“But I thought the subway tunnels were flooded?” Lore asked.

“Some of them are,” Miles said. “I can see if there are any updates through work, but they might have their own motorized system for getting around without using the tracks themselves. What do you think it is, though? A bomb?”

“A sacrificial offering to the gods is usually made with fire,” Lore explained to Miles. “So the smoke rises to where they were believed to reside in the sky. If it’s not a bomb, it’s most likely some other incendiary device. Are we betting on Grand Central Station as their target?”

“They could connect to a number of different subway lines there,” Miles said. “But they would definitely need to pass through it.”

“You are forgetting a few steps,” Iro said. “For it to be a proper sacrifice there would need to be libations. An animal’s throat would be cut—there’d be prayers.”

“I think he’s likely moved beyond proper,” Lore said.

Iro nodded. “Fair point.”

“There’s another problem,” Castor said. “Even if we’re right, how are we going to narrow down the potential window of the attack?”

“Leave that to the Odysseides,” Iro said. “We will discover when they mean to attack, and we will cut them off at the knees.”

“The remaining Achillides would help with any sort of assault on the Waldorf Astoria,” Van said. “We’ll still be greatly outnumbered by Wrath’s forces, but if we can catch them off guard and preempt their plans, the element of surprise will level the playing field somewhat.”

“All right, all right,” Castor said. “But there’s still Wrath to contend with. And Athena.”

“That’s the uncomplicated part,” Lore said. “I have something they both want, and now they both know it.”

Castor sighed. “You want to use the aegis as bait?”

“I don’t know. . . .” Van shook his head. “He needs it for something. Is it really wise to bring it to him? If he finds a way to force you to use it—”

“That will not happen,” Iro said firmly.

Lore looked at her, surprised by her old friend’s show of faith.

“It won’t,” Iro insisted.

“It won’t,” Lore agreed. “Both he and Athena are deluding themselves if they think they can use it once they’re in divine form, I really do believe that. And I will never give it to them willingly.”

“Haven’t we tried this plan a few times already?” Castor asked gently. “What makes you think it’ll end any differently?”

“Because of the aegis,” Lore said. “It’s about more than setting a trap—it’s about playing them off one another. Wrath is obsessed with it, and Athena will never let him have it when she’s so close to having it herself. Cas, if we can draw them into a one-on-one fight, we’ll be able to take care of whoever emerges from it alive.”

Van seemed to run the scenario through his head, but he didn’t immediately shoot it down. Castor wore his familiar look of worry.

“There are still a lot of maybes and uncertainties,” Van said. “But at this point, it’s probably the best we’re going to come up with. Our goal is to ensure the device never goes off and that Castor is the final god.”

“That won’t be enough to end the Agon outright,” Miles reminded them. “And we still don’t know what the new lines mean.”

“I know,” Lore said. The thought filled her with bitter frustration, but what could they do? They were out of the one thing they needed most—time. “If we can get you through today, tomorrow, and Saturday, then we have seven years to figure it out before another Agon begins.”

Iro rose from her chair. “If we are to attack tomorrow, I will need to move quickly to learn the timing of their plans.”

“And how are you going to do that, exactly?” Miles asked.

Iro’s eyebrows rose. “I only need to find one of Wrath’s hunters who knows these details. I will enjoy . . . discussing it with however many it takes to find out.”

“Text me when you learn anything,” Lore said.

“Yes, I will,” Iro said. “I nearly forgot. . . .”

She moved toward the stairwell, retrieving the heavy black duffel bag that she had left there as she’d come in. “I thought you might need weapons, given all that’s happened.”

Iro removed them from their wrappings, laying them out on the floor. Castor unsheathed the sword Van handed to him, inspecting it.

“You remember how to use that thing?” Lore asked.

He sliced it through the air, admiring the flash of the pristine silver blade. “I think I’ve still got the gist.”

It was a xiphos, the shorter straight blade that the ancients had traditionally favored. Only, the bloodline’s weapon makers had long ago substituted iron and bronze for superior steel. Decorative silver vines were inlaid in the hilt; that small bit of artistry was a signature of their metalsmiths.

“These are from your own stores?” Lore asked, surprised.

Iro nodded. “It would not do to fight with our enemy’s steel. I wouldn’t be able to trust it.”

Iro passed Lore her own xiphos, the scabbard, like Castor’s, attached to a baldric—a long leather strap that cut from her shoulder to hip to allow the blade to hang there. Her sword had no real embellishments, but Lore liked the feel of it in her hand.

When Iro rose to go, Lore followed her to the stairs.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Lore asked her.

Iro nodded, seeming to struggle with her thoughts for a moment.

“I meant with everything,” Lore said. “This isn’t just stopping Wrath. It’s the end of the Agon and the destruction of everything you know. Everything you’ve wanted.”

All the things she, too, would have to face.

“We all cast votes on whether or not to help you, and it was unanimous,” Iro said. “The Agon has never been a kind master, but this hunt nearly destroyed us. Everything has changed now. Wrath tore down all of the rules and beliefs that carried us through the centuries, only to reveal the rot that has always been there, just out of sight. If we do not end the Agon, it will end us.”