The air inside the greenhouse had always smelled like life—rich soil, crushed petals, the sweet sharpness of magic woven into green things. The roof was glass, cracked in places and clouded with dust, but warm golden light still filtered through. That morning, it had felt like the only safe place in the world.

  Helena knelt in the middle of the garden bed, sleeves rolled to her elbows, fingers gently brushing through soft leaves. I sat beside her, legs crossed, trying not to squish anything important. I was twelve. She was eighteen. And in every way that mattered, she was the one who raised me.

  She didn’t speak at first, just hummed softly—an old tune I didn’t recognize but knew by heart. It always made the plants seem calmer. Made me calmer, too.

  “I think this one’s ready,” Helena said, brushing dirt off the root of a small, violet herb. “Good for headaches and calming nausea.”

  “Do you have a plant that fixes being confused all the time?” I asked, half joking, half not.

  Helena glanced at me and smiled. “That’s called growing up. There’s no cure for it.”

  I plucked a blade of grass, twisting it between my fingers. “Do you ever wonder if this is all we’ll ever be? Just… weapons? The guardians always said we were born to protect humans, to save the world from monsters. That we had a duty. But what if I don’t want that? What if I want more than being trained to kill and survive? What if I want a real life—friends, laughter, a future that isn’t drenched in blood and sacrifice?”

  Helena set the herb aside and looked at me, her eyes more serious than I’d ever seen them. “Zoe, wanting that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. You’re allowed to want peace. You’re allowed to dream of more.”

  She reached out and gently tucked a curl behind my ear. “But until the monsters stop coming, someone has to stand between them and the people who can’t fight. That’s what we were trained for—not just to be weapons, but to be protectors. To be a shield, not just a sword.”

  I swallowed hard. The words didn’t erase my fear, but they gave it shape. Gave it purpose.

  We returned to the hotel room just as the sun dipped behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the pavement. The air was cooler now, the kind of calm that came after chaos.

  We didn’t say much as we stepped inside—just a shared look, a few murmured words, the quiet rustle of plastic bags and new clothes being dropped in a corner.

  The three girls—me, Bay, and Phoenix—claimed one bed. Peter and Damian took the other. Xandor settled himself into the chair near the door without complaint, like it was where he belonged. He didn’t sleep much, I’d noticed. Part of it was the way he was always alert, always watching. But I also wondered if it had something to do with the stars—the way he was tied to the night, like part of him only fully awakened when the sky turned dark.

  As I lay on the edge of the mattress, facing the ceiling, I let the silence stretch. My body was sore, but my mind wouldn’t rest. Not yet.

  I looked at each of them in turn. Bay’s breathing had already evened out. Phoenix lay still, eyes closed but not fully asleep. Damian had one leg flung dramatically over Peter, who, impressively, managed to ignore it. And Xandor… Xandor was curled slightly in the chair, his head resting against the cushion, but his eyes were still half open, watching the door.

  I’d missed them. Gods, I’d missed them.

  Ten years had passed. Ten years without the warmth of Bay’s stubborn bravery, without Phoenix’s quiet strength, without Damian’s humor, Peter’s mind, Xandor’s steadiness. We’d been just kids when we were torn apart. And now here we were, pieces of the twelve, trying to hold on to what was left.

  I’d already lost six of them again.

  But not for good.

  I wouldn’t let it be for good.

  I felt a spark of something deep inside—fierce and unwavering.

  We would get them back. We had to.

  And if I had to walk through fire and shadow to do it, I would.

  My eyes drifted toward Xandor again. He hadn’t moved. There was something comforting about knowing he was always watching out for the rest of us, like a silent promise that nothing would get past him.

  We had lost too much.

  But this time, I would fight with everything I had to protect what remained.

  Eventually, exhaustion pulled at me harder than thought. My eyes slipped shut, the quiet hum of the motel settling around us like a lullaby. I drifted into sleep slowly, like being pulled under warm water.

  And when the darkness settled around me, I was no longer in the motel.

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  I stood in a space that wasn’t quite real—soft, silver light filtering through clouds that didn’t exist. A place of mind and memory.

  Again, the two woman stood before me.

  It had been days since I’d last seen them here. Too long. Too quiet. The sight of them stirred something tight and bitter in my chest.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded, the words sharper than I meant them to be. “We’ve been hunted. We’ve lost half of us. Cole is winning—and you’ve been silent.”

  The younger woman looked pained. The goddess didn’t flinch.

  “We’ve been watching,” The goddess said. “But interference has limits.”

  “Limits?” My voice cracked. “Cole is the gods’ problem. Your mistake that should have been taken care of 15 years ago. And now it’s on us to fix it?”

  “We didn’t choose this for you,” The young woman said gently. “But there is a reason you are where you are, you were always going to be the ones with the strength to stop him.”

  I stared at them, heart pounding. “Then give me something. Anything. Your names. Who you really are.”

  A pause. Then the young woman nodded.

  “I’m Cassandra,” she said, but her name only added to my confusion. That name—it wasn’t the name of a goddess. And yet, she was here, in Olympus. Just like the other woman. Just like me. There was something else—something strange and familiar in her presence. Like I should know more about who she was. Like a connection I couldn’t name.

  The goddess stepped forward, her gaze steady. “And I am exactly who you think I am. The goddess of wisdom, strategy… and war.”

  I stood there, fists clenched, breath shaking. “Athena,” I said, her name biting off my tongue with all the heat and weight it carried. I knew I should be more respectful—she was a goddess, after all—but the anger of losing my friends bubbled over too fast to contain. Too deep to ignore.

  My anger swelled again. “Did you know the twins were with Cole? You could’ve warned me—warned us. Hector and Helena should still be with us.”

  Cassandra’s expression twisted with guilt, while Athena’s stayed unreadable.

  “With the gates to Olympus closed, we couldn’t see everything,” Athena said. “Not until it was too late.”

  “That’s not good enough.” My voice trembled with fury. “You told me it was time to gather the others, you warned me that something needed to be done about Cole and that together we were stronger. You let me lose them again.”

  They didn’t argue. Instead, they exchanged a glance.

  Cassandra stepped forward. “There’s someone else you need to speak with. Someone who may help you more than we can right now.”

  Before I could ask what she meant, both Cassie and Athena turned and walked away into the light. I stared after them, confused, frustration bubbling in my chest.

  “Wait. What are you—”

  Then the light shifted.

  Another figure stepped into view. Taller. Older. Power rolled off her like a tide.

  Her voice echoed with layers of magic and certainty.

  “Zoe,” she said. “I am Hecate. Goddess of crossroads. And it’s time we talked.”

  I studied Hecate as she stepped closer, her form wreathed in soft shadow and flickering starlight. There was something ancient about her, but not distant. Not cold. Like Cassandra, I felt a strange tug in my chest—a thread of recognition that made no sense. But this time, it was stronger. Deeper. Almost like a memory I couldn’t reach. The goddess of crossroads stood there, calm and powerful, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that our paths had crossed before. That somehow, they were always meant to.

  Hecate continued to approach, her presence steady, the air around her humming with power. Just before she reached me, I felt it—a gentle brush against my thoughts, like a breeze grazing the surface of a still lake. Her mind touched mine.

  You’re stronger than you think, and I understand your anger, her voice whispered inside my head, not spoken aloud, but clear as if it had come from my own thoughts.

  I flinched at the intrusion, but it didn’t feel invasive. It felt… familiar.

  “You stand at a crossroads, Zoe,” Hecate said aloud now, her voice low and resonant. “One path leads to survival. The other, to sacrifice. But both require strength. And clarity.”

  She raised a hand, and the air shimmered between us. Images rippled through the space—flickering scenes of the demigods, both the ones still with me and the ones we’d lost. I saw Helena’s smile, Hector’s steady gaze, Damian’s reckless laughter. Then Cole’s shadow loomed at the edge of them all.

  “You must decide what you’re willing to give,” Hecate said. “And what you cannot afford to lose.”

  I looked at the swirling visions, heart pounding. The weight of the war, of the choices ahead, pressed in on every side.

  “I just want to save them,” I whispered.

  “Then you must learn to see the truth hidden behind what others want you to believe,” Hecate replied. “Including the truth about yourself.”

  Her words rang inside me like a bell.

  Hecate lifted her other hand, and another illusion shimmered into view. This time, it showed the gates of Olympus creaking open—revealing a scene of devastation. The once-pristine halls were cracked and broken, marble pillars toppled, golden statues shattered. Smoke curled up from burning altars, and the sky above Olympus rippled like a wounded thing.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Is this the future?” I asked.

  “It’s one of many,” Hecate said, her voice threaded with sorrow. “And the paths that lead here… they are walked by your feet, Zoe. By your choices.”

  Then the vision shifted again. This time, I saw myself—standing at the center of Olympus, wings spread wide, light pouring from me in both gold and silver. A force. A guide. A beacon.

  “There are many ways through this,” Hecate said softly. “Some harder than others. Some filled with loss. But I believe in you.”

  I turned toward her, still breathless. “Why can’t you just tell me what to do?”

  Her eyes gleamed, ancient and knowing. “Because the future is not fixed. And I am bound by laws older than Olympus itself. I cannot interfere. I can only offer wisdom… and hope.”

  I opened my mouth to speak again, but she lifted her gaze to the far horizon. Her voice dropped, colder now.

  “Whatever path you take… know this: Zeus is watching. He’s angry that Cole still walks the earth. And if something isn’t done soon, he’ll take matters into his own hands—no matter the cost.”

  I clenched my fists. The thought of Zeus sweeping in with divine judgment didn’t comfort me—it terrified me.

  “I’ll stop him,” I said, voice low but steady. “I don’t know how yet. But I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my friends—and Olympus.”

  Hecate’s expression softened, just barely.

  “Then may your heart remain clear at every crossroad,” she said.

  And then, like mist retreating with the dawn, the vision faded.

  I jolted upright in bed, breath sharp in my chest.

  The motel room was dim, quiet but alive with the soft rhythms of sleep. The others hadn’t stirred. Everything looked the same.

  But I wasn’t.

  I glanced around the room again, the darkness pressing soft and still around us. I needed to think—to breathe. Carefully, I slid out of bed, trying not to disturb Bay or Phoenix. They didn’t stir, lost in the deep sleep we’d all needed.

  I padded softly across the room toward the door, but something caught my attention.

  The chair where Xandor had been sleeping was empty.

  My heart ticked faster. He hadn’t looked tired when I fell asleep, but I’d assumed he’d eventually rest. Where had he gone?