1 November 1915

Enyo is afraid, something she has worked hard to hide but I can still see it. She's afraid that she'll be uncontrolled. I tried to reassure her that the handlers would never let us go unchecked. I tried to tell her that the Deimos network would never lose control. We hold each other accountable, we hold each other up, we keep one another going. We keep each other safe...

8 November 1915

...She's afraid, still. She wants so much, things that even I don't know, but she insists she will never achieve them. "It's not my place," she says. Her place. What is our place in all of this?...

15 November 1915 

We are turning the tide of the war, our feet on the cobblestones make craters that will be known for years. Enyo wants the glory but doesn't consider the danger. Or maybe she does and isn't willing to pay a price for our hard work. I know war. War is death but sometimes it feels too far away to be real. And others it's chasing me down the alleys, stealing my breath and my sleep.

We may be gods in this war, pulling the strings to the secrets that surround us, but I know that for every success there is one more man who loses his life, leaving his family. Leaving his daughters.

Maybe Enyo doesn't want to make more orphans? That's our job, isn't it? We, as gods, play life and death with our codes and messages. our secrets mean life for one side and death for another.

20 November 1915

Maybe Enyo is right to be afraid of our power. Maybe Enyo is always right.

I could never admit that to her. She'd just lord it over me, using it to force me into more lessons and fighting. Her contact from France, the Rook, had made her pull a trigger and now she is obsessed with teaching me how. I don't need to know how to shoot, I'm an operative. I'm a god. I watch, take, and leave before the enemy hears the whisper of my breath. Or I would if I could go on a mission alone.