“Nicole,” he says, his jaw set.

As if sensing my raging emotions, the rest of my friends stay silent. I think Stella backs up a few steps. But Troy . . . he holds my gaze steady, unblinking, and silently demanding I tell him what’s going on. Finally, I can’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m adopted,” I blurt.

“You’re what?” he asks.

Everyone else gasps.

“I think I’m adopted,” I repeat, letting the realization fully sink in as I say the words. “Persephone said she isn’t my godly ancestor.”

Which can only mean I’m adopted. My dad is Persephone’s son—the gods know I’ve done enough Spring Welcoming rituals in my lifetime to prove that fact. Mom is from a family of minor forest spirits, but she pledged herself as a Servant of Spring when she and Dad got married.

Persephone is the HGIC—head goddess in charge—in our household.

Which means that if Persephone isn’t my goddess, then my parents aren’t my parents. I’m adopted.

It makes so much sense. My mom has almost-black hair and Dad’s is a dark chocolate brown. Sure, my hair was darker before the bleach obliterated the color, but not that dark. We have different eyes, different noses, and I’m four inches shorter than Mom and six inches shorter than Dad. I don’t know why I never considered the possibility before.

And I thought Persephone was the dumb one.

“Then who is your god?” Stella asks, apparently deciding that I’m past the dangerous stage.

“I—” I shake my head, trying to make sense of this new reality. “I don’t know. But I know who to ask.”

“Who?” Griffin asks.

I exchange a look with Stella that she doesn’t need psychospection to read.

“My dad,” she says and, continuing her streak of being surprisingly willing to help, she adds, “He’s working in his office today.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. Then, to everyone, I say, “I need to do this alone.”

I look everyone in the eye, making sure they understand I’m serious. Everyone but Troy nods. He just stares back at me, keeping his reaction hidden.

“Call me if you need anything,” Phoebe says, stepping forward to give me a big hug.

“Thanks,” I say, hugging her back. “But I’m good.”

When everyone else is gone, Troy says, “I’ll walk you to the school.”

“Troy, I don’t need—”

“I know you don’t,” he answers before I can finish. “But you’re going to let me anyway. You can’t do everything alone, Nicole. You don’t have to.”

I never realized he was so stubborn. Must be one of the reasons I like him so much.