He ended the chant and spoke the name of the goddess who put him here to begin with. “Athena!”

Golden light swirled in the room. It heated the air and melted the frost on the windows. Athena slipped out of the sunlit glow and regarded him with interest. She was a good foot taller than Piers even with her head cocked to one side. She wore a flowing white gown as opposed to the armor he’d last seen her in. Perhaps in New York, she had no need for her spear and shield. Piers couldn’t help staring in awe. He didn’t blame anyone but himself for his exile from Thalyria, and he almost wanted to thank Athena for bringing him to Sophie.

A small smile curved her lips, and her golden-brown eyes softened, as if she’d read his thoughts. The radiance around her disappeared, leaving only the electric lights. Athena outshined them all. “Piers of Sinta. You summon an Olympian again. Are you foolhardy or brave?”

Piers bowed his head. “Neither, I think. But I saw no other way.”

“Call a god, lose a soul. Is that not what you learned?”

“It is.” He lifted his hand, palm up, and presented the Shard of Olympus. Sophie had been able to wear it, though it burned his hand with cold. “But this was in danger of falling into the wrong hands, and it was putting an innocent woman and her family at risk.”

Athena hummed in the back of her throat. “Indeed, it was.” She reached out, and the shard floated from his hand to hers. Piers watched in wonder as she tucked it inside her chest, passing it through her skin and bones. The glacial-blue glow illuminated her from the inside out before disappearing, swallowed whole.

Piers let out an unsteady breath. A knock sounded at the door.

“In terms of losing a soul, I have an option to present.” He moved toward the door. “I know it’s not my choice, but please consider who caused the trouble here.”

Piers opened the door. Novalight stood there, looking ready to take what he believed was his. He’d come alone, as requested. Maybe his ruffians were down the hall. Piers didn’t care. He pulled him inside and shut the door.

“You’re not Sophronia Iraklidis.” Novalight glared beyond Piers’s shoulder.

Piers turned, and his jaw slid ajar. Athena now wore an outfit much like Sophie’s—slim-fitting jeans and a loose sweater that hung off one shoulder, something strappy underneath, and bright Christmas socks on her feet. She’d shrunk, though she remained tall. Her tight, upswept curls had given way to long, loose waves that tumbled to her waist. She could sit in a New York restaurant and fit in just like anyone else. Piers snapped his mouth shut. Maybe she did sometimes.