What can she do for me? She’s talking to me like I’m a total stranger, not one of her unlucky descendants. For the love of Zeus, she’s dumb.

My anger returns tenfold.

“I need a golden coin,” I snap. “I have to go back in time.”

She tilts her head slightly, making her look like a curious poodle. “Chronoportation is illegal.”

“I know,” I say with tense growl. “I still need the coin.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “But why would you call me?” she asks. “You must request the coin of Chronos from your ancestor god.”

“That is why I called you.”

Seriously. If this conversation goes on any longer without her handing over the coin, I’m going to strangle her.

“But why?” she repeats. “I am not your ancestor.”

“You’re not—” I shake my head. “Of course you are.”

“I’m afraid not.” She gives me an amused look. “Do you not think I would recognize my own children?”

“No, actually I—”

Before I can finish telling her exactly how dumb I think she is, the goddess of Spring smiles and vanishes in a puff of shimmering smoke. Just like that, she’s gone and I’m alone in the temple.

I’m so stunned by her disappearance that my mind freezes, stuck on her words. Replaying them over and over. I am not your ancestor. I am not your ancestor. I am not your—

It can’t be true. Can it?

“Holy Hades.”

Is it possible that she really isn’t my ancestor? That I’m actually not a descendant of Persephone?

On any other day that news would leave me elated. Thrilled. Over the freaking moon to find out I’m not related to the most embarrassing goddess on the family tree.

But today? I’m pissed. I don’t have time to celebrate. I need to find out who my ancestor is so I can get that second gold coin.

And I know only one person who might know the answer.

The moment I open the temple doors, I’m bombarded with questions again. Everyone rushes me, assuming I’ve gone back in time and changed things, and eager to hear all the exciting details.

They have no idea.

“What happened?”

“Did you get the coin?”

“What was she like?”

“Did you go back already?”

“Did you fix things?”

Only Troy seems to notice that I’m fuming and stomping down the steps at an angry pace. I brush past them, intent on my destination.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, grabbing my elbow before I can escape.

What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong?

I try to pull away, to blow them all off because the emotions bouncing around inside me are too volatile, too close to the surface. Even the tiniest crack will send them all pouring out of me.

But Troy won’t let me off so easily. He moves around to face me. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”