“Omigods, Griffin,” I gasp, overwhelmed with hope. “Do you know what this means? This means we could all—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you what she’s trying to do. This is a one-in-a-billion long shot. The gods are as unyielding as they are fickle, if that makes any sense. They’ve had millennia to hone their skills at writing unbreakable decrees. The chance that they messed up in one of ours—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, just to see you get hurt all over again.”

His blue eyes are full of the same pain I felt at losing Dad. More, since he lost both his parents at once. But at the same time, deeper than the pain is his love for me. I don’t know how I let myself believe that wasn’t there.

And because of my love for him, I won’t push the issue right now.

“We can talk about this some other time,” I say. Relaxing in his arms, I snuggle my head against his neck. “Right now I’m too busy trusting you to think about anything else.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh against my chest.

I know he is dead serious about protecting me, about keeping me from pain. I also know that I can’t let this go forever. I’m not so dumb that I don’t realize what a crazy impossibility this loophole thing is. If there is a chance, though—even the teeny, tiniest, slimmest chance in history—for any of us to get back our lost parents, then I have to pursue that chance.

For now, I’ll hang back and let him and Nicole take the lead, helping when I can. But I’ll follow this through to the end.

However long it takes.

CHAPTER 10

CORPOPROTECTION

SOURCE: HESTIA

The ability to protect oneself from harm, whether seen or unseen. In some hematheos, this may manifest as the ability to sense impending danger. Others may be capable of deflecting a direct physical threat. Effectiveness diminished by mental distraction.

DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas

TANSY IS WAITING at the cross-country starting block when Griffin and I walk up the next morning. She’s wearing a tank top, supershort running shorts, and a pair of sneakers that look older than me. She’s also wearing a headband and matching wristbands in a very eighties white with blue stripes. Oblivious to our approach, she’s busy stretching. But not normal stretching—superexaggerated stretching, like a cartoon or something.

“Is that her?” Griffin whispers.

“Uh-huh,” I whisper back. With a shrug, I add, “She wants to be a runner.”

“She, um . . .” He swallows hard. “Certainly has the outfit down.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t. Besides,” he says, “if she starts training with us, she’s gonna need those sweatbands.”

With a grateful smile, I take his hand and slip my fingers through his.

Tansy finally notices us approaching.

“Hi, Phoebe,” she calls out, waving excitedly. “Griffin, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I hear you want to be a runner.”

Her green eyes flick to me and back to him. With a breathless, dreamy voice, she says, “More than anything.”

I remember that kind of desperate wanting. If my dad had asked me the same question eight years ago, I would have replied in exactly the same way. For maybe a little bit of the same reason. More than anything—more than love of the sport or desire to win or the rush of endorphins—I wanted to be close to him. To be like him.

“Let’s get started, then,” I say, slipping off my hooded sweatshirt and hanging it on the drinking fountain. “Since this is your first training session, I think we should start out easy. Don’t want to kill you on your first day.” To Griffin, I suggest, “Why don’t we take the yellow course.”

“Makes sense.” He shrugs out of his zip-up sweatshirt and hangs it over mine. “That’s the shortest course,” he explains to Tansy. “That way if you get worn out, we can stop after one lap.”

“I won’t get worn out,” she insists. “We don’t need to do the baby course.” She looks personally offended that we would even suggest she couldn’t keep up.

I remember feeling like that, like I had something to prove. Like I didn’t need people cutting me slack because I could keep up on my own, thank you very much. Just last year I felt like that, actually.

Still, we’ve never seen her run. To be on the safe side we should at least test the waters before we push her to the limit. That’s how injuries happen.

“How about this?” I suggest, going for a middle ground that will save her pride and make sure we don’t push her too hard, too fast. “We’ll take one lap on the yellow course and then we’ll do interval training around the stadium.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” Griffin says, jogging in place to warm up his muscles. “I read an article about interval training last year. The alternation of sprinting and jogging builds up cardiovascular efficiency and overall stamina faster than running alone.”

Tansy looks skeptical, like we’re trying to pull one over on her. I am, in a way, but she doesn’t necessarily know that.

Finally, after eyeing me and chewing on her lip, she nods. “Okay.”

I shake out my arms and legs, checking to make sure they’re still warm and loose from when I’d stretched earlier. Everything feels in working order, so I lead us to the starting line.