“What are you doing here?”

Both turned at the sound of Lore’s voice.

“Oh—I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” her mother said, moving toward her.

Lore jumped down off the stool, backing away from her outstretched arms.

“What are you doing here?” Lore asked again.

Her mother and father exchanged a look that Lore did not understand. Her father hadn’t shaved in days, and his face was prickly with a new beard. There was a cut above his left eye, and he seemed to be moving with a slight limp. Lore scanned her mother, only finding a bruise on her cheek and a wrapped wrist. Neither of them had an injury severe enough to force them to leave the hunt early and face the shame of that choice. Not that she could see.

“I was taking good care of them,” Lore insisted. “I was being a good girl. I did everything you asked me to.”

“I know you did,” her mother said softly.

Then why?

Her father knelt in front of her, trying to gather Lore into his arms. She pulled back until she bumped into the counter. “Won’t you give your papa a kiss?”

Lore turned her head away, her heart beating hard, her thoughts shooting in a million different directions at once. “You shouldn’t be home. It’s not over.”

“It is for us,” her father said gently.

One more cycle.

She whirled toward him, her breath catching. Lore hated the way her voice quivered. “Until next time?”

“Until forever, chrysaphenia mou,” her mother said. “Your father and I came to a decision, one we should have made years ago. We will hunt no more.”

Lore shook her head, covering her ears to try to block the words. Her mother exchanged another look with her father, who rose onto his feet.

“We have waited as long as we could,” her father said. “The situation has become grave, and we need to use the distraction of the Agon to leave the city. Tonight, we’ll pack what we need and, tomorrow, begin a new life elsewhere.”

It didn’t make sense. What could have changed?

“Are you scared of Aristos Kadmou? You told me the Perseides are afraid of nothing,” Lore said. “You told me the House of Perseus was the most noble of them all. You said . . . You said . . .”

All the other bloodlines spat at them, laughing each time her father had asked to ally. Their line had lost its inheritance; they fought with flawed weapons other lines had discarded. But Lore had never thought they’d lose their pride. Honor was the most important thing—and the only thing—left to them.

More important than the very breath in your lungs, her instructor had said. You cannot survive without it, and you would not wish to.

“I know what I told you, Melora,” her father said. “But this can’t continue. We can’t endure this world. Aristos Kadmou has claimed the power of Ares. Do you understand what that means?” Lore resented his careful pause, the assumption that she could not handle the truth.

She ignored the spike of fear at the thought of a man like Aristos with immortality—with power he didn’t deserve. She did understand what it meant.

She understood that, in seven years, she would cut him until his mortal blood rained down, and then she would bring him to her father to kill.

“We’re doing this for you and your sisters,” he continued. “We are leaving the Agon and this city, and we’re going as far as the winds will take us.”

I will never hunt.

The words brought a cold, terrible feeling into the pit of Lore’s stomach. She would never be more than what she was now: a girl standing at the threshold of a secret world, without a key to unlock the way.

“No,” Lore said. Her grandmother’s knives were waiting for her, a promise yet to be kept. “You are cowards. You are cowards, and if you won’t fight, then I will!”

Her mother looked away, pressing a hand to her mouth in obvious distress.

“You will not speak to us that way, Melora,” her father said. The anger in his words made her feel sicker.

“I hate you,” she whispered between clenched teeth.

“Lore,” her mother said. “Please.”

“I hate you,” Lore repeated. “And I’ll hate you forever!”

“Very well.” Her father stared down at her, his face shadowed. “At least you’ll be alive to do so.”

She pushed past him, storming across the apartment and into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. Her body shook as she stood in the dark, tears streaming down her face. The floorboards creaked on the other side of the door. She heard the soft exchange of her parents’ voices.

Not wanting to speak to them, not wanting to look at them, she climbed into bed beside Olympia and pulled the blanket over her head.

“Leave her, Helena,” her father said. “She’s got my temper, and we both know only time can settle it.”

“She needs to understand,” her mother whispered back.

“I don’t want the girls to live in fear,” her father said. “I won’t have it haunt them.”

Her mother persisted. “She needs to know that he’s ascended. We should have left before the week began.”

“We had to at least try,” her father said. “If one of us had been able to ascend, we could have protected them.”

“She needs to know the consequences,” her mother said. “That we cannot hide ourselves from him. That he won’t just come for her, but for all of us . . . and for it.”

Their footsteps receded, taking their voices with them. Lore clenched her fists, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body shook with anger, and she thought she would explode if she didn’t scream.

Olympia turned and curled up next to her like a sleepy puppy, butting her head of dark curls against Lore’s chest.

Tears came, hot and stinging. They streamed like a river with no beginning or end, dripping down her cheeks, into the pillow, into the mattress.

Her parents were taking everything from her, all because they were afraid.

Lore wasn’t afraid of anything—not the gods, not death, and not Aristos Kadmou and his snakes.

“Don’t fight, Lolo,” Olympia whispered, clutching at the front of Lore’s night shirt. “Don’t fight. Go to sleep.”

But fighting was all she could do.

Her parents had been humiliated and scorned for years; they’d struggled for so long just to bring food to the table. She’d been ridiculed and mocked every day at Thetis House until they finally found a reason to send her away. But Lore had practiced her skills for hours on end while her parents were at work, because she knew what her parents had forgotten.

They were meant for this life.

They were meant to attain kleos and live forever.

They would not be the last Perseides, and she would not let Castor die.

Her parents only needed to remember. They needed a new reason to believe in the Agon, and in their own power. They needed what was rightfully theirs.

Lore strained her ears, listening for the sound of her parents and hearing nothing but the soft breath of the AC unit in the kitchen. She slipped out from under Olympia’s grip and changed out of her pajamas. Her heart jumped into her throat as she tied her tennis shoes and stood, giving her sister a kiss on the forehead. She moved toward Damara, leaning over her crib to give her one, too.