The stars were brighter out here.

  We weren’t supposed to be out after curfew, but that never stopped us before. Not when the wind was soft, the moon was full, and the cliffs sang with the rhythm of the waves below. Someone—I think it was Damian—had dared us all to sneak out, and now here we were: lying in the grass at the edge of the world, staring at the sky like it held all the answers.

  Helena had braided a crown of wildflowers and perched it on my head. I hadn’t taken it off.

  Xandor sat with his back to a rock, arms folded behind his head, watching the stars like they belonged to him. Damian sprawled on his stomach beside me, humming under his breath. Hector had his hammer lying across his lap, even now. He said it was just in case—but really, he just never put it down.

  I was the youngest. The smallest. And for a moment, I forgot how much that used to bother me.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Helena said, nudging me with her shoulder.

  I shrugged, not looking away from the sky. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

  The words just slipped out, barely a whisper. But everyone heard them.

  “No one’s strong enough alone,” Hector said after a pause. “That’s why there’s twelve of us.”

  Damian rolled onto his back, flinging an arm dramatically across his chest. “If it helps, I’m definitely going to be the weakest link. But at least I’ll be good-looking.”

  Helena giggled, but then she turned serious again. “You’re not weak, Zoe. Not even close.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s always true.”

  There was silence again, only the wind and the waves and the distant echo of something ancient.

  Then Xandor said, “If we ever get separated…”

  He didn’t finish it. But he didn’t have to.

  “…we find our way back,” I said quietly.

  Hector nodded. “That’s the deal.”

  Helena reached across Damian and took my hand. “We protect each other. No matter what.”

  We sat like that for a long time, hands joined under the stars, each of us clutching that quiet promise like a talisman against everything that would come.

  We didn’t know then what we would lose.

  But we knew what we had.

  And we swore to never let it go.

  “Angelina. It’s me. We’re here. Come back.”

  She attacked.

  A harmonic pulse exploded from her hands, and I barely rolled aside in time. The ground where I stood shook and split. Dust rained down around us like ash.

  I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Maybe I could reach her. Maybe I could free her. Or maybe—just maybe—I could distract her long enough for the others to get their powers back.

  She came at me, not just with sound now—but with a blade, sleek and curved, humming faintly with that same dissonant energy as her harmonic pulses. She was fast, calculated. I blocked her strike with one of my daggers and countered with the other, metal clashing in a burst of sparks. But she twisted, brought the hilt of her weapon up hard into my ribs, and drove me back. My vision blurred. The next moment, we were locked in a brutal, close fight—strikes, deflections, sweeps. Her blade was like a conductor’s baton turned deadly, her movements a precise dance of aggression. Muscle memory from years of training together met desperation and heartbreak in every blow.

  Another blast came, and this time I deflected it with one of my daggers. The force reverberated through my bones, but I stayed upright. I locked eyes with her again and pushed into her mind with everything I had.

  I felt resistance—a wall, jagged and furious, wrapped around her thoughts like barbed wire. I kept going.

  “Angelina,” I gasped, breathless. “This isn’t you. We fought beside each other. We protected each other. We were friends. You were like my sister. Whatever Cole did—whatever he’s telling you—he’s lying.”

  She flinched. Just for a heartbeat. A crack in her mask.

  Then she straightened, eyes hardening. Her voice cut through the air, brittle and sharp.

  “He’s not lying,” she said. “He’s the only one telling the truth.”

  We clashed again—steel against pulse, dagger against elbow, wings flaring as I rose just enough to duck another hit.

  “The gods abandoned us, Zoe. All of us. They locked themselves away and let the world fall into chaos. They let monsters roam and watched from above like it wasn’t their problem.”

  Her strikes were faster now, fueled by anger. She didn’t want me to talk. She wanted me to stop.

  She raised her hand again, but the pulse didn’t come.

  “Cole wants to give the world back to us,” she said. “To those who have suffered. Who have been used. Forgotten. The demigods will rise without the gods. We’ll build something better.”

  I shook my head, heart pounding, vision swimming.

  “That’s not power—it’s vengeance,” I breathed. “You think burning down the world will heal what they did? We’re not the gods, Angelina. We’re supposed to be better, more human.”

  For one fragile moment, I thought I saw her hesitate—her hand wavered, her mouth parting like she might say something.

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  But then the wall slammed back down. Her shoulders squared. Cold resolve took over.

  She raised both hands this time. Her pulse of energy surged.

  And I knew—

  I wasn’t going to reach her.

  I heard the sharp intake of breath from someone behind me, but I didn’t look back—not yet. I was still locked on Angelina when I felt the shift in the air.

  A crack of energy split the field—and then Helena screamed.

  I whipped around in time to see Ella move. One moment she was helping Bay hold the line, the next, her fists were glowing with searing light, and she spun, fast and brutal, slamming the side of her hand into Helena’s temple. Helena crumpled instantly.

  “No!” I screamed. My heart lurched, a hollow crack splitting open inside my chest. Everything else dropped away. I didn’t think—I just launched forward, wings catching air, driving toward her.

  I couldn’t lose Helena. Not her. Not the one who always healed us. Who smiled even when she hurt. Who made all of this feel worth it. For ten years, she had been my only real friend—the one constant in a world that kept falling apart. When I was alone, she listened. When I doubted myself, she reminded me who I was. She made the silence bearable. Losing her now felt like losing the last piece of myself I hadn’t already given away to this fight.

  But before I could reach her, an arrow whistled past my shoulder. Then another.

  Leander stepped into my path, calm and unshaken, bow half-lowered but ready. His eyes met mine—steady, apologetic, and resolute.

  “Don’t,” he said softly.

  I gritted my teeth and pushed forward anyway.

  He loosed another arrow—not to kill, but to drive me back. I twisted mid-air to avoid it, but I lost momentum, and by the time I caught myself, Ella had already vanished into the wall of monsters, dragging Helena with her.

  “Helena!” Bay cried, pushing forward—but the enemy demigods were already reacting.

  Stephen threw flames in sweeping arcs, forcing us to scatter. Angelina’s pulses carved out a space around her, cutting off our path.

  We tried. Gods, we tried to push through, to fight back, to save her.

  But the four of them—Stephen, Angelina, Leander, and Ella—fought like a storm. And the monsters kept coming.

  We were overwhelmed.

  The battlefield was chaos. Hector and Stephen clashed in the center like titans—blows ringing out like thunder, fire and steel colliding, neither able to overpower the other. Stephen’s flames burst in every direction, but Hector stood firm, immune to the burn.

  Off to the side, Ella and Xandor circled each other. Sunlight pulsed from her fists, starlight glimmered around his staff. Every strike was a burst of brilliance—solar flares against night-slick arcs.

  Behind them, Leander stood next to Angelina, cold and quiet, bow raised. Helena lay unmoving at their feet. Leander’s arrows flew with terrifying precision while Angelina’s harmonic shockwaves burst into the crowd of demigods, disorienting and scattering.

  Bay fought closest to what remained of the house, wielding her trident like a storm given form, teeth bared in a snarl. Peter shouted directions between sword strikes, guiding our formation even as we buckled under pressure. Damian spun like a storm beside him, blades dancing, protecting our flanks. Nix’s chain-sickle lashed out, keeping monsters from surrounding us completely.

  We weren’t losing.

  We had already lost.

  I tucked my wings and dove, landing hard between Damian and Peter as they fought to clear a path to the others.

  Peter turned to look at me, eyes scanning mine. I searched his face for a plan—for a way to turn this nightmare around. But his jaw was tight, his mouth a grim line, mind already working even as his sword swung.

  Damian’s blades moved in a blur beside us, and he gave me the quickest of glances. Relief. Worry. Then focus again as he dropped another monster.

  I didn’t hesitate. My wings folded in, and I stood with them, blades out, protecting what little ground we had left before the retreat.

  We had seconds. Maybe less.

  Peter tries to form a new strategy—but there’s no winning this fight. The tide had turned, and not in our favor. I saw it in his eyes—the calculations grinding to a halt, the realization settling in. We couldn’t win. Not here. Not now.

  Damian spotted a rusted old truck half-buried near the edge of the battlefield. He darted toward it, sparks flying from his blades as he cut down a monster blocking his path. I heard the roar of the engine moments later—he’d hotwired it with a speed that screamed desperation. “Everyone in! We have to go!”

  The group froze, torn between escape and heartbreak. None of us wanted to leave—not with Helena gone, the twins turning against us, and the reappearance of Angelina and Stephen. I felt the fracture like it had torn through my own chest. Still, the monsters pressed in. We couldn’t stay.

  And then Hector—our shield, our anchor—stepped forward. He turned toward the approaching tide, hammer clenched tight in his fists. Stephen was closing in, flanked by monsters. Hector didn’t flinch.

  “I’ve got this,” he said, without looking back.

  He raised his hammer high and slammed it down with a force that cracked the earth and scattered enemies like leaves in a storm. Flames curled toward him, but he stood firm, the fire sliding harmlessly across his skin. He blocked their path, a wall of iron and will.

  Peter grabbed Nix and Bay, dragging them toward the truck as Damian swung open the door and scrambled into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut, hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline. Nix and Bay piled in beside him, bruised and breathless, the cab already cramped with tension and blood. The engine roared under Damian’s foot, ready to tear them away from the wreckage of everything they’d just lost.

  Xandor delivered one last strike—his staff arcing with blinding starlight as it collided with Ella’s solar-charged fist. The impact knocked her backward, staggering her long enough to open a gap in the enemy line. He didn’t waste it.

  Xandor sprinted toward the truck, launching himself into the bed in a single fluid motion, staff spinning in hand. Starlight shimmered around him, his power flaring as he swept the wind into a barrier. It blew monsters off their feet, gave us space.

  And I—I flew. High above them, eyes burning, wings slicing through the smoke. Below, I watched Hector hold the line, his hammer rising and falling with brutal precision as he bought us every second we needed. He was surrounded, and still he fought like a wall of iron, unshakable.

  My heart twisted at the sight. I hated leaving him—every instinct in me screamed to dive back down, to fight beside him. But I knew what I had to do.

  I carved a path through the sky, desperate, furious, broken. I struck down any monster that tried to follow the truck full of my friends, my wings cleaving through smoke and ash. I chased the truck, the only thing still moving away from the nightmare.

  We left Helena behind.

  We left Hector behind.

  Monsters tried to follow, bursting from the smoke like shadows with teeth. From the back of the truck, Xandor stood alone—his staff spinning like a beacon, cutting the air with sharp gusts, starlight streaking in arcs with every strike. Above him, I flew low and fast, hurling dagger after dagger into the swarm.

  We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. We fought as one, sky and earth, wind and blade, determined to make sure nothing reached the ones inside.

  For every monster that broke from the darkness, we answered with steel and storm. And slowly—finally—they stopped coming.

  For every monster that broke from the darkness, we answered with steel and storm. And slowly—finally—they stopped coming.

  As the truck barrels away from the battlefield, the sun starts to rise overhead, brushing the horizon in shades of orange and gold that feel too warm for what we’ve just survived. No one is following. Just smoke curling behind us and the ache of everything we left behind.

  I spot the truck through the thinning smoke and angle downward, wings aching with every beat. My body trembles with exhaustion, but I don’t stop until my boots hit the bed of the truck with a jolt. Xandor turns just in time to catch me as my knees give out.

  I collapse into him, my arms around his shoulders, my face pressed to his chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My legs buckle completely, and we both go down, crumpling into the bed of the truck in a tangle of limbs and shaking breaths. My voice is gone. The twins are gone. Helena is gone. Hector is gone.

  The tears come fast and raw, ripping from a place I didn’t even know was still breakable. Xandor wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, grounding me. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to. I can feel his pain pulsing through him like an echo of mine.

  We stay there, tangled in each other’s grief, watching the road disappear beneath us, and trying not to fall apart with it.

  After a long silence, Xandor whispered, voice low and steady, “We’ll get them back. All of them.”

  I nodded against his shoulder, clinging to those words like they were a lifeline.