“Me?” Lore pressed. What the hell does that mean?

The Reveler swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said nothing.

“You’re alone,” she reminded him. “You need help. If you’re just going

to bleed out down here, then what’s the point? What’s the point of any of this?”

“I have an alliance with the imposter Apollo,” Athena said. “I will temporarily extend this to you, so long as you agree to serve as our means of drawing out Wrath.”

“Bait? Is that what I’m reduced to?” The Reveler shook his head with a sardonic laugh, struggling to stay upright without the support of the wall behind him. Lore wasn’t sure that he knew he was making such a low, mournful sound. The wound in his leg was far worse than the one she had given him. It was already turning red as infection set in.

“I’d rather you just stick a knife in my gut and kill me instead,” the Reveler hissed. “End this farce of an existence. This is—all of this, this bullshit—it means nothing. Even the supposedly great Apollo knew. He knew.”

“What does that mean?” Castor demanded, unable to hide his surprise and eagerness. “What do you know about Apollo’s death?”

The air seemed to evaporate from the Reveler’s chest. He slumped forward, sliding down the wall.

“I know nothing,” the Reveler said, his turmoil and drunkenness sinking into exhaustion. “Just that the hunt is long, and there’s only so much anyone can take.”

Castor approached him slowly, taking the dagger from the other god’s slack hand and passing it back to Lore. He looked at the Reveler with sympathy the god didn’t deserve.

“Why did you come to this place?” Athena asked. Disgust settled into her countenance as she took in the destroyed art around her. “What is it that you seek so desperately?”

“Thought he left something for me. That he hid it,” the Reveler said, looking between Athena and Lore.

Lore drew in an unsteady breath, her free hand curling into a fist at her side.

“Why did you decide to work with Wrath after the last Agon?” Lore pressed. “Why did you agree when Hermes didn’t?”

The new god didn’t respond. Lore wiped a hand against the place the shards of cement had cut the side of her head, sending an uncertain look in Castor’s direction. He crouched down in front of the Reveler.

“Swear to me that you won’t kill anyone in my party and that you will answer our questions,” Castor told him, “and I’ll heal you.”

The Reveler scoffed.

Lore’s temper immediately sparked, but Castor never lost his easy, reasonable tone. “You’ll have a better chance of surviving if you can run from the hunters, Iason, and an even better one if you help us.”

The Reveler looked up at his mortal name, his nostrils flaring. Lore was sure he would say no—that ichor, power, and unending violence had carved out every last trace of his humanity. Instead, the feral look faded from his features.

“You see the logic in a temporary partnership,” Athena noted. “Perhaps there is hope for your survival yet.”

The Reveler sneered at her. “Superior to the last.”

“Do we have a deal or not?” Castor pressed.

The last traces of amusement faded from the Reveler. He stared at Castor, at all of them, and Lore could practically feel the strain of his mind searching for another option.

Finally, he said, “I will answer two of your questions, but I won’t help you kill Wrath, and I won’t be your fecking bait.”

Athena rested a cold, heavy hand on Lore’s shoulder. The touch stilled both her thoughts and her outrage. “Two answers will suffice.”

“Working with mortals,” the Reveler said, his smirk turning his perfect features hideous again. “You poor old dear. You once ruled civilizations, and now you’re nothing more than a story that fades with every generation. You must long to rip out these mortals’ hearts with every miserable beat.”

Athena took a hard step forward, buckling the cement beneath her foot.

“Ah, there she is,” the Reveler taunted.

“I would shut up before I let her kill you,” Lore said coldly. “She’s what she’s always been. But for someone who used to be mortal yourself, you had no issue murdering six people upstairs who had nothing to do with the Agon.”

The Reveler rose slowly, his eyebrows drawing down in confusion.

“What the hell are you on about, kid? I haven’t killed anyone since the Awakening,” he said. “If there are dead in this building, it wasn’t my blade that did them in.”

CASTOR HEALED THE REVELER’S leg well enough for him to walk out of the storage room on his own two feet. The new Dionysus had been anxious to see the bodies, but was visibly repulsed at the thought of being supported by anyone else on the journey upstairs.

Athena walked at the front of the group, searching the dark hallways and rooms. Lore brought up the rear, her eyes shifting between the dark shapes of the others as they walked a few feet ahead, one hand resting lightly against the knife she’d strapped to her thigh again.

Miles met them near the stairs, clutching at his arms.

“Okay?” Lore mouthed.

He nodded, but there was no color left in his face.

“Imposter,” Athena began, keeping her voice low. “How is it possible the killers did not find you and that you know nothing of their identities?”

Lore had been wondering that herself. It had been hunters—the only question was which house they belonged to.

“I hid myself in one of the crates and stayed there until things got quiet upstairs and the security guards stopped doing rounds— Shit!” The Reveler stumbled as his injured leg buckled. Castor’s hands flew out to catch him, but the other new god twisted away, growling.

“Let me finish healing you,” Castor tried again. “I’d prefer if you didn’t pass out or die before you give us the answers you oh-so-generously promised.”

“Then ask your questions, you stupid ass,” the Reveler said, drawing himself up to his full height again. His eyes flashed. “And let me be done with you all.”

Castor gazed back at him, unimpressed. But he was silent for the same reason Lore was—neither one of them wanted to waste an answer by asking the wrong question.

Even Athena seemed to be preoccupied by whatever strategy she was inwardly developing. Her posture was so rigid that Lore was beginning to fear that one more snide word from the Reveler would be answered with a dory driven into his gut.

“Okay, well, I’ll start,” Miles began. Lore opened her mouth to stop him, but it was already too late. “Why did you agree to work with Wrath while Hermes didn’t?”

“Because I saw potential in his vision,” the Reveler spat. “Hermes neither liked nor believed him.”

Lore was about to ask what, exactly, that vision was beyond Wrath killing his rivals and searching for the poem, but Miles spoke again.

“That must have really stung, him effectively calling you a fool and turning his back on you,” he said. “But you didn’t bail until the Awakening, even though you had to have known that Wrath would kill his enemies, which included Hermes—I’m assuming that means that part of your agreement was that Wrath couldn’t kill him.”