“There’s no good answer to that, either.” Daphne’s eyes shine with sympathy. “When it comes to the Corrupter, there have always been more rumors than facts, and most prophecies are barely intelligible. But the seers whose visions were the most precise talk about an Ascension taking place in this age.” Her mittens come together as she wrings her hands. “They describe a vessel born under certain planetary influences, exhibiting specific traits, living at a meeting point of two ley lines, and … well, it’s you, Auggie. There’s just no one else, anywhere or at any time, that meets the criteria the way you do.”

My back goes stiff, every last one of my star-crossed atoms suddenly clanging with alarm—and not because my Leo sun and Scorpio moon are apparently written down in some moldy, supernatural library book, either. Backing up, I ask, “How do you know that?”

“What do you mean?” Daphne drops her hands. She doesn’t look as cold as I feel.

“How do you know what ‘planetary influences’ I was born under?” I step back again. “How do you know I’m the only one who meets the criteria?”

“Auggie—”

“Who are you?” My eyes go hot and blurry, a week’s worth of ugly surprises overwhelming me, suspicions as black as the starless sky exploding in my mind.

Her shoulders slump. “I told you who I am. I’m Daphne Banks, I’m good at math, and … I’m a Knight with the Brotherhood of Perseus.” She doesn’t move closer, not even when I take a third step back, and the sadness in her eyes is what finally makes me stop. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before—I couldn’t. The truth is, Auggie … I’m not a student at Northwestern. And it’s not a coincidence that I’m part of an organization of vampire-killing warriors. The Brotherhood sent me here. I was … I’m assigned to watch you.”

One tear spills down my cheek, and I scrub it away with shaking fingers. I’m staring at her, waiting for her to peel off her rubber Daphne mask, or to say that this is some elaborate prank. She’s been tutoring me for nearly six months, and the whole time she’s been spying on me, keeping secrets about me—it’s too much to process. “H-how?”