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“And you disagreed.”

“I challenged her. Nemesis could not defeat me by force, so she cursed my own power. Every blow I struck turned more of my flesh to stone.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It was effective.”

“So then you turned into a statue?”

“Yes.”

Wren shakes her head.

“Sounds to me like the goddess was the problem.”

A laugh escapes my chest.

She looks startled.

Then pleased.

I find that I would gladly laugh at a thousand terrible jokes if it meant seeing that expression again.

“Tell me something,” she says.

“Anything.”

“Have you ever wanted something that wasn’t revenge?”

I consider the question.

Once, I wanted justice.

Then I wanted freedom.

For three thousand years, I wanted Nemesis to suffer as I had suffered.

But yesterday, a woman with auburn hair and frightened green eyes pressed her bleeding hand against my chest.

And everything changed.

“Not until yesterday.”

Wren goes still.

Her lips part slightly.

“Vidar…”

“Yes, little flower?”

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m something you want.”

“You are.”