Felix, a lonely Minotaur living on a remote farm in Minnesota, has his quiet life shattered when a goddess arrives with Betsy and her infant son, Apollo.

The archers did not fire.

For one suspended instant, the rain seemed louder than Vale’s order. Two bowmen looked at Apollo’s blanket. A third stared at Felix, still standing between them and the porch door.

“I said loose,” Vale repeated.

The oldest archer lowered his bow. “Commander, the child is behind him.”

Vale turned on him. “Then aim low. Drive the Minotaur off the steps.”

Felix looked at the men near the gate. Their hands were cold and their faces were frightened. He had seen what frightened men could do, especially when they believed someone else would take responsibility afterward.

“Listen to me,” he called. “There’s a baby in that doorway. Nobody here needs to die for an order they don’t understand.”

Vale strode toward the porch. “Stand aside.”

“No.”

“Your restraint has limits.”

“It does,” Felix said. “You haven’t reached them.”

Vale signaled the shield bearers forward again. They moved more slowly now. Felix stepped down from the porch to meet them, drawing them away from Betsy.

A young soldier raised his shield. Felix took it by the edge and guided it aside. With his other hand he steadied the soldier when he slipped. The boy stared at him.

“Go to the gate,” Felix said.

The soldier obeyed.

Vale watched, furious. “You think kindness will change my orders?”

“I’m speaking to the people who have to carry them out.”

The rain weakened. Dawn showed pale behind the clouds, revealing a line of vehicles Felix hadn’t noticed at the far end of the track. More people waited there, and among them stood Mrs. Hart in her raincoat. Several townspeople had come after seeing armed trucks pass through the main street.

Betsy saw them too. “Mrs. Hart!”

The older woman raised a hand. Vale turned sharply. He had expected a remote farm, a creature the town feared, and no witnesses.

“Go home,” he shouted to the gathering crowd.

A man beside Mrs. Hart called back, “Who authorized an armed raid on this farm?”

Vale displayed the eagle token. “This matter concerns powers beyond your town.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Mrs. Hart said.

Felix felt Betsy’s hand touch his back. Apollo was quiet. For the first time since the trucks arrived, Felix let himself hope the confrontation might end with words.

Then the gold beneath Apollo’s blanket flared.

Every face turned toward him.

The child made a small, distressed sound. Felix moved back up the steps. Betsy held Apollo close, but his hand reached toward Felix.

Vale saw the movement. “That power is waking. We take him now.”

“He’s frightened,” Betsy said.

The older archer remained by the gate, bow lowered. Vale seized another soldier’s bow and drew an arrow himself. The young soldier Felix had steadied caught his sleeve.

“Commander. Please.”

Vale shook him off. He aimed toward the porch floor beside Felix.

Felix understood what Vale intended. A warning shot would scatter the crowd or provoke him into a fight. Either outcome would give Vale the reason he wanted.

“Put it down,” Felix said.

Vale loosed.

The arrow struck the porch rail. Wood burst beside Betsy’s hand. Apollo screamed.

Felix pulled Betsy and the baby behind him. The sound of Apollo’s cry went through him more sharply than the splinter that grazed his shoulder.

Several townspeople shouted. Mrs. Hart hurried them back from the track.

Vale had crossed the line he claimed to guard. His own soldiers saw it. The oldest archer stepped away from him.

“Commander,” he said, “the child could have been hit.”

Vale’s face had gone pale. He looked at the glow spreading through the blanket and mistook his fear for certainty.

“Archers,” he said, “stop the Minotaur before he reaches us.”

The older man refused to lift his bow. Two others hesitated. Vale called to the men farther down the track, who had not seen the arrow strike so close to the child.

They raised their bows.

Felix stood on the steps. Betsy and Apollo were directly behind him. He could retreat into the house, but the windows offered little shelter, and the townspeople were in the line of fire beyond the yard.

He spread his arms to shield the doorway.

Betsy reached for him. “Felix, come inside.”