Chapter Text
Sally’s breath rattles in her chest, a sharp, broken thing. She presses herself against the cold stone of a building, shielding the bundle in her arms from the wind, from the city, from the world. The baby stirs, whimpering, and Sally shushes her with trembling lips.
“Shh, sweetheart,” she whispers. “Almost there.”
Her legs ache. Her lungs burn. The city is too bright, too alive, too indifferent to the fact that Sally Jackson is running out of time.
She stumbles forward, knees almost buckling as she catches sight of the church. St. Vincent’s. Its grand doors loom ahead, solid wood and iron, something ancient and holy. A place untouched by her daughter’s world, by gods and monsters. She prays—though she doesn’t know who she’s praying to—that it’s enough.
The baby stirs again, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Sally’s coat. Sea green eyes blink up at her, hazy with sleep, trusting and unaware. Sally swallows the sob threatening to claw up her throat.
“I love you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to her daughter’s forehead. The baby lets out a soft, contented sigh.
She can’t hesitate. Can’t give herself time to break. She steps forward, up the worn stone steps, and kneels. The church door is locked for the night, but that’s okay. This will work. This has to work.
She lays the baby down, adjusting the blanket to make sure she’s warm. Her fingers brush the delicate curve of a cheek, and for a moment, she allows herself the fantasy that she could pick her back up, that she could run, that she could fight-
But the air shifts.
Sally stiffens, heart slamming against her ribs. The streetlights flicker. A sharp, acrid scent curls in her nose.
No. Not yet.
She forces herself to move. Her lips brush her daughter’s forehead one last time. “Be brave, my love.”
Then she turns and runs.
The moment she hits the sidewalk, a voice like crushed glass cuts through the night.
“You really thought you could hide her from us?”
Sally spins. The figure at the end of the street is tall, draped in shadow, her face a pale sliver of hunger. Her eyes glow, inhuman and greedy. A Lamia.
Fear lances through Sally’s veins, but she plants her feet. “She’s beyond your reach.”
The Lamia’s smile is slow and cruel. “No demigod is ever beyond our reach.”
Sally grips the knife in her pocket. It’s small, pitifully human, but she brandishes it anyway.
The Lamia laughs. “Oh, dear thing.” She takes a step closer, and the street warps around her, the shadows stretching, the air thickening. “You are so very, very alone.”
Sally exhales. “Not alone,” she says, voice steady. “Not anymore.”
Behind her, the church bells ring. Midnight. A new day.
And her daughter—her beautiful, impossible girl—is safe.
Sally allows herself one last breath. One last heartbeat.
Then the Lamia lunges.