"There's a storm coming in three days off the east coast," Hylla stated. "Neptune and Jupiter are upset about something so we need to make sure everything is working properly."
I stood near the veranda, arms crossed, watching the horizon where the sea had already begun to darken. I could smell the storm before it arrived—ozone and salt thick in the air, like the sky was holding its breath.
Hylla's voice was clipped, commanding. The nymphs scrambled to obey, darting like minnows to their stations across the terraces. I respected her like no one else, but even I could tell she was worried. When Circe's island got storms, they weren't just wind and water. The gods didn't argue in whispers.
Diomedes stood beside me, silent as always. He had a rake in one hand and a length of sea-silk rope in the other, helping fasten the wind-catchers on the upper pool terraces. His eyes, large and unreadable, flicked skyward briefly. He looked thoughtful, almost sad.
"You'll help with the northern cliffs," Hylla called to me, "Make sure the aqueduct channels are cleared. If they back up, we'll lose three pools and the herb gardens."
I nodded once and turned to Diomedes. "You, with me."
He gave me a thumbs up, clouds wisping off his skin. When storms got close to the island, Diomedes and the other cloud nymphs would take their more human forms so they wouldn't be caught in the torrential winds.
We took the old spiral path up to the cliffs, the one slick with moss and edged with morning glory vines that had started to curl in the rising wind. The sky had gone the color of red rust. The sea below churned like it was remembering some deep grudge.
Diomedes didn't speak, but he didn't have to. He moved with purpose, long strides quiet and sure over the uneven stone. I kept pace beside him, glad to have him even if he didn't fill the silence with chatter. I needed the quiet to think. Or maybe I just didn't want to talk about her.
Carol had been quiet lately. Not soft, or gentle—just quiet, in that careful way people get when they think their words are weapons and they're trying not to draw blood by accident. It didn't fool me. Her cheerfulness had been a mask. Her silence was another.
I focused on the aqueducts. Twigs, palm fronds, and a half-eaten papaya had clogged one of the channels. I crouched, reached in, and yanked the debris out. The water rushed past my fingers, cold and fast.
Behind me, I heard Diomedes crouch, too. He didn't say anything, I could feel him watching me. But I didn't ask him to stop.
"You're still angry with her," he said quietly.
I sighed. "That obvious?"
He didn't answer.
I yanked a chunk of seaweed from the grate and flicked it aside. "She gets one moment of kindness and suddenly she's allowed to bring up my father? Like she has any idea what that was like?"
"You did bring up her dead sister," Diomedes countered.
I grumbled. I couldn't counter that because he was right; I went snooping around where I shouldn't have —Diomedes did give me the consent to ask but his words and body language should have been clear enough for me to tell it wasn't a good idea.
"But," I said, changing the subject. "Hasn't she been sketchy lately?"
Diomedes didn't answer right away. He was twisting the sea-silk rope around his fingers, letting the frayed ends catch the wind. I could tell he'd noticed something too—he always did—but he didn't want to admit it. Not out loud. Not about her.
"Define 'sketchy,'" he said finally.
I stood, wiping wet moss from my hands onto my pants. "Sneaking off after sunset. Always looking over her shoulder. And don't tell me I'm imagining it—I've seen her slipping past the bathhouse stairs with a pack. Twice."
Diomedes's brow furrowed. "A pack?"
"With rope. Blankets. A lamp. She's hoarding supplies."
He looked away, scanning the clouds like they'd give him answers. They didn't.
"Maybe she's scared of the storm," he offered, but even he didn't believe that.
"Didn't you say she and your mom worked on a ship before you met her?" I asked.
In the last couple months Diomedes had opened up a bit more about Briar. She and Carol had been exotic dancer's —she got the job to pay for college. They worked on party boats for bachelor and bachelorette parties.
Diomedes nodded, "yes, but that doesn't make you stop being afraid of storms. I'm afraid of pomegranates and yet I still help plant them."
I paused, "you're afraid of pomegranates?"
"They're the symbol of Dis Pater and Prosperina, kinda hard to not be afraid of them when they're what got Prosperina stuck in her marriage."
"Huh, you learn something new everyday." I said. "... but pomegranates?"
Diomedes gave a soft shrug, brushing a loose curl from his face as the wind picked up around us. His features were calm, but there was a tightness around his mouth I didn't miss.
"Symbols have power," he said. "Especially if you believe in what they mean."
I didn't know what to say to that. It was a very Diomedes answer—quiet and half-wrapped in riddles—but I felt the truth in it, too. The kind that tugged under your ribs.
We kept walking. The aqueducts snaked along the ridge like ancient scars, carved into stone before either of us was born. Every so often, I'd crouch to clear another blockage, and Diomedes would follow without a word, sometimes pulling a blade of grass from a crack in the stone, sometimes just watching the sky. Always watching.
"She's not just hoarding," I said finally. "She's preparing."
He looked at me sideways. "For what?"
"I don't know. But it's not a party."
Diomedes didn't answer.
We reached the last aqueduct channel near the edge of the cliffs. The wind was strong enough now that it whistled through the rocks, and the sea mist left a film on our skin. I tightened the ties on my braid and crouched to check the grate. It was clean. Still, I hesitated. I didn't want to leave yet. Neither did he.
"You know," I said, "I didn't always hate her."
He didn't look surprised. "I know."
"She was so... bright, at first. I thought it was fake."
"It's not," Diomedes said softly. "But it is something she turns on and off. Like a lamp. She does it when she's scared."
I looked up at him. "She's scared now."
Diomedes nodded. He was quiet for a beat. Then: "She's been disappearing before dinner. Gone for hours."
I blinked. "Where?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I asked once. She said she was 'looking at the stars.'"
"In daylight?"
He gave me a rueful look. "Exactly."
We stood there for a long moment, the wind pressing into our backs like a warning.
"If she's planning to leave," I said slowly, "she'll go before the storm hits. Or in the middle of it."
"She wouldn't survive," Diomedes said.
"She's a daughter of Luctus. Maybe she's fine with that."
He flinched at that. Just slightly. But I saw it.
I didn't apologize. I couldn't—not when I still remembered the way Carol's words had hit me a month ago, cutting straight through the ribs.
"What do we do?" I asked.
Diomedes stared out at the waves. He didn't speak, but I could see him thinking, gears turning behind those impossibly large eyes. He'd inherited his mother's mind, even if no one knew it yet. Strategic. Dangerous.
"Tomorrow night," he said finally. "We follow her."
"And if we find out she is planning to run?"
His jaw tightened. "Then we stop her from running away from her problems again."
He said it like a vow. Not a threat, not a plea—just a truth. And I knew, standing there with the storm swelling behind us, that he meant it.
The night couldn't come fast enough, the whole spa was boarded up thanks to Circe's magic. We were all sat in the dining hall eating —well, everyone but me.
I was staring down Carol as she ate in a corner near the exit.
She was picking at her food—some dried fish and seaweed rice—like she didn't even taste it. Her eyes kept flicking toward the doorway like it might open any second. Like she was waiting for someone. Or something.
Maybe escape.
Her hair was braided back, and she wore one of the nymphs' storm cloaks, the kind woven from kelp and silk. It was too big on her. The hood kept slipping. She'd tug it back up every few minutes like it mattered, like she needed to hide her face even in here.
Diomedes was sitting beside me, scarfing down his own food. He didn't look like he was paying attention, but he was. Something about how Cloud nymph's are able to sense changes in the air.
"She's planning it," I said under my breath. "She's gonna run."
Diomedes swallowed his food. "Not yet. She's waiting."
"For what?"
"For the right moment." He glanced sideways, his curls brushing his cheek.
And then the lights flickered.
It was only for a second—barely more than a blink—but it was enough. The whole mess hall seemed to hold its breath. A couple of the younger nymphs squealed. Hylla barked something to calm them down, her voice steel even over the howling wind outside.
Carol flinched. Her hand went straight to the strap of the pack she'd stashed under her bench, like instinct. Like guilt.
Diomedes didn't move, but I felt the change in him. The tension, low and steady. Storm-sense, maybe. Or just instinct.
"She's going to try it tonight," I muttered.
He nodded once, subtle. "After curfew."
I pushed my untouched food aside. The wind rattled the heavy windows. Somewhere outside, a bolt of lightning cracked so sharp it sounded like the sky tearing open.
"Do we tell Hylla?"
Diomedes shook his head. "Not yet. If she finds out and confronts her, we'll lose the chance to see what Carol's actually planning. Let her think we're asleep."
That didn't sit right with me. Letting her run around unchecked, with a storm on our doorstep? What if she got herself killed? What if she wanted to?
"You really think she'd go through with it?" I asked.
"I think," Diomedes said slowly, "that people who carry guilt start making reckless choices when they feel they have no other choice."
I looked back over at Carol. Her fingers were tight around the strap of the bag, like she thought she might need to bolt before dinner even ended. And gods, I recognized that look. I'd worn it myself before—back when I was planning to leave home for good, and didn't know if I'd come back alive.
She wasn't just scared. She was set on something.
And Diomedes, for all his calmness, had that distant look again—like his mind was already outside, scanning the beach, searching for paths in the dark.
The storm hit full force after curfew. The island shook in its foundations. Rain lashed sideways, screaming through the trees. Thunder cracked again and again, too fast to count. I couldn't tell if it was Jupiter yelling, or Neptune, or both, but whatever they were mad about? We were catching the fallout.
We waited.
Pretended to sleep in the bunk hall while the storm scraped its claws across the island. The wind howled through the rafters like it was angry to be locked out, and every time the walls groaned, I heard someone flinch. The nymphs murmured to each other in hushed, staccato tones, like prayers in a foreign language. One of them near the window cried quietly into her pillow, pressing her face into the sea-glass beads woven into her blanket.
This storm wasn't just wind and rain—it had will. It watched. It listened.
Diomedes didn't sleep. I didn't have to look to know. His breathing was too steady for someone that was asleep.
When the third gust hit the walls hard enough to make the floor tremble, I saw him sit up.
"She's going," he whispered.
I nodded. Slid from the cot, boots in hand, heart in my throat.
Together, we crept past the rows of sleeping nymphs. One or two opened their eyes, but didn't stop us. Everyone was too afraid of the wind. And besides—Circe's magic would keep the hall safe. It always had.
It was outside that wasn't.
We slipped into the passage behind the kitchens and out through the servant's stairwell, cloaks pulled tight. Rain hit me like nails. My braid soaked through in seconds. Diomedes didn't seem to mind—he moved like the storm was part of him, like it recognized him and parted around him just a little. The air crackled near his skin.
He led, I followed. Down the back paths, past the herb gardens, past the sealed fountains and silent pools. And then—
"There." I pointed.
A faint glow bobbed in the trees beyond the bathhouse. A lamp, swinging low. Someone moving fast and quiet, heading east. Toward the docks.
Diomedes's mouth went tight. He nodded once, and we moved.
We stayed in the shadows. Didn't call out. Not yet.
The trees thinned. The sand turned rougher, darker—this wasn't the nymphs' usual dock, the one used for sunbathing and fishing and spell-deliveries. This was the east cliff route, the old one. The dangerous one. The one nobody used anymore because the path was half-eroded and the dock itself was just rotting wood and seaweed.
And yet—there she was.
Carol.
She was down on the lower steps now, struggling with a tarp. A boat rocked in the waves below her—a small one. Too small for the open sea. It looked handmade. Rough. Nails poking through the wood. A makeshift sail tied crooked to the mast.
"You have got to be kidding me," I breathed.
Diomedes grabbed my arm before I could storm forward.
"Wait," he said.
"What?"
"She's not alone."
I blinked. Squinted past the sheets of rain. And then I saw her pause. Look behind her.
And out of the trees came a figure cloaked in shadows and a very beautiful man.
"That does not look safe," the man said with a voice like that of wine.
"It will be fine, Neptune won't let the occupant drown, unless he wants a war with you know who." The shadowy figure said to the man, turning back to Carol she spoke. "Safe travels my dear."
Carol shifted uncomfortably under the shadowy figure's gaze.
She looked like she wanted to shrink under it. Her hand hovered near the edge of the boat, not quite touching it—like the whole thing might vanish if she pressed too hard. Or maybe like she wanted to vanish instead.
I could barely see her face from where we crouched behind a twisted palm, but I saw her swallow. Hard.
"You're sure he'll be okay? The storm won't be too much?"
He? Is this boat for that man? Why is Carol helping him?
The shadowy figure nodded, "of course, I've protected you all these years haven't I? Why would I lie now?"
Protected? Who is this person?
Carol looked down in thought before nodding, "no, no you haven't lady Circe."
Circe?
The branch of the bush I was hiding behind snapped as I squeezed it in surprise.
The heads of Circe, Carol, and the man turned to face Diomedes and I's direction.
"Ah, right on time," Circe said. "Come on out you two!"
Diomedes and I didn't move, scared as to what could happen.
Circe sighed, "Ganymede, would you be a darling and get those two?"
The man —Ganymede—sighed and held up his hand, winds began to circle Diomedes and I, pulling us towards the three. Carol's face fell at the sight of Y/N, a glint of shame in her eyes.
She looked like she'd been punched. Her lips parted like she might speak—but no words came. Just air and guilt.
Diomedes dug his heels into the sand, but the wind dragged him forward anyway. He didn't yell. He didn't panic. He just stared at her with the kind of stillness that made it worse.
The wind dropped us on the slick dock. My sandals hit the wood hard. Diomedes landed softer, I glanced around the dock at the guy who grabbed us, he looked at Diomedes with something, I think sympathy? Disgust? I wasn't sure.
Circe offered us a smile. A radiant, razor-sharp thing. "Children," she said, hands clasped in front of her. "What a surprise. You should be inside, where it's safe."
Carol stepped forward. Just a step. Just enough to put herself slightly between Diomedes and Circe. "Diomedes," she said. "You weren't supposed to be here yet."
His eyes narrowed. "What is this, Carol? What are you doing?"
"I was just—" Her voice faltered. She looked at the boat like it might give her a script. "I was trying to help."
"With what?" I asked. "Why'd you go out all sneaky setting up a boat for that Ganymede guy?"
Carol flinched like the question hit her in the spine.
But she didn't answer.
The wind howled around us again, tugging at my cloak and drowning the silence for a heartbeat. My skin felt electric. Not just from the storm—but from something deeper. Wrongness, thick in the air like the salt.
"It's not for me," Ganymede said quietly. His voice sounded tired now, almost sad. "It's for him."
He didn't gesture. He didn't have to. He meant Diomedes.
Diomedes didn't react. He just stared at Carol, as if this was something that happened before.
"For him?" I repeated, breath caught. "What do you mean—for him? You're putting him on that?"
"It's the only way," Carol said, much too fast. "It's not safe for him here anymore."
"Safe from what?" Diomedes asked. His voice cracked, just once. "Carol. What's going on?"
Circe cut in, her tone so smooth it felt rehearsed. "You've drawn attention, Diomedes. Ganymede came asking questions. You're important to a very dangerous woman —do you know what kind of danger that brings? Her enemies might come looking. That's not something I can afford."
"Who? What woman?" Diomedes asked.
Circe looked down at him. Contempt? Sympathy? Disappointment? I don't know what she was thinking but Ganymede spoke.
"We can't say, just know that she has power in places high and low. She has cursed Aphrodite herself for lesser treachery than this."
Cursed Aphrodite? What treachery will Circe be committing if she does this to Diomedes?
"If you wanted me safely gone? Why send me out during a storm?" Diomedes asked, inching away.
"Why, to make sure Neptune keeps you safe of course?" Circe said.
"Hey why do you keep saying Neptune?" Ganymede whispered. "His names—"
Circe cut him off, "his name, Ganymede. Isn't important. What is important is getting this bastard off the island. Now Reyna, please help Diomedes into the water."
I hesitated. Circe didn't like that, frowning at me before sighing.
"I'm sorry dear, but this is important for your sister's safety. Do you really want to put a boy you've known for a year at most... over Hylla?"
I stared at her.
My breath fogged in the cold storm air, but it felt like the world had gone still around me—like everything except Circe's words had frozen.
Hylla.
That was low.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. My cloak snapped behind me like a banner in the wind, but I didn't move. Not toward Circe. Not toward the boat. Not toward Diomedes.
"I'm not putting him over her," I said, and my voice came out steady, sharp. "But you are."
Circe blinked, slowly. "I beg your pardon?"
"You want me to choose," I said. "But you already made the choice. You're gambling with her safety just by doing this. You think this is going to protect the island? Protect us?"
A flash of lightning lit Circe's face in stark lines. She didn't look mad. Not yet. She looked... patient. Like she was waiting for me to realize something obvious and stupid. Like I was a child missing a lesson she'd already spelled out.
"Reyna," she said, "I have given you shelter. Power. A place to belong. This is the cost of keeping that. I'm not your enemy."
"Then who is?" I snapped. "Because it's starting to feel like you're protecting yourself more than anyone else."
Circe's eyes narrowed. Ganymede took a half-step back, wisely not interfering.
Diomedes, to his credit, still hadn't moved. But I could feel it from him—his anger was rising. Quiet, cold, slow. The kind that didn't shout. The kind that watched.
Carol spoke next. "Reyna," she said. Her voice trembled. "Please. Just... trust me. He'll be okay. I wouldn't have agreed if I thought he'd die."
He didn't look at her.
He didn't say her name.
He just said, "You said the same when mom died..."
Carol flinched like he'd struck her.
I didn't blame her.
Circe's hand twitched at her side. "Enough," she said. The wind around her stilled. The rain hit harder, sudden and brutal. "You've been allowed too much. This is not a debate. You're young, Reyna. You'll understand what I'm doing for you when you're older."
She lifted her arm.
And before I could do anything, the dock beneath us lurched.
A gust of wind unlike any I'd felt before—not natural, not just storm—ripped up around him, spun around his feet, lifted him like he weighed nothing.
"No—!" I lunged, but Ganymede's hand closed around my wrist before I could grab him.
Diomedes didn't scream. But I saw the fear. The betrayal. His eyes found mine as the wind spun him around, cloaking him in the storm.
"Reyna—" he called.
"I've got you!" I shouted. "I'll find you! I swear—!"
And then Circe waved her hand—
And the wind took him.
Not up. Not down.
Out.
Out to sea. Into the storm. Away from the cliffs and the island and everything we knew.
I screamed after him. Pulled against Ganymede's grip so hard my shoulder nearly dislocated. "Diomedes!!"
He was already a shadow in the distance.
Then a speck.
Then—
Gone.
I stood there, panting. Rain in my eyes. Hands empty.
Circe turned to me slowly. "He'll live. If he's meant to."
She sounded so damn calm. Like she'd done us a favor.
"You're a monster," I whispered.
She only tilted her head. "I'm a survivor. Just like you."
I wanted to hit her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear her magic apart with my bare hands. But instead, I turned.
Carol stood there like a ruin. Her hands limp at her sides, her eyes hollowed out.
"You said you wanted to help him," I hissed.
She didn't even cry.
Just looked at the sea.
"I did," she whispered. "I thought this was helping."
And for the first time since I met her—
I didn't believe her.
I didn't forgive her.
Not even a little.