The next morning, Redbeard had tried to steal Siege’s lockbox and jettison off to the next city as soon as they landed in Neon City. Siege found him, of course, and returned with three of his golden teeth and a bloodied nose as payment.

“We’re never doin’ that again,” she had groused, but now Redbeard captained one of Siege’s fleetships stationed out near Cerces, the Illumine. Last she’d heard, he had been trying to board and take down a dreadnought of his own—like Robb and Jax had done to save her.

If Ana saw Redbeard again after all this was over, she wanted to tell him that he had been right—Metals could not be saved with love and sarcastic quips. Ana wasn’t even sure they could be saved at all, although she held on to that hope like a ship clinging to its mooring.

She would get the heart. She would defeat the Great Dark. And she would bring Di back.

She would.

She had to.

As the skysailer buzzed over the fir trees, she kept squinting down into the thicket for any sort of ruins. The console relayed a holographic map, but all she could see were trees and mountains and blue sky—

And then the firs gave way to alabaster stone and felled pillars, and the ruins of what looked like a temple.

An Iron Shrine. One she had never seen before. It was ancient, the way it fit into the foot of the mountains as if it’d been carved there. Through the hole in the roof, there was the barest glimpse of a white stone face both foreign and familiar.

The Goddess.

Ana set the skysailer down at the edge of the ruins. Everything was quiet.

Good—she hoped it would stay that way.

She grabbed her rucksack, looped it over her shoulder, and checked the ammo in her Metroid before holstering it under her arm and climbing the alabaster stairs toward the ruins.

This Iron Shrine must be over a thousand years old, having fallen to time and memory, built when the Goddess still existed in flesh and bone. The downed pillars held sconces in the shape of the Goddess, her hands hooked to hold the flames. The Old Language was chiseled at the base of the fallen doors leading into the temple. The forest had slowly encroached for centuries, vines and roots upending the floor and crawling up the walls. Small white flowers bloomed between the flagstones like weeds, but she’d seen their star-shaped petals before, and she knew their sweet scent like a lullaby.

They were moonlilies.

Cautiously, she stepped into the shrine, tugging up the hood on the tattered cloak she’d bought on the freighter from Iliad. The afternoon light fell in strokes between the fallen slats of roof, painting golden bars across the autumn-leaf- and vine-covered ground. It was peaceful, and quiet—too quiet. There were no birds, no nature, no buzzing of insects. There was just air and sunlight and ancient marble, and slowly she drew her hand to her pistol.