The goddess’s gaze slid back toward her. “It would be most welcome.”

The static in Lore’s ears returned, quickening her pulse.

But the poem . . . she thought.

Would it really be that awful if Athena emerged as the victor, if it meant that the Agon would finally end?

After centuries of being hunted, Athena only wanted to leave this world and return to her own realm. She had said it herself, both to Artemis and just now.

Giving the shield to Athena wouldn’t change the past, but it might start Lore—and Athena herself—on the path to absolution.

There was movement at the edge of her vision. The lioness finally emerged from the hotel, clutching a manila envelope. She started north again on Park Avenue, weaving through the partially submerged cars and debris.

Athena nodded to Lore. They took to the fire escape, climbing down into the cool water. They had to move slowly to avoid alerting the lioness with splashing. The distance between them and the girl grew, but so few people were outside, tracking her wasn’t difficult.

When they reached Seventy-Eighth Street, the lioness made a sharp right—and stopped Lore in her tracks.

She had forgotten something. Years ago, she and Castor had made a game of finding all of the bloodlines’ hideouts within the city. Many were open secrets, but even more existed somewhere between rumor and fact. They had only found this place after hearing one of the instructors talking about it, himself guessing where it might be.

Athena slowed, looking to her. Ahead of them was the East River, and between it and them was a series of impressive prewar ivory apartment buildings.

“One of the Kadmides’ properties,” Lore explained. “I completely forgot about it. Let’s see if there’s a place we can get a good view of who’s coming and going.”

That turned out to be a gated window of Public School 158 across the street. After breaking in through a door on York Avenue, they navigated the school’s halls until they found an unobstructed view of the Kadmides’ building.

Within minutes, three figures in traditional black hunter robes waded down a paved lane between the west side of the building and the one next to it.

The gate there was open, but the lioness waited for the hunters to meet her on the street. One of the new arrivals opened the manila envelope and pulled out a set of what looked to be keys. He distributed them to the others, including the lioness.

She was the first to leave, heading back the way she’d come. The others stopped to remove their robes before following. Lore waited until they were well away before speaking.

“If it’s anything like Thetis House, the entrance isn’t the front door. . . .”

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, more hunters appeared. All of them coming down toward the street from that same tight lane, dripping wet. The entrance had to be somewhere along that narrow driveway, she realized, and had to be underground if they were soaked through. A basement maybe?

They spotted a brass plaque engraved with its building number and name. RIVER HOUSE 111.

“There is a monster in the river,” Lore said.

Athena turned to her, eyebrows raised in invitation.

Lore took it.

LORE WAS IN THE middle of washing her dinner plate when her mother and father returned from the Agon one day too soon.

Her father dropped his travel bag beside the door, his face tense as he absorbed the sight of the dimly lit apartment. Her mother gripped his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Lore couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Her parents had told her that they would stay away for all seven days, sleeping in a hotel in the city, to ensure no harm followed them home.

Lore had tried her best to keep the apartment tidy and clean in the meantime. She’d put the dishes away, stored Damara and Pia’s bright toys in their assigned drawers, and locked her grandmother’s blades back in their chest after she’d sharpened them. Her sisters were too young to touch them, but she wasn’t. Lore liked to run her fingers over the patterns carved into the hilt, to close her eyes and imagine.

One more cycle, her mother had told her. You only need to work hard and be patient until then.

One more cycle, then she could prove herself.

One more cycle, then she could save Castor. He was still alive, and he would keep fighting, she knew that in her soul. If she helped her papa kill a god, they would have enough money to find better doctors and medicine for Castor.

One more cycle.

She had kept herself and her sisters in the apartment all week, finding games and activities to occupy them. Tonight should have been no different: she would put her plate away, throw the frozen pizza’s box down the garbage chute, brush her teeth, kiss Damara good night in her crib, and then climb into bed with Pia, wrapping the blanket that smelled like their mother’s orange-blossom perfume around them both.

“What are you doing here?”

Both turned at the sound of Lore’s voice.

“Oh—I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” her mother said, moving toward her.

Lore jumped down off the stool, backing away from her outstretched arms.

“What are you doing here?” Lore asked again.

Her mother and father exchanged a look that Lore did not understand. Her father hadn’t shaved in days, and his face was prickly with a new beard. There was a cut above his left eye, and he seemed to be moving with a slight limp. Lore scanned her mother, only finding a bruise on her cheek and a wrapped wrist. Neither of them had an injury severe enough to force them to leave the hunt early and face the shame of that choice. Not that she could see.

“I was taking good care of them,” Lore insisted. “I was being a good girl. I did everything you asked me to.”

“I know you did,” her mother said softly.

Then why?

Her father knelt in front of her, trying to gather Lore into his arms. She pulled back until she bumped into the counter. “Won’t you give your papa a kiss?”

Lore turned her head away, her heart beating hard, her thoughts shooting in a million different directions at once. “You shouldn’t be home. It’s not over.”

“It is for us,” her father said gently.

One more cycle.

She whirled toward him, her breath catching. Lore hated the way her voice quivered. “Until next time?”

“Until forever, chrysaphenia mou,” her mother said. “Your father and I came to a decision, one we should have made years ago. We will hunt no more.”