Finally, at half past ten o’clock, Miles returned from an errand he’d insisted on running.

“For you,” he said, handing Van a stack of external batteries.

Miles reached into his tote bag and handed Castor a long black shirt and black jeans, and, to Lore, a dark sweater to pull over her shirt. “These should all fit, hopefully.”

Castor disappeared into the storage room to change.

When he returned, Miles passed him body armor, then turned to give Lore hers. “That’s from the Odysseides. Iro sent a runner to meet me. Just in case you thought I suddenly had access to army supplies or drug cartels.”

Lore immediately tried to give hers back to him.

“Absolutely not,” Miles told her. “All I’m going to do is run into Grand Central and shout Fire! to get people to evacuate the building. I’ll be fine.”

She offered it to Van, who shook his head.

“I’ll get one from the Odysseides when I meet up with Iro and the others at the hotel,” he said.

“All right,” she said, opening the Velcro straps and sliding it over her head. Castor reached over, adjusting hers for a better fit.

“So . . .” Miles began, taking two sets of wireless earbuds out of his bag. “These are noise-canceling earphones. There’s a switch on the right earbud that actually turns the noise canceling on, otherwise they’re going to be regular earphones and mostly useless.”

Castor held one up, studying the small device, but Lore was still confused.

“For Wrath’s power,” Miles reminded her. “I don’t really know how it works, but maybe if you can’t hear him he can’t worm his way into your brain to affect your strength?”

“Right . . .” she said, somehow having forgotten that would still be a problem. “Right.”

“Did the Odysseides’ runner have the other things I asked Iro to get from my stash?” Van asked.

“She did indeed,” Miles said. He handed them both a small wire cutter and a pen-size flashlight.

“This is a lot more powerful than it looks,” Van explained, taking Castor’s flashlight. “At its highest setting, it’ll momentarily blind someone, but it’ll be fine to use as a flashlight at its lower setting.”

Lore tucked both her flashlight and the wire cutter into the back pockets of her jeans.

“Couldn’t find leather straps, but here’s some tape, if you think you’ll need it to support your wrists and hands,” Van said.

When they’d trained in hand-to-hand combat, they’d always worn himantes, strips of leather wrapped to protect their knuckles and wrists. The tape would be more flexible, making it easier to keep her grip on her sword.

“Thank you,” Lore said, taking it from him.

“And last but not least,” Van said, pulling out two little devices on key rings, one gold, the other silver. They would have looked like garage openers if not for the indentations that marked the speakers. “If you pull the cord out of these and hit the button, it lets out a one-hundred-and-forty-decibel alarm.”

“What, no mace?” Lore joked.

“Oh! Actually . . .” Miles slid a small tube out of his jacket. He opened her hand and closed her fingers around it. “I thought you’d enjoy using it.”

“You know me so well,” Lore said.

“We should be able to track you by sharing locations with Lore’s phone,” Van said. “Service may cut out, though, depending on where and how deep you are.”

Lore nodded. “Thank you for this. All of this.”

“It may not be enough,” Van said. “But it was the best we could do, under the circumstances.”

The group held off on their good-byes until they reached Forty-Second Street and Eleventh Avenue. Miles would be heading east, toward Grand Central, Van would be meeting Iro and the combined remnants of the Houses of Odysseus and Achilles to the west, near the piers, and Lore and Castor would be entering the subway at Thirty-Fourth Street and walking the 7 train’s line to approach the station from underground.

Just before they split up, Lore drew Miles away from the others.

“Once you warn everyone, try to get off this island,” she said. “If something happens and you’re caught in the blast . . .”

“I won’t be,” Miles told her. “But please promise me you’ll be all right.”

Lore hugged him tight. “I’ll be fine. After this, we’ll go do all that stupid tourist stuff I never wanted to do, okay? So you need to be fine, too.”

Miles managed a small smile. “I hope you’re hungry for some Coney Island cotton candy.”

Lore’s face twisted at the thought. He hugged her one last time, then turned. Castor and Van were across the street, clasping one another’s arms in the bloodline’s secret greeting and farewell. Van’s face turned serious at whatever Castor was saying, and he visibly struggled to keep his expression in check.

When they were finished, Lore and Van each raised a hand to one another in farewell.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she heard Miles mutter. “If there’s a chance we’re all going to die—”

He crossed the street in long, purposeful strides, passing Castor without acknowledging him. The new god looked back as he came toward Lore, apparently just as confused as her.

Van had his back to them and was rooting through his bag, searching for something. Miles stopped behind him and reached up to tap his shoulder.

As he turned, Van’s brows rose at the sight of Miles and a small, expectant smile lit his face at something Miles said. There was a beat of utter stillness, then Van took Miles’s face between his hands and leaned down for a searing kiss.

Lore’s mouth fell open as she watched it all unfold. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Castor echoed slowly. “Well . . . well.”

Van wrapped his arms around Miles, giving himself over to the embrace, but Miles reluctantly pulled back and straightened.

“Now,” Miles said, “we can go.”

Castor whispered what sounded like a soft prayer in the ancient tongue as the two of them parted, heading in opposite directions. As Van passed by them one last time, his expression was still dazed.

“I guess that’s our cue, too,” Lore said.

He nodded.

They had covered the aegis in a bedsheet for the walk over, but now Lore removed it, drawing the shield tight to her body.