At least Sophie had a plan, which was more than what Piers had. But the idea of her being exposed and vulnerable on city streets and in public places made him feel as if he were trying to breathe underwater. It was funny—no, frightening—how a single day could change his entire existence. And he wasn’t even talking about the inexplicable world-hopping. He meant Sophie.

Piers got it now. Why Griffin would choose Cat over anything. Why Carver lost himself when he lost Konstantina. He was just like his brothers. The right woman hit them like a lightning bolt and scorched herself down to their very essence. Sophie was his lightning strike. He had no doubt the Fates had thrust them together to keep the Shard of Olympus out of the wrong hands. And now that their life threads were weaving the same tapestry, he was going to make damn sure they didn’t get cut short or unravel.

Which made Sophie’s reckless running around New York City almost unbearable. He grumbled about it again, scanning the surprisingly vast wilderness in the heart of the city for signs of danger.

Sophie sipped coffee from a cup made of paper, his protests rolling right off her. “I haven’t been to the Met since I was a kid. I can’t wait to see the Greek sculptures again.”

“Why Greek instead of Attican?” Piers asked. “Isn’t that where they’re from?”

She shrugged. “Back then—and now—Attica was just one region around Athens. Ancient Greek civilization spread all over the Mediterranean. It was made up of independent city states that shared a similar culture and language.”

“And gods.”

“And gods.” She nodded.

Piers understood and could even picture what she meant, just as he understood more about this world by the minute. He now knew that Sophie could show him a detailed map of ancient Greece with a few taps of her finger. At the time, it seemed the people there had called their land Hellas.

Why stories of the Hellenes and their ancient kingdoms came to Thalyria as tales from Attica, he could only guess. Perhaps Athena had liked her glorious role as the patron goddess of the area and spread to Thalyria only the information she liked best.

Sophie’s phone fascinated him. He could understand why the little rectangles were glued to everyone’s fingertips. They’d used hers several times today already. They could buy entrance tickets to this Met. They could check the incoming weather. They could listen to music—if one could call the odd thump thumping and endless la la laing music. She could even contact her family, her thumbs flying over little letters, to say she’d try to be home soon and not to open the door to any strangers.

Piers wished he had a magic rectangle. But there was no contacting his family with Sophie’s phone, no matter how powerful the tool seemed to him.