He arranged the bags over her, and suddenly she was in the dark and the cart was moving. The rustle of plastic grated against her ears and she held her breath so she didn’t have to smell rot and mold. The contents of the bags dug into her back, and each time the wheels hit a crack in the floor, the cart jostled, and the plastic grazed her like snake’s skin. She wanted to vomit but held it together.

“This is your stop,” she heard the janitor say, lifting the bags he used to hide her. Persephone was greeted by a blast of fresh air as she rose from the dark pit.

The man helped her out, awkwardly grasping her waist to set her on her feet. The contact made her cringe, and she stepped away, unsteady on her feet.

He had taken her to the end of an alleyway that let out onto Pegasus Street, from here she could get to her apartment in about twenty minutes.

“Thank you…” she said. “Um…what was your name?”

“Pirithous,” he supplied and held out his hand.

“Pirithous,” she took his hand. “I’m Persephone...I guess you already knew that.”

He ignored her comment and just said, “It’s nice to meet you, Persephone.”

“I owe you, for the getaway car.”

“No, you don’t,” he said quickly. “I’m not a god. I don’t extract a favor for a favor.”

He definitely has a history with the Divine, she thought, frowning. “I just meant that I would bring you cookies.”

The man offered a dazzling smile, and in that moment, beneath the exhaustion and the sadness, she thought she could see the person he used to be.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked.

He gave her the strangest look, chuckling a little and said, “Yeah, Persephone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

By the time Persephone arrived home, the apartment smelled like popcorn and Lexa’s music blared throughout the house. It wasn’t the kind you could dance to—it was the kind that could summon clouds and rain and darkness. The music cast its own spell, drawing on darker thoughts—revenge against Kal Stavros.

Lexa was waiting in the kitchen. She had already changed into her pajamas—a set that showed off her tattoos—the phases of the moon on her bicep, a key wrapped in hemlock on her left forearm, an exquisite dagger on her right hip, and Hecate’s wheel on her left upper arm. Her thick, black hair was piled on top of her head. She had a bottle of wine in hand, and two empty glasses waiting.

“There you are,” Lexa said, pinning Persephone with those piercing blue eyes. She indicated to the bottle of wine.

“I got your favorite.”

Persephone smiled. “You’re the best.”

“I thought I was going to have to file a missing person’s report.”

Persephone rolled her eyes. “I’m only thirty minutes late.”