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.

By the next morning, news of the arrows had reached every house in town.

Some people came to offer help. Others drove past the farm slowly, searching the windows for a glimpse of Apollo. Felix closed the gate, and Mrs. Hart persuaded the curious to turn back.

Betsy packed a travel bag anyway.

She folded Apollo’s clothes into it, followed by food, spare cloths, and the small wooden toy Felix had made from an offcut. Her hands moved on their own while she considered roads leading away from Minnesota.

Felix found her beside the bed. “Are you leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “There’s enough fuel in the truck.”

“That makes this harder.”

“I won’t keep you here because of the stone.”

“I know.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. Apollo was asleep in the cradle. His horns showed above the blanket, small and ordinary to her now.

“Everyone knows about him,” she said. “A commander brought soldiers here. Zeus may come next. If I leave before he does, perhaps Apollo has a chance to grow up somewhere quiet.”

“Perhaps.”

“You think I’m wrong.”

“I think you’re trying to protect him.”

“Would you come with us?”

Felix did not answer at once. His farm was the one place he knew how to defend. Beyond it lay towns that had never met him and roads too narrow to turn around on if they found trouble.

“If you want me to,” he said, “I will.”

Betsy had expected him to ask her to stay. His willingness to leave told her how seriously he took the danger.

She looked at his injured arm. “You’d lose your home.”

“It’s a house and some land.”

“It’s where your mother lived.”

“Yes.”

The simple answer held all the weight he refused to put on her.

Mrs. Hart arrived with bread and fresh bandages. When she saw the bag, she understood.

“There’s a bus north of town,” she told Betsy. “I can drive you to it. Nobody needs to know where you go.”

Felix thanked her. Betsy asked for an hour to think.

She took Apollo outside, keeping to the sheltered porch. The repaired cradle was visible through the upstairs window. Across the yard stood the barn where she had first aimed a rake at Felix’s chest.

Felix came out carrying the little toy. Apollo had dropped it beneath the table.

“He’ll miss this,” Felix said.

“He’d miss you.”

Felix looked toward the fields. “He’s young.”

“He knows your voice.”

Apollo woke as if to prove her right. Felix spoke his name, and the baby turned toward him.

Betsy remembered the days before this farm: hiding whenever a stranger approached, trying to coax Apollo to eat, walking until her legs felt hollow. She had hoped to find someone who could help him live. She had found a person who loved him.

“Zeus wants the power,” she said.

“That seems likely.”

“If we run, we’ll spend every day waiting for him to find us.”

“We might.”

“If we stay, he knows where to come.”

“Yes.”

Felix gave her the truth without steering her toward an answer. Betsy had received enough instructions from gods and their messengers. She needed this choice to be hers.

She took the toy and put it in Apollo’s hand. “I want him to grow up knowing he can trust his own choices. I have to start by trusting mine.”

“What have you decided?”

“We stay.”

Felix drew a breath. “Betsy—”

“I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m choosing to stay anyway.”

He reached for Apollo. Betsy placed the baby in his arms, and the child gripped the front of Felix’s shirt.

Mrs. Hart watched them from the doorway. “Then we should get the porch rail fixed before anyone else comes calling.”

Felix laughed, surprised by the sound. “I have wood in the shed.”

“I’ll bring the nails,” Betsy said.

They spent the afternoon working. Mrs. Hart held the boards, Betsy passed tools, and Felix fitted new timber where the arrow had shattered the old rail. Neighbors came by in ones and twos. A few offered supplies; one offered to watch the road.

The help did not erase what had happened in town. Betsy could still recall the word monster spoken near Felix in the hardware shop. But the people arriving at the farm were seeing him with their own eyes.

Near evening, the air grew strangely still. The clouds above the western field drew together in a tight circle.

Felix laid down his hammer.

Betsy lifted Apollo from his blanket. His tiny horns glimmered gold.