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I’m on my feet, walking out behind her before I realize I made the choice to do it. We wind through a few corridors before she opens double doors, her heels clacking authoritatively on marble, echoing up into a vaulted ceiling.

The room is beyond impressive. It’s damn near Vatican-level art. It feels about almost the same, in that holy sort of way. Only this place isn’t a sanctuary.

It’s an arsenal.

Weapons line the alcoves along the walls, ranging from medieval to modern tactical and as high tech as it comes. All of it is expertly maintained, organized.

And clearly not just for show.

A gleaming battle-ax catches my eye, clean and sharpened, yet scored and dented from real battle. Or maybe just plain ole murder.

“Is this where you threaten me, torture me? Not sure if you got the memo, I don’t know shit about shit. Not even about me. So torturing me won’t get you fucking anywhere.”

“So blunt. So crass. I know there are manners floating around in there somewhere.”

“I didn’t hear you introduce yourself or welcome me to your home,” I snap, shrugging.

“Touché. You may call me Ananke.”

Great.

More mythological bullshit.

“And you shouldn’t have brought me here. Not alone.”

“I am never alone, Ero. And I am not worried in the slightest.”

“Right. Goddess of death. Huh. I could kill you before you could even gasp to scream for one of your guards.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think so. But I am not defenseless. Nor am I your enemy. I think we could be of great value to one another. If you will indulge me for a moment. At least to hear me out, Mr. Diamante.”

The name hits me like a battering ram in the chest.

Too many images, random flashes of people, faces, places, clothing, events, all bombard my mind, fluttering back into the darkness like bats in a cave. I catch myself on the wall, my breathing labored.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“A question I am sure you’ve asked the mirror more than once. You know, Ananke was not just the goddess of death. She was originally the heart of necessity. Fate. The compelling drive of what must be done. Life. Death. Those are nothing if not necessities. Consider me an agent of fate, an influential hand for those who would shape the world in ways that must be guided.”

“Illuminati?” I almost laugh, channeling the comment from Ciro’s voice in my head.

He’s also nowhere to be found at the moment.

That honey-sweet chuckle bubbles from her lips again, like a pile of skulls tumbling. “We are called the Pantheon. Clandestine and dramatic, yes. But also ancient. Far-reaching.”

“And almost unheard of. Convenient. Playing goddess from the shadows, pretending to make big moves and shift your little chess pieces on the board to feel important.”

“My chess pieces are world leaders, child.”

“So what the fuck do you want with me?”

“We—”

“Who’s we?”

“My partner and I. Each branch of the council works in pairs.”

“Let me guess. Kronos?”