The moon hung low over the compound, casting a silver-blue light across the trees and rooftops. The night was quiet, save for the soft whisper of wind through the forest. I couldn’t sleep.

  My dreams had been too loud.

  So I flew.

  The air was cold against my skin as I soared above the treetops, wings stretched wide. The wind felt good—brisk and clean and far from the heaviness pressing on my chest. Flying always helped. It quieted my thoughts, gave me space to just be.

  But tonight, I wasn’t paying attention. My head was still tangled in dreams and fear and memories I didn’t want. I didn’t see the branch until it was too late.

  The edge of my wing clipped hard against something solid. Pain lanced down my spine, and the world tilted sideways. I fell.

  A rush of wind swallowed my scream as I plummeted through the air. I flailed, trying to steady myself, but the pain in my wing made it impossible.

  And then, just before I hit the ground, everything slowed.

  The air caught me like a cushion, wrapping around me with startling gentleness. My fall drifted into a soft descent, and arms caught me before I could hit the earth.

  Xandor.

  His silver eyes were wide with concern, his brow furrowed. “You alright?”

  I blinked, stunned. The world spun a little before I found my voice. “I didn’t see the tree.”

  He held me for a beat longer, then helped me stand. My wing ached, but nothing felt broken.

  “You scared me,” he said softly.

  “Didn’t mean to.”

  He didn’t let go right away. The wind curled around his ankles like it didn’t want to leave either.

  “Come on,” he said after a moment. “Let’s get you inside.”

  We walked in silence, my steps slower than usual. When we reached the edge of the compound, I hesitated. My hand brushed against his arm.

  “I had a nightmare,” I admitted. “That’s why I was out flying. I thought maybe the air would help.”

  He glanced at me, and something softened in his expression. “What was it about?”

  I hesitated, then whispered, “Everyone was gone. The compound was empty. I was alone.”

  Xandor didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me in a steady, grounding hug.

  “You’re not alone, Zoe,” he murmured into my hair. “You never have to be. Not while I’m here.”

  And somehow, the ache in my chest eased.

  Even with one wing aching and fear still lingering in my bones, I felt safe.

  And with a smile he said, “And if you ever need to go flying through the stars again, let me know, I’ll go with you.”

  I woke with a sharp breath, the remnants of the dream still clinging to me like cobwebs. Zeus’s fury, the young woman’s warning, the weight of what was coming—it all crashed down on me at once.

  The gods would kill us. All of us. If we failed.

  The others were still asleep, their breathing soft in the quiet room. Helena curled up beside me. Bay on the couch and Nix on the floor below. Safe, for now.

  But I couldn’t sleep.

  And what did she mean by ‘you’re starting to remember.’

  I needed air. I needed space. I needed him.

  I didn’t even mean to reach for him. Not consciously.

  But the weight of my dreams lingered—the woman’s warnings, the riddles, that creeping sense that something vast and dangerous was drawing closer. I needed space. Silence. Air.

  And I needed him.

  Before I even realized what I was doing, my mind stretched outward—and the world shifted.

  Suddenly, I stood beneath a wide night sky scattered with stars, the kind that seemed to breathe. A rooftop stretched out before me, quiet except for one person.

  Xandor.

  He stood in the center of it, framed by the heavens. The wind danced around him, drawn to his every movement like it couldn’t bear to be apart from him. His dark hair was still damp, curling faintly at the ends, the breeze tousling it like a lover’s touch. His bare chest shimmered with a sheen of sweat and starlight, every line of him aglow with quiet power.

  But it wasn’t the glow that stole my breath.

  It was the starlight.

  It wasn’t just falling around him—it was answering him.

  Tiny threads of celestial light shimmered above him, forming loose constellations that pulsed and spun slowly in the air. As he lifted a hand, they followed, swirling gently like galaxies cupped in his palm. Trails of light clung to his skin, wrapping around his arms and shoulders in thin glowing spirals. He didn’t just glow—he commanded the glow.

  The wind bent beneath his touch. The starlight obeyed him like it had always belonged to him.

  And I realized—he wasn’t a boy anymore.

  The boy I’d known, the quiet one with soft eyes and careful words, had become this. This radiant force of nature. No longer just the son of a Titan. No longer the boy who once pulled me gently into the sky and promised he wouldn’t let me fall.

  He was a man now—fully in control of the cosmos that birthed him. Dusk and wind and stars wrapped in human form.

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  And gods, he was beautiful.

  He moved through the rooftop like he was part of the sky, drawing starlight into himself and pushing it outward in smooth, deliberate waves. The light rippled down his spine as he turned, his body arcing in a perfect motion—effortless, focused, fluid.

  A faint glow trailed behind his fingertips, like stardust—a trail of light that shimmered and curled in the air as if the stars themselves were dancing at his command. Xandor was the only one of the twelve of us who was a child of a Titan, not a god. He had always been more attuned to his abilities; they came more naturally to him than they ever had to the rest of us. And as I watched him now, his movements precise and instinctual, I saw more proof of that truth.

  He knew I was watching.

  I felt it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way the wind shifted ever so slightly, like it sensed me too. But he didn’t turn. Not yet.

  He reached upward, starlight dripping from his fingers like water from silver threads. With a twist of his wrist, it coiled in midair, creating symbols I didn’t understand—language written in light.

  He was playing with the night.

  No—he was commanding it.

  I stood frozen. Awed. Humbled. Entranced.

  Then his voice broke the silence, smooth and teasing.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  I jumped. “You knew I was watching?”

  He finally turned, and the full weight of him hit me. Silver eyes—bright, star-forged and sharp—locked with mine, and that same slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

  “I always know when you’re around. Your mind brushes mine before you land. It’s… hard to miss. Like a ripple in still water.” He tilted his head. “Or a sunbeam in the middle of the night.”

  “You could’ve said something.”

  “I wanted to see how long you’d gawk.” He raised an eyebrow. “You lasted longer than I thought.”

  I crossed my arms, heat rising to my cheeks. “You were literally glowing.”

  He grinned, taking a slow step toward me. “I tend to do that.”

  I looked at him—really looked—and felt something shift in me. Not just admiration or nostalgia. For years, I had thought of him as the boy who had been my friend, my anchor in the skies, the older one who had looked out for me like a protective big brother. But this… this was different. That boy was gone. In his place stood something more—something fierce and breathtaking. And for the first time, I was starting to see him not just as my friend, but as a man—one who had grown into his power, his purpose, and somehow, into something I couldn’t look away from.

  “You always show up at interesting times,” he said, brushing starlight off his shoulder with theatrical flair. “First the shower. Now while I’m communing with the cosmos. What is it with you and catching me shirtless?”

  I arched a brow, the corners of my lips twitching. “Maybe you should try wearing a shirt sometime.”

  He laughed, a low, warm sound that vibrated through the starlight around him. “Someone has to entertain the ladies.”

  “You’re such a show-off.”

  “Only for you.”

  And despite everything pressing on my chest—fear, exhaustion, uncertainty—I smiled.

  Because in that moment, beneath the stars, with the wind singing his name and light woven into his skin… he made me feel safe.

  His smile softened as the wind settled around us, starlight pulsing gently at his shoulders.

  “Where are you?” I asked, my voice quieter now, steadier.

  “Boston,” he said, raking a hand through his still-damp hair. “With Hector and Damian. We found them just in time.” His lips twitched into a grin. “Pretty sure Hector scared the monsters more than I did.”

  The warmth that bloomed in my chest at the sound of their names was almost too much to hold.

  “And you?” he asked. “Where are you and Helena?”

  “Oregon,” I said. “Bay and Nix are here.”

  His silver eyes flicked up to mine. “Then we’ve all found someone.”

  I nodded slowly, but something in me still felt… twisted. Uneasy.

  Xandor tilted his head, watching me. “Is there something else?”

  I hesitated. Maybe it was harder to hide things in this place, this strange space between dreams and reality. Or maybe it was just Xandor. Even when I wasn’t physically in front of him, he could still read me better than most.

  “You can feel it,” I said softly.

  He gave a slight nod. “You’re tense. Distant. It’s hard to explain, but something feels… off.”

  I nodded slowly, letting the weight of his words settle before I spoke again. “There’s more. Phoenix summoned Talgis’s spirit—he told them the truth about what’s been happening. About who’s behind all of this.” I swallowed hard. “His name is Cole. He’s a demigod like us. He turned on the gods, tried to take Olympus for himself years ago. Talgis said he’s been manipulating everything from the shadows—he’s the one sending the monsters after us.” I looked up at him. “One of them spoke, Xandor. Just before we killed it. It said Cole was coming for us. That we couldn’t escape him.”

  “And there’s something else,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper. “Talgis told them… Angelina and Stephen—they’re alive.”

  Xandor’s eyes widened, and I felt a sharp tug in my chest just saying the words aloud. “He kept it from us. From all of us.

  I swallowed hard and met Xandor’s eyes. “Cole already has them,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “Angelina and Stephen. Talgis didn’t know what he’s done to them. But they’re alive—and they’re with him.”

  Xandor went still, the starlight around him dimming slightly, like it had been struck by a sudden chill.

  “That’s how he plans to open the gates,” I continued. “He has two of us already. He just needs the rest.” My voice trembled despite my efforts to steady it. “And I don’t know what he’s done to them… but I don’t think they’re the same anymore.”

  I took a breath, the weight of the dream still pressing against my ribs. “I had another dream. Or… mindwalk. I was back on Olympus.”

  His expression sharpened instantly.

  “The same young woman was there. I never get straight answers from Olympus, but… this time, it felt different. Heavy. I don’t know why, but this woman—I trust her. I don’t even know who she is, not really, but there’s something about her. I feel connected to her, like she’s part of something I’m supposed to understand. She’s kind, but honest. She wouldn’t lie to me.”

  I met his eyes. “She told me that Zeus knows Cole is alive. Zeus is furious. He thought Cole was dead, and now that he’s not…” I hesitated, my voice dropping. “He said if the twelve of us can’t kill Cole and keep the gates to Olympus shut—Zeus will wipe us out.”

  Xandor didn’t say anything at first, and I was grateful for the silence. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to say all of that out loud, how badly I needed to get it out of my chest. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush me. He just… listened. Let me speak. Let me breathe.

  His silence wasn’t empty. It was steady. Grounding. Like the sky itself was waiting for me to finish before it turned again.

  When I finally looked up, he was still staring at me, his expression unreadable—but his eyes… his eyes held so much.

  He stepped forward instinctively, one hand lifting as if he were going to place it on my arm. But then he paused, fingers curling slightly, hovering in the air where I wasn’t.

  His mouth twitched into a sad smile. “I keep forgetting you’re not actually here,” he said quietly. “Gods, I wish I could touch you right now. Just… put a hand on your shoulder. Pull you into a hug. Something.”

  I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat. “Me too.”

  He let his hand fall back to his side. “Zoe… this is a lot. All of it. You are not carrying it alone, there are ten of us.”

  I nodded, my voice smaller than I meant it to be. “I’m scared.”

  His eyes softened immediately.

  “I’m scared to try to contact them,” I admitted. “Angelina. Stephen. I know they’re alive. But after what Cole might’ve done to them, after what he’s using them for…” My voice cracked. “What if I reach out, and they’re not… them anymore? What if they’re already too far gone?”

  Xandor’s brow furrowed, his voice quieter now—measured, but heavy with concern. “Zoe… I know you feel like you have to reach them. I get it. But you can’t.”

  I blinked. “I have to try—”

  “No.” He stepped closer, shaking his head, his silver eyes locked onto mine. “Only you can do it. You’re the only one who can reach them like that, and that’s what makes it so dangerous. You don’t know what Cole’s done to them. You don’t know what he’s put in their heads.”

  My stomach twisted.

  He went on, softer this time, but every word landed like a weight in my chest. “What if they’re not the same? What if they’ve already been turned? If you reach out, Zoe… they might not just ignore you. They might use it. They might tell him where you are.”

  A silence stretched between us, thick with all the things we didn’t want to admit.

  “I’m not saying we leave them,” he said firmly, reading the panic in my face. “We’re going to save them. But not like this. Not alone. We need the others. All ten of us, together. That’s the only way we stand a chance. Then we go after Cole. Then we take them back.”

  He took a breath, starlight flickering faintly across his skin. “But until then… you have to stay safe, Zoe. Promise me that.”

  My heart thudded painfully against my ribs as I nodded, the promise catching in my throat. Because I knew he was right.

  And I hated it.