Lore turned.

Castor rose slowly from the water, his face expressionless, his eyes burning gold.

THE AIR SHIMMERED AROUND Castor, alive with power.

As the dory slipped from Lore’s fingers, she lost all sensation in her body.

Not real. This was . . . It was impossible.

She had watched him die. Her gaze dropped to his chest, to the place the arrow had pierced his heart. Beneath the bloodstained tear in his shirt was new, unmarred skin where the wound should have been. Which meant . . .

The light and power around Castor intensified. He took in the sight of the dead hunter, then Iro.

“Leave,” he told her.

“What—is—this,” Iro gasped. “Who are you? You were . . .”

“Leave,” Castor thundered.

This time, Iro had the sense to run. She struggled through the rain and water, clutching her wounded leg. Castor paid no attention to her, but looked again at the body of the hunter.

“Did you do this?” he asked softly.

Lore’s jaw clenched painfully at the distress in his voice. “Yes. And I would do it again.”

His eyes closed and slowly opened again, as if waking from a dream.

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me—you can’t do this to yourself.”

The brief joy she’d felt turned to ashes in her mouth. How dare he—how dare he pass judgment on her like this, like they were children again and she didn’t know right from wrong?

“I can do whatever I want,” Lore said coldly.

“But you’re not,” he said. “I don’t believe this is really what you want—to kill people, to be a hunter.”

“I make my own choices,” she said. “You’re the only one who won’t play by the same rules as everyone else. It’s not complicity. It’s survival.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Do you hear what you’re saying? Do you think this is what your parents would want—for you to lose yourself avenging them?”

“Don’t you dare use them as a weapon against me!” Lore snarled.

Whatever Castor would have said next vanished as Athena stormed toward them.

“What are you, imposter?” Athena demanded. “You are not mortal, which means you are no god. What are you?”

“I’m . . .” Castor looked down at his hands, tendrils of power still wrapped around them like golden rings, then touched the place the arrow had passed through him.

Artemis had asked the same question. What are you?

“How do you live?” Athena demanded. “What are you keeping from us?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking to Lore. “I can’t explain this—I don’t remember what happened that day—”

“What do you know about the Agon that we do not?” Athena continued. “I do not believe that you remember nothing. If you are immortal these seven days, you have learned something—done something—and you have withheld it from us, your allies.”

“I don’t—” Castor’s voice was low, rough. “I don’t remember. There was pain, and then darkness—and then I woke up.”

“You lie,” Athena told him. “You are here, but not part of the hunt. Not truly. Tell me what you are. My sister was correct—your power feels different, somehow. It always has—it flows through you, but is not born of you.”

Lore turned to her in shock. “What does that mean?”

The goddess only stared at Castor until, finally, Lore looked back toward him, too. Her pulse spiked and she suddenly felt like she was drowning in the air as one clear voice emerged.

None of this is real.

“Your lost memory is a convenient lie to cover the truth of how a god might escape the hunt,” Athena said. “Is that why you did not present yourself in physical form these last seven years? Were you even in this realm at all?”

None of this is real.

Not Gil, not her life here, not even Castor and the shelter his familiar presence had given her heart.

Castor didn’t acknowledge the goddess, but tried to catch Lore’s gaze again. “You don’t believe me.”

Lore couldn’t be caught in another god’s deception. She couldn’t surrender to becoming a game piece moved against her will. But this was Castor.

Wasn’t it?

“We are just trying to figure out what’s going on,” Lore said.

He watched Lore, his devastation clear.

“We,” he repeated.

Lore replayed her own words in her mind. Athena’s presence was steadying behind her. It bolstered her, giving her one last bit of strength to keep from unraveling.

“We,” she confirmed.

She and Athena would do whatever was necessary, whatever was justified, until the last breath left Wrath’s mortal body.

Castor had never wanted to help them see this plan through. If he truly didn’t know how he ascended and that he couldn’t die . . . If he truly had no ulterior motives for working with them . . . Lore needed him to prove himself to her now. It would be her last offer: join us, or leave.

With one last look at her, he turned and walked away.

He crossed through the water, his head down and shoulders hunched. Panic seized Lore at the sight of him growing smaller and smaller and the rain engulfing him.

Lore took a step forward, but Athena lowered an arm, blocking her. The sound of emergency sirens blared toward them, growing in intensity and pitch as they neared.

“He is not needed,” the goddess said. “We were chosen for this, you and I.”

Lore’s body felt wooden as they climbed the stairs toward the quiet of Morningside Heights. As they reached the lookout point, however, Athena suddenly pivoted back toward the park, her face strained with concentration. She studied the red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles as they appeared below, racing down the street.

“We need to go,” Lore said.

Athena held out a hand to silence her.

A tremor moved through the ground like a serpent through sand. The vibration raced up Lore’s legs and along her spine, setting every nerve ablaze. Thunder let out a low murmur of displeasure.

Only, it wasn’t thunder.

It stormed through the streets with a monster’s roar, overpowering everything in its path as it charged forward with a violence that stole the breath from her lungs.