Alexa's mouth trembles in a silent gasp of relief as the Thunderbolt comes out, but it does not prevent her from bending the knee and spine in a bow of acceptance. "It shall be so," she intones, and does her best not to let the storm swirling inside her mind rise to the surface.

The Ceronians have been abandoned by Zeus. No, not abandoned--actively targeted, which is infinitely worse. And even with Hera's blessing, Alexa would much rather grab Redana and clear the blast zone than actively seek to thwart the will of the King of the GOds.

But the bargain has been struck, the demand made, and it is even less in Alexa to become an oathbreaker to the gods than it is to be one who follows orders. That has ever been her job--to follow the orders, and not to question them. 

She rises, eyes set on the palace. This is not running, she insists to herself. She is seeking a higher goal, a strategic objective. That's not running. There's no need to punish anyone else. You can't punish anyone else for her following the orders of a god!

It sounds desperately hollow, even to her own mind.

Still, as she turns, she hesitates, her eyes seeking her own. Please let them be alive. Of course they're alive, right? Scratches, perhaps, but nothing that won't heal. They'll recover. Let that be true, and she can--be brave, Alexa--turn against the will of Zeus himself in peace.