Persephone got ready for work. She hated how her perception of her job had changed. She used to look forward to days spent at New Athens News, now they filled her with dread, and it had nothing to do with the crowd that hung out to see her every day—it was her boss. Demetri had continuously given her busy work, keeping her from working on stories. She decided if he did it again today, she would challenge him.

“Hi, Persephone!” Helen said as she exited the elevator.

“Hello, Helen,” Persephone said, smiling at the young woman. She was about the only thing she enjoyed about her job anymore.

She crossed the workroom floor and before she made it to her desk, Demetri popped out of his office, handing her a stack of papers.

“Obituaries,” he said.

When Persephone didn’t take them, he dropped them on her desk.

“You have to be kidding me, Demetri. I’m an investigative journalist.”

“And today you are editing obituaries,” he said.

He turned and went back into his office. She followed.

“You’ve given me menial tasks since Kal called off the exclusive.” Since I found out about your fucked-up love potion, she wanted to say. “Was this the trade off?”

“You wrote an article that resulted in negative publicity for this company and hurt your reputation. What do you expect?”

“It’s called journalism, Demetri, and I expect that you’ll stand up for me.”

“Look, Persephone, no offense, but when it comes down to saving my own ass or saving yours, I’m choosing myself.”

Persephone nodded. “You’ll regret this, Demetri.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No,” she said. “I’m offering you a peek into the future.”

“Do us a favor, Persephone. Stop sending your god after your problems.”

“You think Hades will be the one to dismantle you?” Persephone asked, taking deliberate steps toward the mortal. Demetri tensed, unnerved by whatever he saw in her expression.

She shook her head and continued, “No. Your fate is mine to unravel.”

With the prophecy spoken, Persephone turned on her heels and left Demetri’s office.

***

Lexa was in the kitchen the next morning with another pot of coffee. The same thick, burnt sludge she had made the day before, but Persephone didn’t care. She accepted the drink, sitting at the bar.

“Are you alright?” Lexa asked. Persephone was so surprised by the question, she burned her lips trying to sip on her coffee.

“I’m sorry, what?” Persephone asked.

“Are you alright?”

Persephone sat her mug down. “I should be asking you that question,” she said and sighed. “I guess I’m just not looking forward to work.”

She explained what had happened the day before.

“When I started there, I was so...ecstatic. I was ready to find the truth, to give a platform to the voiceless. Instead, I’m made to make copies, edit obituaries, and make up predictions.”