wing behind Lara’s. “Wraith Three, hold your fire. If you fire, I’m your primary target.