A horse and carriage rolled by. At least that was something familiar, although he preferred a fast two-wheeled chariot if he wasn’t riding. Bells jingled from the harness, and the horse’s breath steamed the air. The driver had dressed himself as one of these jolly, red-robed men with big white beards Piers kept seeing everywhere. Sophie said they were Santa and related to the upcoming holiday, although he still hadn’t grasped why they were all Santa or why one city needed so many of them.

The horse and carriage trundled away, and Piers rubbed his hands together, feeling nostalgic for his home, his horse, and his warm weather. Good gods, it was cold here.

“The Met.” Sophie pointed to a huge columned building. It looked a lot like Castle Sinta.

Piers stared at it. It was far bigger than any knowledge temple he’d ever been to. “Do they only have these buildings in New York City?” he asked.

She arched her brows. “Well, there’s nothing quite this grand in Connecticut.”

Ah. Her homeland. “Could I maybe…visit this Cunnetakit with you?” It was a bold question, and worry tightened his lungs. What if Sophie said no? What if for her, this, they, were only temporary?

A frown slid over her expression. “I would never just abandon you in the city.”

Piers nodded, but there was a difference between abandoning someone and bringing a man into your life as a partner. A lover. He decided not to press. It was good enough for now that Sophie planned on keeping him by her side. He’d convince her of forever later.

She flashed her phone to gain them entrance to the Met, and they went through a security scan. She’d warned him to leave his weapons at the room, which Piers had wholeheartedly resisted. He understood better now. He’d have been forced to give them up anyway, and Sophie had been worried his sword and daggers looked so “authentic” that the museum might ask questions they couldn’t answer.

As they strode through the classical rooms, Piers had to admit, if only to himself, that he hated it. Here was absolute proof that his gods had been abandoned. Left to rot, fall apart, and be scattered throughout museums for people to gawk at without even an inkling of the power the Olympians still wielded across the cosmos. At least the marblework was appealing when it wasn’t disintegrating. These statues were the first things to truly remind him of home—but only to prove just how very far away he was.

“Any difference in the shard?” he asked as they stared at yet another rendition of Athena. This one had a hand missing. And half a nose.