Granted, on the scale of major Olympic transgressions, I’m still pretty small-time. But I doubt any of the gods expect me to become an exemplary hematheos anytime soon.

“Not like this, Nicole,” he says quietly. “This is serious. Olympus will—”

My fear dissolves like sugar in coffee.

“Olympus can go hang, for all I care.”

And I mean it.

2

Mt. Olympus and I don’t exactly have a lovey-dovey relationship. More like it’s kind of my personal mission to sidestep the gods and their stupid laws as much as possible. They’ve never given me a reason to respect their leadership. Quite the opposite.

My parents spent their entire lives following Olympic law to the letter. Dotting every i and filing every report in triplicate. My dad was an adviser to Zeus, living and working on Mount Olympus, an honor awarded to a devoted few. Mom volunteered as a liaison between Olympus and the nymphae, the wild family of minor nature deities. We were happy. Then, in an instant—because of one stupid prank I pulled—all Dad’s years of service and devotion and straight-arrow living went out the window. He and Mom got banished from the hematheos world, forced to live as ordinary humans and make their way on their own, without powers or godly connections. They had to start from scratch.

So when it comes to obeying Olympic law, well, I obey the ones I feel like obeying, and ignore the rest. And I don’t feel like obeying too many of them.

I turn my back on Troy before he can see the tears of frustration pushing at my eyes. Normally it would take serious injury to make me cry, but between the book and my parents and the hope I’m feeling for the first time in a decade, the emotions are a little overwhelming.

He makes a quiet growl in his throat. “Is this about your parents?”

“So what if it is.” I grab the book up against my chest, steeling myself against my emotions as best I can, turning to face Troy with all the defiance I feel for Olympus. “They don’t deserve their punishment.”

It was a stupid idea—my stupid idea—and Griffin Blake, my childhood best friend, went along with it. We didn’t know what would happen; we didn’t know the consequences. We didn’t know our parents would take the blame.

“I know, Nic,” Troy says, stepping forward and reaching out like he wants to comfort me.

I don’t do comfort, either.

“And neither do Griffin’s parents,” I snap, pulling away from him.