Castor let out a soft noise, already knowing where her story was headed.

“They knew that once Aristos had ascended he would punish my father for refusing him me,” Lore said. “And they knew that if he discovered that he still couldn’t use the aegis as a god, he would find a way to force us to use it for him, or give it to him of our own free will. So I thought, it doesn’t belong to him. It’s ours. It should be ours. I was so convinced that if my parents had it again, it would be enough to make them stay.”

“You did take it,” Castor breathed, half-amazed at the thought. “You stole it.”

She nodded, gripping his arm. Needing to hold on to something steady before the riptide of her regret and grief carried her under. “I did. I was just a stupid kid, and I wanted so badly to be fated for something bigger. For something more.”

“That’s not stupid,” he told her. “It’s how they raised us. It’s not a thing you just get over.”

She nodded, taking in a shuddering breath.

“I took the aegis and I was so . . . excited. So proud.” The memory filled her with shame now. “But then I started thinking about how badly the Kadmides outnumbered us, what the punishment for theft was, how cruel Aristos Kadmou had been to my father. . . . I thought, I’ll bring it back. I’ll bring it back and they can punish me, not my father, not my mother, not Damara, not Olympia. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give them back our inheritance. So I hid it in the one place I knew they wouldn’t think to look.”

Her whole body heaved. She forced herself to continue.

“By then, it was morning. The Agon had been over for hours.”

“And then you went home,” he said softly.

“And then I went home.” Lore shook her head. “I . . . found them.”

Her eyes burned. She pressed one hand against them. “I thought that the Kadmides must have seen security footage of me and sought permission from their new god to kill my family outside the Agon. A part of me always knew the timing didn’t line up, but I was so sure it was him—all of them. But it was her. It’s always been her.”

“What happened isn’t your fault,” Castor said, his voice full of intent. “You were only a child. You couldn’t have known.”

Lore began to cry, letting the tears come fast. “They must have been in so much pain. The girls would have been so scared. . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m worried that one day it’s the only thing I’ll remember about them. When I lose their faces, their voices . . .”

Everything her family owned had been destroyed, including photographs, journals, and heirlooms. There was nothing left.

Castor leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into him, listening to rain patter softly down the windows.

“I spent the last few days lying to you about taking the aegis,” Lore said. “To all of you. I told myself that as long as it was hidden, Wrath couldn’t have what he wanted—if we had found it, I would have done everything to make sure only you saw the poem. That you would be the one to win and escape the Agon. But in the end, I almost went and got it for her. That’s how much I wanted Wrath dead.”

She looked up at him, the words trembling as they slipped from her. “Do you think they hate me?”

Castor shook his head, pressing his lips to her temple.

“No,” he said fiercely. “They love you. They will always love you.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him. “I should have gotten the shield for you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face it.”

The inheritance she had wanted more than anything became the weapon that destroyed her life.

“Neither of us can change what happened,” he whispered. “I wish it had all been different. I wished that a thousand times these last seven years. But your parents wanted to leave the Agon because they wanted you to be safe. To be happy. You still have that chance. That’s what matters to them now.”

Her grip on him tightened, and she tried not to picture her family there in the gray gloom of the Underworld, forever trapped by what she had done to them. She breathed in the scent of him and closed her eyes again, waiting for the clench of pain in her chest and skull to ease.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s this,” Castor began after a while. “When we can’t change the past, the only thing left is to move forward. I need to do the same. I need to stop questioning a gift that’s let me protect the people I care about most.”

Lore pulled back. “You deserve to know what happened to you.”

“But what’s the point of a selfish god?” he said. “Or . . . whatever it is that I am.”

“I don’t think you could be selfish if you tried,” Lore said.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “The truth is, I wasn’t completely honest with you either. I don’t remember how Apollo died, but I do remember the moments before it happened. Everything after that is gone, right up to the moment I woke up and realized I had no body and the life I’d known was over.”

The pain in his voice made Lore’s chest clench.

“I didn’t see him at first. He knew how to play with the shadows and light.” Castor drew in a breath. “I was bedridden. Barely alive at that point. Thetis House had been emptied as the hunt went on, and my father had left, just for a little while, to run an errand. I woke up and Apollo was there, standing at the end of my bed.”

Lore’s lips parted in surprise.

“He looked . . .” Castor’s voice trailed off. “He was covered in blood. There was a wound in his side.”

“What did you do?” Lore asked. “You couldn’t have been armed.”

He shook his head, turning his palms up to look at them. “I wasn’t. I asked him if he needed help.”

Lore stared.

“I know. It’s ridiculous to even think about. A twelve-year-old, believing he could help a god?” He let out a faint laugh. “I should have been terrified. All those years we’d been taught to hate them, but I saw him and I just thought, He looks sick. I saw something in him, in his face, in his eyes, that I’d seen so many times in the mirror. He was aníatos, like me.”

Aníatos. Incurable.

“He asked what my name was, and laughed when I told him. It was a horrible sound, like a clarion. But there was this pull to him. It was . . . It felt like all those times you’re told not to look into the sun, but something tells you to try, just once,” Castor said. “He asked why I had offered him help. I told him that he looked like he needed rest.”

Castor finally looked up at her. “That’s all I remember. I wish it was a better story. I wish that I could tell you that I was brave and strong, and that I deserved this power, but I can’t, and even though I know I might have to let that go, the thought kills me. I would do anything to prove myself to you.”

“You have nothing to prove to me,” Lore said. “Why would you think that?”

Castor turned to look at her, a faint smile on his face. But his eyes blazed with power, and with that same wild, irrepressible feeling she was drowning in.