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So, I do what I’ve always done when goddesses refuse to show up.

I talk.

“Hecate. I’m going to skip the formalities, because I don’t know the proper etiquette for addressing a goddess I’ve never met.” I step closer to the pyre, and the flames lean toward me—a fraction of an inch, a trick of the wind, except there is no wind. “I’m Jade Harrington. Three months ago, Tempest touched my forehead on a plane, told me to trust the storm, and disappeared. No weapon. No trials. No guide. Just lightning in my veins and a lot of unanswered questions.” My electricity sparks along my forearms, silver threads winding around my wrists and snapping into the night air, and I let it, because containing it right now feels like holding my breath. “The other three champions have their celestial weapons, and all I have is a steel dagger and no clue what I’m doing. So, if you’re listening, I could really use some divine help right now.”

My fire pushes against the pyre from inside my chest, and by some miracle, the flames in it surge.

It worked. It had to have worked. Right?

But the flames settle. The embers scatter into ordinary sparks. The gold drains back to orange, and I want to cry, because Tempest clearly wants nothing to do with me.

Maybe it’s because I fell in love with a Revenant. Maybe it’s because I didn’t kill him the moment I learned what he is. Maybe I failed her, and she’s searching for someone to take my place.

Then, Logan’s hand closes around mine.

His fire pours into me through our joined palms, flooding up my arm in a slow tide of heat that tangles with my electricity, and the intimacy of the gesture in front of fifty shifters and a coven leader makes my heart jump into my throat. His thumb presses against the inside of my wrist, and my electricity surges into him, hungry for the reaction he’ll give me when my lightning hits his blood.

He shudders, and a moan releases from the back of his throat that only I can hear. My magic grabs hold of the sound and uses it as fuel, and our combined fire floods the pyre, black-edged flame braided through silver current, two magics joining as one.

The pyre swallows all of it and gives back nothing.

My heart drops into my stomach, because I’m failing in front of an entire town of supernaturals. This is the first time I’ve met another star touched, and Ruby’s standing behind me watching a goddess reject me. Tempest clearly hates me. But I love Logan, and I won’t⁠—

Silver lightning explodes out of my free hand, rips through the pyre, and the dome erupts with branches of lightning. There are dozens of them, forking across the celestial barrier, turning the sky above Pine Valley into a web of silver veins. The ground hums through the soles of my boots, every torch lining the road roars twice its height, and the air goes sharp with ozone and something older that tastes the way midnight feels.

Logan’s grip tightens, and he shifts closer to me.

Behind us, bones crack… and the howling starts. It’s one voice first, then three, and then the whole pack, rising into the night and pouring into the fire. Every howl pulls the flames higher, the pyre swelling until it’s burning violet at the edges and silver at the heart.

As if answering their call, the fire parts straight up the middle, and a woman with dark hair and violet eyes steps out to stand before us. The flames bow around her, and behind her, through the gate, the threshold is no longer a wall. It’s a crossroads stretching into the dark, three roads that weren’t there ten minutes ago, lit by torches that burn without fuel.

Her gaze finds mine, and my electricity dies in my palms.

“Jade Harrington,” she says calmly, the torches flaring when she speaks. “You called, and now, I’m here.”

Hecate. This has to be Hecate.

And she’s clearly waiting for me to stop staring at her like a mind-boggled idiot and say something.

“I did.” I straighten my spine and hold her gaze, which takes more effort than anything I’ve done tonight, including the lightning. “Thank you for answering. Your fellow goddesses have been setting a low bar for communication lately.”

Logan’s thumb presses against my wrist. It could mean be careful or I’m here or please stop antagonizing the goddess who just walked out of a fire to speak with you. Knowing Logan, it’s all three.

“You want your celestial weapon,” Hecate says simply.

“I want Tempest to talk to me.” I move closer to Logan, the movement involuntary. “But at this point, I’ll settle for any divine being giving me a straight answer about anything.”

“Tempest will speak with you.” She gives me a small smile that I’d almost call approving. “But only after you’ve claimed what’s yours.”

“Which is…?” I trail off, my heart beating so fast I swear it’s about to burst.

“The Storm Sword,” she says, and my electricity slams back to life so hard that silver races up my arms and jumps into Logan’s hand.

The Storm Sword.

My weapon has a name. A pretty badass name, at that.

“Where do I find it?” I ask.