Behind him, I saw a familiar face. A Sentinel stood just off from the rest, his thick brown hair pulled back from a face only his mother could love, with a jagged scar cutting from one eye to the corner of his lips.

Solos Manolis.

I wasn’t surprised to see him here. From what I’d gathered, the main Council had been moved to the University since the Catskills had to be rebuilt. He wasn’t a bad dude—actually pretty legit. But he was part of a group that I wanted nothing to do with— the group that I knew was here. His father was also a pure, a well-respected one who had lobbied on behalf of the half-bloods for years. Solos had taken a seat on the Council—the very first half-blood to ever do so, taking the place of saint Aiden St. Delphi, who’d given up the prestigious spot.

Marcus’s cool gaze flickered from me to Josie, stayed there a moment, and then settled back on me. “Seth, this is… unexpected.”

“I know,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “We need to talk.”

The Dean of the Covenant stared at me for a moment and then he glanced at Josie. A long moment passed. “Yes. We do.”

Chapter 17

WITH WIDE unblinking eyes, I watched the elegant-looking man who was almost as tall as Seth pivot around on the heel of a polished loafer. “Follow me,” he ordered.

And he didn’t wait for us. Nodding to the man with a scar on his face, he kept walking, thankfully bypassing a huge spiral staircase I knew I would never be able to climb, since right now I felt like lying down in a fetal position and not moving for a month.

Every muscle ached and burned, and my body throbbed as I trudged along beside Seth, grateful when the very unhappy-looking people in all black kept their distance as they followed us through the absolutely awe-inspiring lobby.

I focused on the intricate designs etched into every square inch of the building, instead of letting my mind wander back to Missouri. If I did, I would be in that fetal position and I wouldn’t get out of it. Part of my heart had been shattered in Osborn, and I gathered every cord of strength I had in me to hold it together. So I focused on the drawings of tall men and women wearing togas, on the beautiful writing that had to be an ancient language, and on all the glossy white statues.

I’d never seen anything in my life like this, not even in museums.

The man crossed under another archway, down a narrow hallway, and then we entered a brightly lit common room with a large sofa and several armchairs. The scarred man followed, closing the door behind us before leaning against a wall that looked like sandstone.

Seth dropped our bags on the floor by the door, and I stopped. Dead on my feet, I swayed a little as the stranger moved to the center of the room, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched us.

Reaching down, Seth took my hand and led me to the couch, never taking his eyes off the men, but there was no missing the surprise that flickered across the older man’s face when his gaze dropped to our joined hands.

“Sit,” Seth said in a soft voice.

I was not going to argue with that. The moment my butt hit the thick cushions, it thanked me. Seth didn’t sit. He stood beside me, arms also folded. For a moment, the three of them engaged in some kind of weird stare-off, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out there was some history there. Not a good history, but I was too tired, too whipped, and just…too numb to even care.

Then the older man looked at me, and I knew he stared at my neck. The neckline of the sweater had been stretched in my pitiful fight with Hyperion, revealing the tag. I must’ve looked a mess, but I also didn’t care about that. He softened his hard expression with a slight curve of his lips. “We haven’t been introduced.” His voice was deep, cultured. “I’m Marcus Andros, the Dean of this University, and you are…?”

I resisted the urge to glance at Seth, because I couldn’t rely on him at this point. He’d made it clear earlier that he was leaving as soon as we got here, and we were here now.

Clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking, I shoved them between my knees. “My name is Josie Bethel, and I’m…” My brows knitted. “I’m not quite sure what I am.”

His brows inched up his forehead as he glanced at Seth. The man with the scar chuckled softly and said, “Honey, I don’t think any of us quite know who we are, but that’s probably the strangest introduction I’ve heard in a while.”

Seth stiffened. “I do believe she said her name was ‘Josie,’ and not ‘honey,’ the last time I checked, Solos.”

The man with the scar, who I assumed was Solos, laughed again, but it was Marcus who almost looked thunderstruck as he stared at Seth, who appeared as if he was on the verge of throwing someone through a wall.

I shifted and winced when a dart of pain shot down my leg. My patience with—with everything—started to slip. “He brought me here because he was ordered to do so. It’s his job.”

Seth’s head swung toward me and his golden brows knitted as his eyes narrowed. What had I said to earn that look? Only the truth, so whatever. I bounced my knee, ignoring the licks of dull pain that shot up my leg.

“May I ask why?” Marcus sat in a leather chair across from us. “I’m assuming you know what we are, based on your…condition.” There was a pause. “No offense, Josie, but I cannot fathom why he would bring you here.”

“Because she’s not mortal,” Seth replied, and boy, the room got so quiet I could’ve heard a cricket hiccup.