Lore’s heart gave an involuntary kick in her chest when she realized what that meant.

“No disguise necessary this time,” Lore pointed out, leaning over the edge of the building again. A National Guard patrol was still moving slowly up the street, within eyeshot of the building. She pulled back.

“Indeed,” Athena said, a note of amusement in the word. “It is tiresome to wear another’s face, but men will so often only listen to other men.”

Lore raised her eyebrows, but couldn’t argue with that. “Do you still return to your city? The one named for you?”

“I return to them all,” Athena said. “And I always will, until the last voice calling out to me is vanquished by time.”

“And then what?” Lore asked.

“I will continue to strive to return to my father, and my home,” Athena said. “That is all I desire now.”

Whatever softness had slipped into the goddess’s features disappeared in an instant. Lore felt a touch of ice at the base of her spine at the sight.

“I must tell you something, Melora,” Athena said, the sparks storming in her gray eyes. “And give a warning. I am becoming less certain I can fight the imposter Ares alone. Unlike the false Apollo, I can be killed. As strong as I am, our foe will whittle that strength away. I will need your help to overcome him. . . . Unless, of course, you wish to claim his power.”

Lore drew in a sharp breath. “No. I don’t.”

She never wanted the feeling of being hunted, being trapped, ever again. Ares’s power would drive her mind to the brink.

And make you invincible, her mind whispered.

No. Ares’s power was as much a curse as it was a boon, even as it had brought countless hunters kleos as they’d claimed it. Lore had caused enough damage and death in her short lifetime. But there was that girl inside her, hungry still. The last of her name in all the world. Who would remember her?

Lore shook her head, hugging her arms to her chest. She would fight to restore her family’s honor and glory as herself. She would avenge them as Melora Perseous.

Go get it. The thought moved through her, warm and powerful. Go claim your inheritance. Use it against him.

Even with the aegis, Lore would wither beneath Wrath’s power. But if it was in the hands of someone stronger . . . someone who knew how to wield it, and at its full potential . . .

“You really think you can’t handle him?” Lore asked slowly. It would be a terrifying thing to behold—Athena reunited with the aegis, roaring into battle.

“Only the Moirai could say with certainty,” Athena said. “It pains me to admit such things. Do not ask me this again.”

“But if there was something that could level the playing field . . . ?” Lore began, her voice tight.

The goddess’s gaze slid back toward her. “It would be most welcome.”

The static in Lore’s ears returned, quickening her pulse.

But the poem . . . she thought.

Would it really be that awful if Athena emerged as the victor, if it meant that the Agon would finally end?

After centuries of being hunted, Athena only wanted to leave this world and return to her own realm. She had said it herself, both to Artemis and just now.

Giving the shield to Athena wouldn’t change the past, but it might start Lore—and Athena herself—on the path to absolution.

There was movement at the edge of her vision. The lioness finally emerged from the hotel, clutching a manila envelope. She started north again on Park Avenue, weaving through the partially submerged cars and debris.

Athena nodded to Lore. They took to the fire escape, climbing down into the cool water. They had to move slowly to avoid alerting the lioness with splashing. The distance between them and the girl grew, but so few people were outside, tracking her wasn’t difficult.

When they reached Seventy-Eighth Street, the lioness made a sharp right—and stopped Lore in her tracks.

She had forgotten something. Years ago, she and Castor had made a game of finding all of the bloodlines’ hideouts within the city. Many were open secrets, but even more existed somewhere between rumor and fact. They had only found this place after hearing one of the instructors talking about it, himself guessing where it might be.

Athena slowed, looking to her. Ahead of them was the East River, and between it and them was a series of impressive prewar ivory apartment buildings.

“One of the Kadmides’ properties,” Lore explained. “I completely forgot about it. Let’s see if there’s a place we can get a good view of who’s coming and going.”

That turned out to be a gated window of Public School 158 across the street. After breaking in through a door on York Avenue, they navigated the school’s halls until they found an unobstructed view of the Kadmides’ building.

Within minutes, three figures in traditional black hunter robes waded down a paved lane between the west side of the building and the one next to it.

The gate there was open, but the lioness waited for the hunters to meet her on the street. One of the new arrivals opened the manila envelope and pulled out a set of what looked to be keys. He distributed them to the others, including the lioness.

She was the first to leave, heading back the way she’d come. The others stopped to remove their robes before following. Lore waited until they were well away before speaking.

“If it’s anything like Thetis House, the entrance isn’t the front door. . . .”

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, more hunters appeared. All of them coming down toward the street from that same tight lane, dripping wet. The entrance had to be somewhere along that narrow driveway, she realized, and had to be underground if they were soaked through. A basement maybe?

They spotted a brass plaque engraved with its building number and name. RIVER HOUSE 111.

“There is a monster in the river,” Lore said.

Athena turned to her, eyebrows raised in invitation.

Lore took it.

LORE WAS IN THE middle of washing her dinner plate when her mother and father returned from the Agon one day too soon.

Her father dropped his travel bag beside the door, his face tense as he absorbed the sight of the dimly lit apartment. Her mother gripped his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Lore couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Her parents had told her that they would stay away for all seven days, sleeping in a hotel in the city, to ensure no harm followed them home.

Lore had tried her best to keep the apartment tidy and clean in the meantime. She’d put the dishes away, stored Damara and Pia’s bright toys in their assigned drawers, and locked her grandmother’s blades back in their chest after she’d sharpened them. Her sisters were too young to touch them, but she wasn’t. Lore liked to run her fingers over the patterns carved into the hilt, to close her eyes and imagine.

One more cycle, her mother had told her. You only need to work hard and be patient until then.

One more cycle, then she could prove herself.

One more cycle, then she could save Castor. He was still alive, and he would keep fighting, she knew that in her soul. If she helped her papa kill a god, they would have enough money to find better doctors and medicine for Castor.

One more cycle.

She had kept herself and her sisters in the apartment all week, finding games and activities to occupy them. Tonight should have been no different: she would put her plate away, throw the frozen pizza’s box down the garbage chute, brush her teeth, kiss Damara good night in her crib, and then climb into bed with Pia, wrapping the blanket that smelled like their mother’s orange-blossom perfume around them both.