Noelle’s cheeks are streaked with tears. She doesn’t see Chronos approaching from behind, or the swing of his scythe. I squeeze my eyes shut as it hooks her and her magic disperses into the wind.

The vision shifts toward the shoreline, where Jack lies lifeless in the reeds. His friends hover around him, snapping arrows, compressing his chest. Fleur’s a demon, savage in her vengeance, drawing more elemental power than any Season I’ve ever seen. Transfixed, I watch as she causes the ground to quake, commanding a dozen trees and vines to take down Chronos by his wrists and ankles. Her hair is charged with static, her eyes wild, as she presses his staff to his throat. She’s merciless and terrifying and I’m disgusted by the admiration I can’t help feeling as I watch her. She’s a Season . . . a Season fueled by rage, who’s managed to overpower a god. In the vision, even Lyon hesitates to stand too close to her.

Until she hands him the staff.

She falls to her knees beside Jack, just like all the others. Giving up everything for him. Fighting for him.

He’s alive. Not in a terrarium or in an urn. Not in the wind. He’s alive.

Sinking into the chair, I drop my head between my knees and fight the urge to be sick.

“You’re not the only one to suffer a loss, Douglas. Jack survived his ordeal, and he’s stronger for it. Perhaps not in the ways you imagined, but strength is about more than power and magic. It’s about faith and trust and commitment. He made a choice. A choice to embrace his . . .”

Lyon’s blathering abruptly dies.

I lift my head. But Lyon’s not looking at me. He’s frowning deep into the crystal. “. . . his future,” he finishes. With a soft clear of his throat, he wraps the velvet sash back around the eye. “I hope you can move on from here as he has, Douglas. It’s important that you try. The world moves on, with or without us,” he says, the creases around his eyes deepening. “In one week’s time, Gaia and I will be dismantling the last members of Michael’s Guard. All those remaining will be awakened and relieved of their duties, as well as the magic granted to them by the former Chronos.”

The damp jumpsuit chills my skin where it presses against the seat. “What does that mean? What are you saying?”

“Those who chose to serve under Michael may be swayed by conflicting values and loyalties. I cannot take any chances with the safety of the Observatory or those who choose to reside here.”

“Choose?” The word tastes all wrong and I spit it back at him. “What does that even mean?”