Chapter 20
Ophelia
I'm staring at a dead plant when Hecate arrives.
It's fitting, really. Everything Hades touches dies. Everything in his world is cold and dark and beautiful in a terrible way. Even his garden is a graveyard, and I'm supposed to make it bloom — be the life to his death.
Too bad I have no fucking clue how to do that.
I can't bring a single plant back from the dead, let alone bring life to the Underworld.
Fuck.
"You look contemplative," Hecate says, her heeled boots clicking against the hardwood floors.
"I'm practicing. Or well, trying to."
"Really? Without me?"
I roll my eyes. "Well, considering I couldn't get it up when it counted…"
She snorts and moves across from me. "Shall we begin?"
I nod. I expected her to say something snarky about my lack of ability. She has taken to needling me as a way to bring my power forward. And yet she's weirdly, remarkably quiet.
"I brought this," she holds up a small seed. I lift a brow. "I thought it might be easier to focus if there's something visual. This seed is from an orange. It's fresh, and with correct cultivation it could bloom."
I nod, not one hundred percent sure where she is going with this. I could grow a tree from a seed — at least, the normal way.
"But we don't have time for that, so instead, you are going to cultivate it."
I sigh.
"Don't," she orders, voice stern. "The seed is life. Sense it and try to pull it forth. Even a single sprout will do."
I nod, trying not to be worried about the resignation in her tone. Is she worried that I'm never going to be battle ready? That I won't have control?
I'm too worried to ask.
Instead, I focus on the seed.
At least, I try. Instead, all I can think about is Hades's words.
I've spent a millennium waiting for you.
Not me, Ophelia.
Her. Persephone.
If it were anyone else, I'd be impressed by his commitment to his dead wife. Two millennia is a true feat.
Instead, I'm spiraling, which is why I've just been staring at this goddamn seed, and honestly, not even trying.
"Ophelia." Hecate's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Where are you?"
"Here," I gesture.
"Your body is here. Your mind is elsewhere."
"I've been thinking about Persephone." The confession rolls off my tongue before I can stop myself, and the eye roll Hecate gives me makes my cheeks redden.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she mutters. "Get over it."
The irritation in her voice surprises me. "Excuse me?"
"Persephone. You. The existential crisis you're having about identity." She waves a hand dismissively. "I told you before — you're not two separate people. You're one. She evolved into you. You're not in competition with a ghost because you are the ghost."
"Easy for you to say," I mutter, irritated.
"You're not the one whose entire life revolved around this.
My father—" I swallow the lump in my throat.
I have not allowed myself to think about the past, or specifically about my parents since I found out.
I used Hades to take my mind off it, and it worked.
He's got a way of filling every space in my life.
"It's nothing." I straighten my shoulders, not wanting Hecate's pity. "Let's just train."
She studies me for a long moment, and I get the uncomfortable feeling she sees right through me. Sees the heartbreak I'm trying to hide. The resignation settling into my bones.
Because the truth is, once the cult is dealt with, once Hades figures out I'm not who he wants, this ends.
All of it.
The pretending. The hoping. The foolish, stupid part of me that wishes I could be enough.
"Fine," Hecate says finally. "Let's see if you can focus long enough to grow something."
I nod again.
"Make it grow," she instructs.
I stare at the pot. At the seed barely visible in the dry earth. I close my eyes for a minute, but when I do, I see my mother coming at me with a knife. I snap them open and glance up at Hecate.
Thankfully, she has been looking at the pot and missed my minor freak out.
"Feel it. The life inside the seed. The potential. Draw it out. Make it bloom."
I reach for that place inside me where my power supposedly lives. The place that made vines grow in my shop when I was terrified. The place that manifested roses when Hades touched me.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
"It's not working," I say after several minutes of straining. I press my fingertips against my temples. A headache is forming, and I crack my neck in an effort to relieve the tension.
"Because you're trying too hard." Hecate's voice is measured, patient. "Stop thinking. Just feel."
"I am feeling—"
"No. You're thinking about feeling. There's a difference." She leans forward. "What's blocking you, Ophelia?"
"If I knew, I'd unblock it."
Hecate's eyes narrow. I can tell she is growing more annoyed with me, genuinely so.
"You know." Her twilight eyes bore into mine. "You're rejecting your reality."
"What does that even mean?"
"You keep seeing yourself as two people — Ophelia and Persephone. You're not. You're one person who's lived multiple lifetimes. Until you accept that, your power will remain fragmented."
Frustration boils over. "So what, I'm supposed to just accept that I'm someone I have no memory of being?
That some goddess I've never met is apparently me, and everyone expects me to just..
. what? Embrace it? Become her? I'm tired of being compared to her.
I'm tired of her taking over every inch of my life.
It makes me feel like I'm nothing more than a vessel. "
Frustrated tears fill my eyes, and I flick them away. I hate how much I cry lately.
"You already are her," Hecate says calmly. "That's what you don't understand. Persephone didn't die and then you were born. You aren't a vessel for her. I told you — you are just her if she were born in different circumstances."
"That doesn't make sense—"
"It makes perfect sense. You're just refusing to see it." She gestures at the pot. "Try again. And this time, stop fighting yourself."
I want to argue. Want to throw the stupid pot across the room and scream that none of this is fair.
But I don't.
I close my eyes and try again.
And again.
And again.
An hour passes, and the seed doesn't even twitch.
The door to the penthouse slams open with enough force to rattle the windows.
I jump, my concentration shattering completely, and look up expecting to see Hades.
And I do, but he's pissed.
Shadows writhe around him like living things, and the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. His eyes are blazing silver, and the power radiating off him makes my skin prickle.
"Hecate," he says, his voice carrying that ancient authority that makes my spine straighten involuntarily. He turns to me. "We're moving to the Underworld. Now."
"What?" I'm on my feet before I consciously decide to move. "What are you talking about?"
"It's not safe here. Pack a bag." He doesn't look at me, his attention fixed on Hecate. "I need you and Athena to up your efforts."
"Hades—" I start.
"This isn't a discussion." His tone brooks no argument, and for the first time since I've known him, I feel a flutter of real fear.
Not of him hurting me.
Of him controlling me without my consent.
"You can't just decide—"
"I can, and I have." He finally looks at me, and the intensity in his gaze steals my breath. "The penthouse isn't secure. You'll be safer in the Underworld."
"Safer?" My voice pitches higher. "Or more easily under your thumb?"
Something flickers in his expression. "Ophelia—"
"The Underworld is your domain," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Your kingdom. Your rules. If I go down there, I have no control. No way out. No—" I feel like the world is starting to spin. This is another example of me having no say, of no one giving me any control.
"No way for the cult to reach you," he interrupts. "That's the point. Not for me to trap you."
"What happened?" Hecate asks, standing. Her voice is calm, but I see the tension in her shoulders.
Before Hades can answer, the door opens again and Poseidon walks inside. He's dressed in a navy suit, and his expensive loafers click on the floor.
"Brother," he says, taking in the scene. "Heard you were having a crisis. Thought I'd check in."
"Fuck off," Hades snarls.
I blink at the venom in his voice. It's unearned. But Poseidon doesn't appear offended.
He simply grins before turning to look at me. "Nice to see you too. Hello, Ophelia." His eyes find mine, warm and friendly. "How are you holding up?"
The contrast between his easy charm and Hades's barely contained rage is jarring. "I'm... fine?"
"She's not fine," Hades snaps. "And you need to leave."
"Why? Worried the Spring Queen will pick the superior brother?" Poseidon's tone is light, teasing, but I see the calculation in his eyes. He's assessing the situation. "What's got you so worked up?"
"None of your concern."
"Everything involving the family is my concern." Poseidon's smile fades slightly as he takes in Hades's demeanor. "Especially when you're panicking like this. What happened?"
Hades looks like he wants to throw his brother through a wall. His hands are clenched at his sides, shadows pooling at his feet, and I can feel his rage like a physical thing.
"Hades," I say quietly. "What happened?"
This is different from the man he was this morning, which means the prisoner revealed something. Something bad enough to send Hades spiraling.
He finally looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop.
Fear.
The God of Death is afraid.
"The cultist," he says, his voice tight. "When he died, his soul didn't pass to the Underworld."
Silence. It's like Hecate and Poseidon forgot to breathe. I'm not sure what this means, and I'm thankful when Hecate speaks up.
"What do you mean it didn't pass?" Hecate asks carefully.
"I mean it's gone. Not in the Underworld. Not lingering. Not anywhere I can sense. Just... gone." He runs a hand through his hair, and the gesture is so human, so vulnerable, it makes my chest ache. "It's like it never existed."
"That's not possible," Poseidon says, and for the first time, his casual demeanor cracks. "Souls don't just disappear. They can't."
"They can if someone's found a way to block my power." Hades's voice is grim. "And apparently, Mother Callista has."
The name sends ice through my veins.
"How?" Hecate asks. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know." And the admission clearly costs him. "But if she can hide souls from me, if she can operate beyond death itself—"
"Then she's more dangerous than we thought," Hecate finishes quietly.
I look between the three of them — gods who've existed for millennia, who've survived the fall of Olympus, who've seen civilizations rise and fall.
And they're scared.
All of them.
"This is bad," Poseidon says, his usual levity completely gone. "This is really fucking bad."
"Which is why we're moving to the Underworld," Hades says, his eyes finding mine again. "It's the only place I can guarantee your safety. The only place where—"
The front door opens.
We all turn.
And Zeus walks in like he owns the place.
He's not as tall as Hades, but somehow he takes up more space.
His presence is overwhelming — authority and power and barely contained lightning.
His suit is impeccable, his blonde hair perfectly styled, and his eyes sweep over the room with the kind of assessment that makes me feel like an insect under a microscope.
Nobody speaks.
The tension in the room ratchets up so high I can barely breathe.
Zeus's gaze moves from Hecate to Poseidon to Hades and finally lands on me.
His eyes narrow.
And I realize, with a jolt of pure terror, that he knows exactly who I am.
What I am.
Why I matter.
He doesn't say a word.
He doesn't have to.
His presence alone has turned the room into a powder keg, and we're all just waiting for the spark.