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The pain must’ve been unfathomable. “I’m so sorry, Penny. What a terrible thing to live through.”

“Better than dying.” A sad smile ghosted Penny’s lips. “I still feel them sometimes, like phantom limbs.”

I dared to ask my next question. “Have the Fates checked on you since you left?”

Tears glistened on the edge of Penny’s lashes. “No. Once they cut you off, that’s the end of the relationship.”

“Seems unnecessarily cruel.”

“They were in a challenging position.”

“Of their own volition,” I added.

Penny cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they don’t need to train furies. They chose to wield that power.” Fought to wield it, more accurately.

A tear fell free and splashed on Penny’s cheek. She ignored it. “Someone has to.”

I didn’t show my hand, but I gave her a glimpse of my cards. “We all know power corrupts,” I said.

“It’s nothing to do with power,” Penny objected. “The Fates are doing their job, just like we’re doing ours.”

“They wanted the job because it was the closest to godhood they could get. They longed for power, and when they got it, it wasn’t enough. Eventually they demanded more. Why do you think they were so eager to rid this world of the fae? The fae were a threat to the new order the Fates were determined to establish.”

“The Fates were acting on behalf of the gods.”

Even after everything that happened to her, she felt the need to defend them. It made me sad for her.

“If that’s true, then where are the gods now? Why did you only answer to the Fates?”

Penny finally shut down. “This conversation is considered treason where I’m from.”

I tried to brush it off with a smile that I knew in my heart was more awkward than reassuring. “Good thing we’re on Evermore then. Free speech and free will.”

Penny’s doe eyes radiated curiosity. “I didn’t realize you were so knowledgeable on the subject of the Fates. Where did you learn about them?”

“I’m half Gorgon, remember? Lots of talk about the Fates in my family.”

Penny observed me quietly. “Right.”

My phone trilled with a Neighborhood Alert. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or annoyed by the interruption.

I snapped the phone to my ear. “Security.”

“We need you at Bowl Movement.” It took me a split second to recognize the voice of Quinta Barrow, a swan shifter.

I heaved an impatient sigh. “For the last time, I don’t bowl. I’m not interested in playing in the tournament.”

“Not to play, Maya. To solve a problem. You’d better hurry because…” The sound of raised voices in the background drowned out the rest of her statement.

“Leaving now.”

Penny shot to her feet. “Should I come too?”

“You get started on the weapons list. I’ll handle whatever this is.”

Bowl Movement was the only bowling alley on the island. With its wooden lanes, bold colors, and shared seating, it was designed to resemble a 1950s-style interior, when bowling alleys were at the height of their popularity. Many of the residents would remember that era well—the ones without memory loss, at least.