“‘Like’ might be overstating things a bit.” My voice is too sharp, but I can feel a flush creeping across my skin. “It’s interesting. Apollo has nothing to do with it.”
“Sure he doesn’t.”
I open my mouth to snap, but I’ve worked hard to protect Alexandra from the worst Olympus has to offer. She’s seven years younger than me and was still a minor when my parents attempted their ill-fated coup. I worried that she’d see the same derision and suspicion that I did once our parents’ exile had been announced…so I made myself a target. It was easy enough to do. I’m already prone to spikes and snarls. It took very little effort to ensure they focused on me instead of Alexandra.
Mostly.
I take a quick sip of water. “Enough about me. How are classes going?”
“Cass, we never talk about you.”
“Because there’s nothing to talk about. I work and I go home. The most exciting thing about my week are these lunches with you.” It’s better that way. Most of the time, people forget I exist, which means they aren’t staring and whispering behind their hands about the liar Cassandra, who once loudly proclaimed that the Thirteen had murdered her parents.
It’s the truth.
Not that anyone believes me.
Alexandra smiles, oblivious to my dark thoughts. “Classes are going wonderfully. We’re just wrapping up the summer quarter in a couple weeks and gearing up for fall.”
With only a little prodding, she entertains me through lunch with tales of what her friend group is getting up to. I worried when she insisted on applying to the university instead of taking advantage of the free colleges Olympus offers. It put her directly in the paths of the scions of the legacy families, and I’m all too aware of what that can be like.
But Alexandra isn’t like me. I’ve worked so fucking hard to ensure she doesn’t have to fight her way through life. Our parents were selfish beyond belief when they put their own ambitions and desires above their children’s safety.
I will never make the same mistake.
It’s nothing less than a miracle that Alexandra has managed to maintain her sweetness through the years. I worry that it won’t last past the reality of graduation. It doesn’t matter that she’s somehow managed to avoid the worst of the bullying and bullshit up to this point. As soon as she starts looking for her dream job, she’s going to run face-first into the fact that everyone with a drop of power in the upper city hates our family and would love to see us both torn apart.
I have to find a way to get us out of here before that happens.
The waitress brings the check and I glance at my phone. “I have to get going or I’m going to be late.” Apollo doesn’t usually care if I take slightly longer lunches with Alexandra once a week, but he’s been in a strange mood since that meeting with Zeus.
“I can pay this time.”
I smile even as I snag the check. “Save those pennies for school.”
“You pay for my school.”
I pull out my credit card and tuck it next to the bill. “Here’s a wild thought. Why don’t you do something fun?”
My sister’s brows draw together. “I’m an adult now, Cass. You don’t have to keep mothering me. We’re equals.”
“Of course we’re equals.” But that doesn’t change the responsibility I feel for her. Twelve years ago, I was thrust into the role of her guardian, and I am still achingly aware that my sister needs protecting.
Whether she realizes it or not.
After the waiter returns with the bill, I sign the receipt and rise. “Same time next week?”
“You have a permanent spot in my calendar.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Do something nice for yourself, Cass. Promise me.”
“I promise.” It’s even the truth, though I expect Alexandra wouldn’t consider an early evening with a book, a bubble bath, and a jumbo glass of wine something nice. But then, my sister likes people. I don’t.
“See you next week.”
I walk her to the bus stop that will take her back to the university district and wait until the bus arrives. Only then do I check the time, curse, and hurry back to the office.
It takes me several minutes after arriving back at my desk to realize that something’s wrong and another few seconds to locate the source of that wrongness.
Apollo’s door is closed.
I stare at it. It’s never closed. Ever. Honestly, I wish it were because he has the nasty habit of singing under his breath, but like everything else about him, his baritone voice is delightful. It’s highly distracting. Sometimes I have to go over reports two or three times because I catch myself zoning out, trying to identify what song he’s focused on.
A closed door should mean uninterrupted work. A closed door should make me happy.
I glare at it, arms crossed under my breasts. I can’t very well go knock on it and investigate. Not only would that give him the wrong idea, but it’s frankly none of my business.
Maybe he’s not even in there. Maybe he left and locked up behind him. That makes more sense than him shutting himself up for privacy.
For a spymaster, he’s really shitty at being secretive. If I were a romantic, I’d believe that means he trusts me, but it’s really that he’s strangely absentminded when he’s not focused on something. And when he is focused on something, sometimes he mutters under his breath. At least when he isn’t singing.
Gods, I’m a mess. Why am I obsessing over this man? I have work to do.
I start to turn for my desk—the only other piece of furniture in the small office that Apollo inhabits. He owns the whole building, of course, but he claims not to deal well with people—bullshit, people love him—so he prefers to have me run his communications with those outside the Thirteen. Technically, I guess that makes me some kind of manager, but my official title is executive assistant.
My job is challenging, and there’s nothing quite like the thrill of putting together two seemingly unrelated pieces of information and having the full puzzle snap into place.
The door swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall. I jump and then fight to smooth my expression into cool disinterest. Not a moment too soon.
The man who limps out of Apollo’s office is a beast. He’s got to be six two and built like a tank with broad shoulders, broad chest, just broad body. Medium-brown skin, reddish hair cropped close to his skull, a nicely trimmed beard, and empty dark eyes. He catches sight of me and sweeps a look over my body that shouldn’t feel threatening…but does.
I know who this is. I saw him compete—and fail—in the Ares tournament. Helen herself eliminated him, busting up his knee in the second trial before moving on to win the third and become Ares. The fight between them was brutal and I hadn’t been sure she’d win. He’d looked like he wanted to murder her. If she hadn’t prevailed, I think he might have attempted it.
Theseus.
“What are you doing here?” I don’t mean to speak, but the words fly out all the same, sharp and brittle. Olympus is full of predators—I know that better than anyone—but they usually pretend they’re just like the rest of us. Richer, more glamorous, more beautiful, maybe, but average and to be underestimated all the same.