It had been four years since the fall of the compound.

  Hector and I were ghosts in a small fishing town on the Maine coast, laying low in a world that didn’t know us, didn’t want to. We kept to ourselves—he worked the docks and fixed engines, and I went to the local school, just enough to pass for normal. We lived above a bait shop that smelled like salt and old fish, but it was quiet, and no one asked questions. That was enough.

  Before the fall of the compound, the guardians had taught me how to use my powers—and just as quickly, how dangerous they could be. I wasn’t like the others. My abilities didn’t burn or bloom or strike—they twisted. Emotions weren’t just something I felt. They were tools. Weapons.

  And that scared people.

  I practiced, back when we were all together. I used my gifts on the other demigods during training—subtle things, small nudges. But even then, I hated it. The feeling of reaching inside someone and moving something that wasn’t mine. So I stopped. Focused on my twin swords instead. On precision and discipline. Those, at least, felt honest.

  It was late fall, the air brittle with sea wind. I’d just left school, cutting behind the building where the chain-link fence curled in on itself. That’s when they found me.

  Three boys—older, taller. The kind who watched from corners and whispered. I’d ignored them for weeks. This time, they weren’t in the mood to be ignored.

  “Hey, freak,” one called out. “Lost your babysitter?”

  I kept walking. Should’ve kept walking. But they followed.

  “Where’s your family, huh?” another sneered. “Oh right—you don’t have one.”

  The third one shoved me, hard enough to knock me off balance. My bag slipped. I didn’t fall.

  They laughed. One grabbed my backpack and hurled it over the fence.

  I froze. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I felt the emotions rising like tidewater—shame, anger, fear. All of it tangled in my chest.

  Then one of them said it. “Kids like you don’t get families. You get dumped.”

  That was the moment it happened.

  I didn’t think. Didn’t move.

  I just felt—and my powers moved for me.

  A wave of raw fear lashed out of me, thick and invisible. It hit the boys like a storm.

  Their laughter stopped. One dropped to his knees. Another staggered back and slammed into the fence. The third whimpered, eyes wide with panic, seeing something that wasn’t there.

  I turned, ready to run—but caught sight of their faces. Twisted with terror, eyes glazed, lips trembling like they’d seen a ghost claw out of the dark. My heart hammered, but not from fear.

  From horror.

  Because I realized—I was still doing it.

  The wave of fear was still rolling off me, curling around them like smoke, tightening like a net. I hadn’t meant to push it that far. I hadn’t meant to push it at all.

  I saw one of the boys sobbing, curled up with his arms over his head, and that was when I broke.

  I gasped, dragged the power back into myself like a hand pulling free of a flame, and turned and ran.

  I hadn’t touched them. But I’d shown them fear—pure and choking. And they broke beneath it.

  I didn’t stop until I reached the apartment. I slammed the door, slid to the floor, and stayed there until my breath came back.

  Hector found me there. He didn’t ask what happened. He just knelt beside me, his big hands still stained with oil from the docks.

  “I used it,” I said. “I didn’t want to. But I did.”

  He sat beside me in silence.

  “I didn’t even try to stop it.” My voice shook. “It just… came out.”

  Finally, he said, “That fear you gave them? It was real. But the fact that it’s tearing you up now? That’s proof you’re not the kind of person who wants to hurt anyone.”

  I nodded, eyes burning, and looked out the window at the cold, gray water beyond the docks.

  I missed them—our family. The others. The bullies might’ve said I didn’t have anyone, but they were wrong. I did. And one day, I’d be with the rest of them again.

  “We’ll see them again,” Hector said, almost like he read my mind. “And next time, we’ll be ready.”

  We pulled into the campground just as the afternoon light started filtering through the trees, casting long golden beams across the narrow road. Everything smelled like pine and dry earth. The drive had been quiet and heavy—none of us talking much, all of us thinking too hard. Ten years of separation, days of battles, betrayals, and captures, and now the final stretch ahead of us.

  Xandor parked the truck beside a flat clearing with a fire pit and a ring of logs. Bay and Phoenix were already out of the back before the engine cut off. Damian stretched his arms over his head with a groan, and I watched as Peter climbed stiffly out of the passenger seat, eyes already scanning the perimeter. Xandor didn’t move right away. His hands were still on the steering wheel.

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  “Looks quiet enough,” Bay said, shading her eyes as she turned in a slow circle.

  “We should rest here,” Xandor finally said, voice low. “It’s safe. For now.”

  We all nodded, too tired to argue. After hours on the road and everything we’d seen and done, even a scrap of calm felt like a gift. I stepped out, letting the forest air hit me fully. It smelled like moss and sun-warmed bark. Clean. Real.

  Bay and Phoenix volunteered to get supplies. “We passed a ranger station back there,” Phoenix said, already pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “Should be able to get food, maybe some fresh water.”

  Bay added, “And if we spot any monsters on the way, we’ll deal with them.”

  Peter nodded, then motioned for Xandor to follow him over to the fire pit. They sat on opposite logs, a map spread across Peter’s knees, Xandor leaning in with his elbows on his thighs.

  I watched them for a moment. They spoke quietly, pointing at routes, gesturing toward peaks on the distant skyline. Peter looked tired, shadows under his eyes, but his brain was clearly still running at full speed. Xandor looked steady as ever, but I could see the tightness in his jaw.

  They were planning how to get to Olympic National Park.

  And worse—how to fight our friends once we got there.

  I walked over, my boots crunching lightly in the dry needles. Peter looked up at me, his face unreadable. Then he said, “Zoe. Can you do it?”

  I frowned. “Do what?”

  “Break the manipulation,” he said quietly. “Free them. Ella. Leander. The others. Can you do it?”

  I looked between him and Xandor. Neither of them flinched. Neither of them wanted to be asking this. But it was there all the same. That heavy, awful truth.

  We might have to fight them. But maybe—if I could find a way to reach inside their minds before it came to that—maybe we wouldn’t have to lose anyone else.

  I swallowed hard.

  “I can try,” I said.

  Peter just nodded, but the hope in his eyes made it clear: trying might be the only chance we had.

  I crossed my arms and stared down at the ground for a moment before meeting Peter’s gaze again. “I can try,” I repeated, softer this time. “Now that I understand Cole is manipulating memories—it’s possible. But I’ve never tried anything like this before. It’s going to take practice.”

  Damian stepped forward, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Then I’ll help you,” he said. “My abilities aren’t the same, but they’re the closest thing we’ve got. Emotion, energy—it’s all tied together. I can help guide you through it.”

  I looked at him, surprised but grateful. Damian was so often the heart of the group, all jokes and warmth, but beneath that was something more. Something steady. Strong. I nodded. “Okay. Let’s try.”

  Peter gave a slight nod and turned back to the map, but I saw the tension in his shoulders loosen, just a bit. Xandor still hadn’t spoken, but when I glanced at him, he met my eyes. There was something quiet and certain in his expression.

  They believed in me. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure I believed in myself yet.

  Damian and I found a quiet patch of grass under a tree, just far enough from the fire pit that we wouldn’t be overheard. We sat cross-legged, knees brushing pine needles, and I tried to still the nerves buzzing in my hands.

  “So,” I said, voice a little rough. “I’m still figuring this out. I don’t even know what part of this power is mine. What’s instinct, what’s learned… what’s even possible.”

  Damian leaned back on his hands, watching the treetops. “I’ve never heard of a child of Hermes with abilities like yours. It’s… unique.”

  “I know,” I murmured. “I’ve barely had time to think about it until now. Everything’s been survival and fighting and trying not to lose anyone else. But I’ve always felt like I was missing something. Like there’s a piece of me that doesn’t line up with the rest.”

  Damian was quiet for a second. Then, softer, he said, “I get that.”

  He didn’t joke or deflect like I expected him to. He just sat there, thoughtful.

  “You know my powers,” he said finally. “Emotions. It’s more than reading them—I can amplify them. Project them. Twist them if I really want to. It used to scare me, how easy it was.”

  He picked up a pinecone and rolled it between his fingers.

  “Once, when I was younger, someone made me feel cornered. Not in a fight—emotionally. I panicked and pushed their fear up so high they couldn’t move. They dropped to the ground, sobbing. They didn’t even know why.”

  I stayed quiet, letting him speak.

  “After that, I stopped using my powers unless I had to. Because it felt like cheating. Like I could steal someone’s soul and rearrange it if I wasn’t careful.”

  I looked at him, truly seeing the weight behind his usual playfulness. The restraint it must take to carry that kind of ability and choose not to use it. That kind of control.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For trusting me with that.”

  He gave me a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not alone in figuring yourself out, Zoe. So let’s figure it out together.”

  I nodded, heart steadier now. And for the first time since this whole mess began, I didn’t feel quite so afraid of what I could do.

  Damian tilted his head slightly, watching me. “You’ve clearly mastered telepathy. Have you ever tried to see someone’s memories while you’re in their mind?”

  I blinked. “Memories? No, I… I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  He gave a small nod. “Neither of us really knows if it’ll work, but if what Cole’s done is buried in their memories—twisted around what they think is real—you might be able to find the truth by going deeper. Not just thoughts. Roots. We can hope.”

  That word—hope—settled in my chest like a spark waiting to catch.

  The idea made my stomach twist, but there was a part of me, buried deep, that felt like this was the right direction. Like something inside me already knew how.

  Damian shifted, sitting up straighter. “Want to try with me first? See if you can read a memory in my mind. Just a small one. Nothing too heavy.”

  I hesitated, but nodded slowly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am,” he said, then added, “What I do—projecting emotions—it’s a push. I flood someone with a feeling until it drowns out everything else. But memories… those aren’t things you push into. Maybe they’re something you pull. Or dig for.”

  I nodded again, that strange sense of recognition tightening in my chest. Digging. Pulling. Like finding a thread and following it back to its start.

  I reached out with my mind, carefully—not diving, but brushing the edges of Damian’s thoughts like testing the surface of a lake. He stayed still, letting me in.

  And I began to look.

  At first, there was darkness—then a flicker. A soft memory, not fully formed. Damian laughing, younger, barefoot in a field. But around it, more began to swell. Emotions surged like undercurrents—fear, grief, joy, all brushing against me from different directions. Memories layered over one another like tangled threads in a web. I tried to follow one, but they shifted, overlapped, too many pulling at my mind at once.

  My breath caught. It was too much. Too loud. Too many echoes.

  I pulled back sharply, stumbling out of his mind like I’d been underwater too long.

  Damian blinked, but didn’t look hurt. “You okay?”

  I nodded, catching my breath. “There’s so much in there. It’s like… standing in a crowd of voices and trying to pick out just one.”

  He gave a small, understanding smile. “But you found one. That’s something.”

  Then he leaned forward slightly. “Try again. This time, focus on just one memory. Shut the others out. Don’t follow the noise. I’ll try to help by pushing one forward—just a small one. That way you’ll have something clear to grab onto.”

  I drew a deep breath, settling again. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

  Damian nodded, his expression steady. “You’ve got this.”