We don’t say another word—there’s no need. He falls in step beside me as we head to the school. And I have to resist the odd impulse to reach out and take his hand.

“Good afternoon, Miss Matios,” Headmaster Petrolas says when I barge into his office. “What can I—”

“Who?” I demand.

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. “I beg your pardon?”

I’ve been in the headmaster’s office enough that the place feels like a second home. The headmaster and I have stared each other down across his wide desk more times than I can count. I know how to read him.

He may act innocent, but his eyes narrow the tiniest bit and he straightens in his chair. He is notorious for knowing things he shouldn’t, so I have a feeling he knows exactly what I’m asking. But if he wants to play this game, I’ll spell it out.

“I’m adopted,” I say, as if those words haven’t turned my world upside down. “Who is my real ancestor god?”

He rests his elbows oh-so-casually on his desk. “How did you come by this information?”

“Is that really the important detail here?” I reply.

He lifts one eyebrow.

Fine.

“I called Persephone to the temple.” I drop into my chair—no, really, I carved my name into one of the legs—as if this whole thing is no big deal. “She told me I wasn’t one of hers.”

“And why were you calling Persephone?” he asks, like a he’s sniffing out the trail to my rule breaking.

He has no idea.

“That’s between me and my ancestor god,” I say, playing it cool. “Some things are private between a girl and her goddess.”

He studies me for a long time. If I weren’t used to his scrutiny and his uncanny ability to uncover trouble, I might crack. But I’ve been in this chair too many times. I know how to keep my game face on.

Finally, he sighs and nods.

“We knew this day would come.” He reaches over and opens one of his desk drawers. He hands me a crisp white envelope. “This will explain the situation.”

I look from him to the envelope and back again. When I finally take it, he gives me a look I can’t quite interpret. Sympathy? Sadness?

Whatever. I don’t want either.

I tear open the envelope and pull out the letter inside.

Dearest darling Nicole,