The bar was barely visible behind the swarm of cops and flashing lights. Yellow police tape stretched across the entrance, fluttering slightly in the breeze. The neon sign above the door was still busted, its usual red glow replaced by the harsh white glare of floodlights set up along the perimeter.

  Di stepped closer, crunching against bits of broken glass and gravel scattered across the sidewalk. The smell of smoke and cheap whiskey still clung to the air. She slowed when she spotted Leo near the edge of the tape, hands flailing, voice rising in pitch as he tried to explain something to a thoroughly exhausted-looking cop.

  “I’m telling you,” Leo said, exasperated, “it wasn’t a bus. Do you see any bus parts? Huh? Any wheels? Headlights? A steering wheel? No! Because it wasn’t a bus. It was a giant moose!”

  The cop blinked slowly, like he was actively restraining himself from walking into traffic. His notepad hung limply in his hand, the pen long since forgotten.

  “A moose, dude! Nine feet tall and with huge horns! It came crashing through the wall like it was nothin’!” Leo mimed the horns on his head, then slammed his arms out wide. “Boom! Bar’s gone, guy gets turned to paste, I’m screaming — a dignified scream, not panicked—and everyone’s acting like it was a freakin’ Greyhound accident! It wasn’t! I saw it. That moose-“

  “Minotaur.” Di corrected, stopping beside him.

  Leo nodded absently. “Right, Minotaur, that’s what I—” He froze mid-sentence, eyes snapping toward her. His jaw dropped, then stretched into a grin so wide it nearly split his face. “Holy shit, you’re not dead!”

  “Not yet.”

  Leo let out a relieved laugh, hands still hovering in the air like he hadn’t quite come down from his rant. “You have no idea how close I was to losing it. I mean, I was two minutes away from breaking into tears in front of this guy.”

  The cop turned toward Di, dragging a tired hand down his face like this entire shift had personally wronged him. “Don’t encourage him. He’s probably in shock. Keeps refusing to go to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine!” Leo snapped, still gesturing wildly. “I don’t need a hospital. What I need is someone to believe me…”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Di cut in smoothly, clapping a firm hand on Leo’s shoulder.

  The cop looked like he wanted to argue, then looked at Leo, then at Di, and made the executive decision that this was now her problem. “Just get him out of here.”

  Di steered Leo away from the police line, guiding him down the sidewalk. He went, still muttering under his breath about horns and hooves.

  She spotted Erin sitting on a nearby bench, legs crossed, arms draped along the back. Her expression was one of mild amusement. Her eyes moved between Di and the chaos behind her like she was watching a particularly predictable play unfold.

  Di moved Leo towards her. “Were you just going to sit there and watch him make a fool of himself?”

  Erin shrugged. “I told him not to say anything to the cops, but he seems… uniquely gifted at ignoring reason.”

  Di exhaled through her nose and shoved Leo lightly but firmly down onto the bench beside Erin. “Sit.”

  He dropped onto the bench with a grunt. Di followed a second later, sitting on his other side with enough force to make the bench creak. Leo now found himself unceremoniously squashed between the two women, arms pinned awkwardly to his sides, shoulders raised like he was trying to physically shrink out of existence.

  “Explain.” Di’s voice was low, sharp as she addressed Erin. “Now.”

  The musician let the silence stretch out between them for a few moments before she finally tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “Explain? What exactly do you want me to explain?”

  “Let’s start where we left off… What are you?”

  “I’m a muse.” She said it as casually as someone else might say they were a carpenter or nurse.

  “A muse?” Di scoffed.

  Leo completely ignored the dagger-eyed glare she shot his way and asked, “A muse? Like, from that Hercules movie? Like, you pop out of a vase and start singing gospel?”

  Erin’s smirk faltered just slightly. She took a slow sip from her glass, then set it down with deliberate care. “It’s more like Xanadu than Hercules.”

  “What the hell is a Xanadu?”

  Di replied through gritted teeth. “Leo.”

  “Oh. Right.” He spun back to Erin, squaring his shoulders like he was about to interrogate a dangerous criminal…which would’ve been a lot more effective if he didn’t look so damn excited. “We want answers.” He pointed a finger at her, then hesitated. “Wait, do muses have magic? Like, did you, I dunno, power up my boss with your weird muse sorcery?”

  “For the hundredth time, your boss is a Demigod.”

  Leo turned to Di, his hands flying up in frustration. “Listen to this! It's insane! But I saw you decapitating a Minotaur in the subway station with your bare fucking hands. Is it true, Di? You're a fucking Demigod?”

  “I am,” she answered without hesitation.

  Leo's eyes unfocused on the world around him and he stared into the distance. He ran his hands through his hair and clutched his scalp. “Holy fucking shit. It's like…it's like I've been working for Jesus all this time. Why didn't you tell me?”

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  Erin huffed as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, like I said, Di doesn’t need ‘powering up.’ And even if she did, that’s not how it works. I can’t just wave my hands and give someone superhuman strength.” She swished her fingers in the air for emphasis. “I can maybe make them believe that they have it. Inspire them to test it out. But even that’s a stretch. Not that it matters, anyway. My sisters and I stopped doing that decades ago.”

  “Stopped doing what?” Leo pressed with a shrug.

  “Inspiring random people. Playing the unseen force behind someone else’s success. We got sick of always being the ones in the corner, the ones pushing other people into the spotlight, whispering in their ears, nudging them toward greatness. Nowadays, we make our own art. We inspire ourselves and use the world as reference.”

  Di exhaled sharply. “Tell me your name. Your real name.”

  Erin smirked. “It’s Euterpe.”

  “Eut—what?” Leo sounded like he had swallowed a marble and was trying not to choke on it.

  “Euterpe,” Erin repeated, slower this time. “Muse of music and poetry.”

  “Yeah, I’m not remembering that.”

  Di’s gaze stayed locked onto her. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. Why you showed up at my bar. If you’re not here to help, then what the hell do you want?”

  “I’m making an album.”

  Leo looked like he might burst into laughter, if he wasn’t so surprised. “Like…a photo album?”

  Erin stared at him, incredulous. “Yeah, totally. A photo album. I’ve been lurking around, watching people nearly get murdered by mythological creatures, because I’m really passionate about scrapbooking.”

  “Wait, seriously?”

  Di pressed her fingers against her temple, nodding towards the guitar case filling the space beside Erin. “No, Leo.”

  Leo deflated slightly.

  Erin swirled the last bit of liquid in her glass before tossing it back. ”It’s a concept album, really.”

  “And what, exactly, is the concept?” Di asked.

  “The Ektomia, of course.”

  Leo almost jumped out of his seat at this and turned to Di. “Yeah, what the hell is that by the way? You signed up for some death contest?”

  “I didn’t sign up,” Di said, deadpan.

  “Then can’t you just…I dunno…opt out? This apparently isn't something a lot of people come out of in one piece.”

  “They’ll kill her if she refuses to fight,” Erin interjected, examining her nails. “And that wouldn’t make for a very good ending to my album, so I would advise against it.”

  “Wait, you’re serious? That's all you care about? Who the fuck wants to listen to a whole album about people dying anyway?” Then, just as quickly, his expression shifted. His gaze turned to Di, as if he suddenly remembered the music she listened to. He hesitated, cleared his throat, then muttered, “Okay, maybe some people.”

  “I’ve been working on it for almost a century, but I never found the right subject. I usually chose children of Zeus or Poseidon, but the inspiration never came. Their roads were too easy, though they died in the end anyway. I mean, how many heroes are children of one of those two? How many movies, songs, books? It’s been done. Over and over again.” She leaned back, gaze drifting upward like she was playing through old memories. “Last Ektomia, I followed a son of Ares. Thought I’d made some real progress, but I still wasn’t happy with it. Something was missing. Then I realized… What do people really want in a story?”

  “Uh…romance?” Leo tried, looking a little too much like a student that fell asleep during class. “A happy ending? Action?”

  “Tragedy. Even better if it’s a hopeless case.”

  Di’s jaw tightened. “So you only picked me because you thought I was going to die during the first trial?”

  “Not the first. Not much of an album if you died right away.” Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, she added, “I’ll admit, that’s why I didn’t pick your brother. Callum, was it?”

  Di’s fists clenched against the table.

  Leo blinked. “Wait, you have a brother?” His surprise quickly morphed into delight.

  “I was pretty sure he’d die without much of a fight, which wouldn’t have made for a compelling story.” Erin gave a small shrug. “Well, that and a whole album about a child dying might be a little much for most people. I might give him a song when it happens, though, if it’s sad enough.”

  “You’re not funny,” Di said coldly.

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to make something real. Something that matters. And what’s more real than watching a demigod claw her way through impossible trials, knowing the odds are stacked against her from the start? Watching the people around her die? Even killing them herself…”

  “I’ll kill you myself if you don’t shut up.”

  “Okay,” Leo said, holding up his hands like a referee. “Maybe we don’t threaten to kill the one person who might actually be keeping track of what the hell’s going on.”

  “She’s not keeping track,” Di snapped. “She’s writing a soundtrack to my potential death.”

  Erin shrugged. “Art demands sacrifice.”

  Di’s jaw tightened. Her fists stayed clenched, one still braced on the bench beside her, the other resting on her knee like a coiled spring. “I’m not your fucking project. I’m not your tragedy. I’m not your inspiration, or your poetic centerpiece. I’m not going to be some pawn you write songs about after I bleed out in a goddamn arena.”

  Erin tilted her head slightly, watching her with a quiet, unnervingly patient expression. “You already are.”

  Di stood abruptly. “Find someone else.”

  “You don’t really get to walk away from this, Dionysia.” Her tone was smooth and certain, but not cruel. “I have ways of getting what I want. You’re already part of the story. Besides, you gave me a gig. We sealed it with a kiss, remember? You don’t want to know what happens if you break a deal with a Muse.”

  Leo made a low, awkward sound in his throat and glanced between them. “Okay, uh… maybe we don’t test that? Maybe let her hang around a little, boss? Just until things calm down? I mean… she’s already here.”

  Di exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down her face as her eyes wandered back to the bar. The flashing lights. The swarm of uniforms. The shattered wall. The wreckage of her life, still smoldering in pieces.

  She lived just above the bar. Or used to. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to set foot in that apartment again tonight.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

  “I usually do,” Erin said, rising to her feet and slinging the guitar case over her shoulder with a satisfied smile.

  Di didn’t look at her. She was still staring at the bar. Still calculating the damage. Still wondering how the hell this had become her life.

  Leo followed Di’s gaze to the wreckage, his voice quieter now. “Where are you gonna stay tonight?”

  Di didn’t answer right away. The building looked worse under the floodlights. Like something gutted and left to rot in full view.

  “Hotel,” she said finally.

  “You could stay with me.”

  Di didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

  Leo dug his hands into his pockets, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, steadier. Not the light, flustered voice that she was accustomed to. “Come on, boss. I’m just trying to help. Your place is a wreck. I don’t care if it’s just one night, or a week, or whatever. I just think maybe you shouldn’t be alone in some hotel room right now. Not with everything that’s happened to you… It’ll just be until we can find a way to get you out of this bullshit.”

  “I don’t need your help.” She snapped back, almost defensively.

  Di could see the sting in Leo’s expression, the way his mouth pressed into a flat line, his shoulders folding in on themselves. He nodded once, like he’d expected it anyway, then turned his gaze back to the bar without saying anything else.

  “I’ll call you,” she said finally, turning and starting to walk away. “When the bar’s up and running again.”

  Behind her, Erin adjusted the strap of her guitar case and said brightly, “Two beds. Unless you want to share. I don’t mind. We never did finish what we started at the bar.”

  Di scoffed, not breaking stride. “And we never will.”

  Erin’s grin only widened as she kept pace beside her, steps light, voice just a little too close to teasing.

  “Sure, sure. Cold shoulder, always a fan favorite.”

  Di didn’t answer. She kept walking, jaw tight, pretending she couldn’t hear Erin’s shoes echoing beside hers as the sirens faded behind them and the night stretched on.