Sophie had left nearly three hours ago, and Piers still felt as though a Cyclops sat on his chest, the crushing weight keeping his lungs from expanding. His heart seemed to beat out her name, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d stopped him from using one of her little sheaths when they made love. She hadn’t wanted it. Maybe they both hoped he’d left a part of himself with her. Although the idea of his child growing up without him made Piers’s stomach plummet. But Sophie… She could handle anything. The week she’d just endured would’ve broken a lesser woman. She would persevere. She would thrive.

The hotel phone rang, and Piers nearly jumped out of his skin. His pulse pounding, he picked up the handle and put it to his ear. “Yes?”

“There’s a man here to see you. Mr. Smith.”

Mr. Novalight Smith. Piers picked up his sword. “Thank you. You can send him to the room.”

If the next few minutes didn’t go as Piers hoped, the last thing he would do on this world would be to run Novalight through. The billionaire scientist wouldn’t bother Sophie again—because Piers had no doubt the man would try to study and use her abilities, with or without the Shard of Olympus to make them work.

Earlier, he’d made sure people in the lobby had seen Sophie leave, her luggage in hand. He’d spoken to the concierge about the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, just so the man would remember seeing her go. He’d even gone back to the desk and told them he was staying one more night on his own and would take care of checkout in the morning. Piers had watched enough of this news channel during the afternoon to know that killing people, even dangerous ones, carried a different weight here than it did in Thalyria. Systems in this place kept people accountable in ways he’d never seen in his life, and he wanted to make damn sure no one could blame Sophie for the dead man in their room.

Between the slow elevators and long corridors, it would take Novalight several minutes to get here. Hopefully, just on time.

Piers started chanting.

Call a god, lose a soul. He couldn’t believe he was doing this again. He knew it brought misery. But he also believed it would keep Sophie safe. And put the shard back where it belonged.

Power gathered in the air around him. The chant required several repetitions. He spoke faster, louder. The windows frosted over, filtering out the day’s last light and the gently falling snow.

Piers started the final repetition. Would he even remember his time on Earth after Athena took him? Would he remember Sophie?

Yes, by gods. She’d burned herself into his soul.