I should e-mail Mom when I get home.

“Adara, I’m so—”

“Sorry?” she asks with a sad laugh. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want Griffin to tell anyone. I’m not interested in a pity party. Besides, this is supposed to be a prestigious honor for the family. I’m supposed to celebrate”—one hand wipes at a tear streaking down her cheek—“not grieve.”

“So, Griffin has been helping you, uh . . .”

“Prepare to lose my mother?” She gives a little snort. “Yeah, pretty much.”

I try to wrap my brain around this news. Griffin hasn’t been romantically involved with his ex, he’s been helping her through a tough time. I can’t fault him for that, of course. Besides the whole descendant-of-Hercules obligation thing, deep down he’s a sensitive and loyal guy.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my own issues that I never thought that someone else might be having problems. Adara’s life always seemed so perfect. I never once thought she might be going through a tough time.

But why did he lie to me? We’re supposed to be partners. Equal. He should have known he could tell me the truth in complete confidence. But he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—confide in me, which means he doesn’t trust me. Not completely. That means that, while he’s not completely in the right, he does deserve another chance. We deserve another chance.

“You gave Griffin a raw deal,” she says.

I never thought I’d say this, but she’s right. “I did.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll fix it,” I vow. As soon as camp is out for the day, I’ll be knocking on his door, prepared to work out this whole trust thing.

“You’d better.”

When she starts to turn back to the courtyard, I reach out and touch her elbow. “Thank you.”

She stiffens. “Whatever,” she says, back in old Adara form. “If you’re over being pissed at me, maybe we can get on with the neofaction exercise.”

Less than a minute later, she’s standing there with a steaming-hot latte in her hand.

I spin around, ready for my accolades.

She takes a sip and then snorts. “Nice try.” The cup glows for a second and then disappears. “That was decaf.”

For a second I think about strangling her. But then my common sense kicks in. First of all, I need to focus on controlling my powers if I’m going to pass the test. And second, I don’t fancy spending time in Hades.

Sympathy for Adara has nothing to do with my decision to quietly turn around and try again.

Promise.

“He didn’t mention where he was going,” Aunt Lili says when I ask her if Griffin’s home.

“Oh,” I say, deflated. I want to talk to him as soon as possible. For the first time in a while, I do not think the worst. Despite my better judgment—maybe it was her tears or the phase of the moon or a curse of understanding—I believe Adara. “Can you tell him I stopped by. And—” I almost ask her to tell him I’m sorry, but that’s definitely the sort of thing a girl needs to say in person. “And that I’ll try again tomorrow.”

And the day after that. And the day after that. And every day until we’re good again. Because what we have is definitely worth the effort—and definitely worth my eating some humble pie.

“My nephew isn’t perfect,” Aunt Lili says as I reach the door. “But he has a good heart.”

“Yeah,” I say giving her a confident smile, “I know that.” Now.

If my trust issues have driven him away, I have no one to blame but myself.

As the door closes behind me, I think about how unfair I was to Griffin—and to myself—for thinking the worst. After nine months, I should trust him—and my instincts—more than that.

Without thinking, I kick into a jog as I hit the edge of the village. My Nikes pound the smooth stone path with a soft thud. Every step I take sends more blood, more oxygen, pumping through me. My worries start to ooze away. Griffin and I will be fine. If he can’t forgive me right away, then I’ll work to win him back. We’re fated. That’s not the kind of thing a girl can let slip away.

I’ll pass my test. My control over my powers is getting better every day. Last week I autoported and today I materialized—neofactured—a dozen lattes for Adara. Even if none of them was to her exacting specifications, she still gave me the merit badge. (This one has an orange ring of color, a yellow background, and a gray factory-building design. I’ll line it up on my dresser, next to the other six, when I get home.)

Tomorrow night, I’ll meet my mystery e-mailer and find out what happened to Dad. And maybe learn how to keep whatever happened to him from accidentally happening to me.

Running always makes everything so clear.

Maybe this is why I’ve been so stressed. Most of the running I’ve done lately is training runs. All business and focus. No time for daydreaming and working through things while physically exhausting myself. Running is definitely my therapy. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to schedule regular fun runs—training-free time.

Before I know it, I’m jogging toward home, following the path that curves around the front lawn of the Academy. But I haven’t finished exercising my problems, so I steer off toward campus. A hard run around the cross-country course should do the trick.

Nearly two hours later I’m racing up the front steps at home, exhausted in the best possible way.