Behind me the fire roars in the grate making my back sweat beneath my off-white top and shabby leather jacket. Crystal, Mino, and Cal's voices drift through from the kitchen. Ahead Cupid's gaze is locked on mine – his body a barrier in the open doorway. His jawline is hard, and there is tension in his lips.

I shift on my feet. I'm hot. Uncomfortable. Trapped. I feel like a lion in a cage.

We stare at each other. It's like neither of us can find the words to say.

Then I push my hair out of my face and walk towards Cupid and the door. He doesn't move, watching me as I brush past him into the corridor. I feel his warm breath on my forehead as I do, smell his summery fabric conditioner and musky shower gel. It makes me feel worse; unclean. I can't remember the last time I showered and I imagine the scent of death and the Underworld clings to my skin.

"I need some air," I say.

"Okay."

I feel his heat as he follows me closely down the corridor, and up the black spiral stairs. The voices of the others fade behind us. In silence we head to the rooftop terrace – the scene of our first kiss. So much has changed since then. Both of us head to the edge and lean against the black twisted railings into the breeze.

We don't speak.

The sky is unnaturally grey for Forever Falls, the winds heightened. Something supernatural seems to crackle in the air – like the weather knows what Valentine and I brought to the world of the living; like it knows what will happen next.

War.

Cupid's arm brushes against mine - tensed – as he looks out onto his grounds. Like the weather, his face is uncharacteristically stormy.

"So . . . you're Psyche," he says, finally – his voice low, is almost carried away by the wind.

"Yes." His jaw clenches harder in response. "At least. . . in a way. Her life thread is my life thread. And I remember things, parts of her memories. Just snippets. It's not clear. Not yet, anyway."

"You have some of her power, too," he says. "You caught the Ardor Cal shot at Valentine. You killed the Fury at your birthday party. Not many fully trained cupids could have done that." He runs a hand through his tussled hair. "You've always been good with a bow and arrow."

I glance at him. "You finally admit it."

The corner of his lip lifts. He catches my eye, just for a second, before bringing his gaze back over his pool and the mythological statues that stand in his yard. Then he exhales – brow furrowing.

"It seems that history really has repeated itself. My older brother has tricked us into being together once more."

"Maybe."

Darkness shrouds his features. "What else do you think has happened? He orchestrated the match this time, just as he did the last."

He sounds tired. But there's a note of anger behind his tone.

I stare out into the building clouds. The air tastes static. A storm is coming.

"I remember something from back then, you know? About you," I say. "I think it's a memory. It could be a dream."

I take his silence as a prompt to continue.

"We were in a house – hiding from your mother," I say. "The floor was made of mosaics, and it was lit with oil lamps. There was a big four-poster bed in the middle of the room."

He glances at me sideways – eyes burning.

"One night you had gone away," I say. "You were trying to work out what Venus was planning. While you were gone, Valentine visited me. It was dark – and – sensing an intruder I grabbed an oil lamp, and a blade from another room. Then I realized what was happening. He had come to take me away. Only I didn't want to go with him. I loved you."

I feel Cupid's shoulder tense against my arm.

"We fought and I burned him with the oil from the lamp," I say. "He left – realizing it was a lost cause. But not before he told me what had happened – that I'd been shot with an arrow. That what I was feeling wasn't real."

Cupid's eyes gleam as he stares out into the grey sky.

"I remember being angry," I say. "So angry. With Valentine. With Venus. And with you. I thought you knew from the start that our love wasn't real. I thought you were toying with me. I thought I was cursed. That night I left. I decided I'd never be used by cupids, or the gods, again." I exhale. "Yet here we are."

"I didn't know," says Cupid quietly. "I didn't know about the arrow."

"It's a real memory?" I say.

He inclines his head – his jaw set. Something sad glimmers behind his irises.

"Is that the reason you helped my brother bring back an army of the dead?" he says. "Is that why you left us in the Underworld? To punish me?"

"Not everything is about you."

"So tell me what it is about."

I exhale. "Maybe it is about you. And the rest of the cupids. And the gods." I lean over the railings, looking at the ground below. "Maybe it's about vengeance. I feel so. . . angry."

Cupid doesn't speak for a moment.

"You told Cal that you'd send Valentine back with Venus if you delivered the box," he says, finally. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"You. . . have a connection with him," says Cupid. His tone is light enough but his hands, dangling over the railings, clench – his knuckles whitening. "You had a connection with him when you were Psyche." He swallows, hard. "And you have a connection with him as Lila. When it comes to it, I don't believe you will betray him."

"I sent him to the Underworld once before," I say.

"True. But it's different now. Even if that part of you wants to do it – the part of you that is Psyche will stop you."

I shake my head.

"When I opened the box I encountered Psyche's Heart. All these memories flooded back to me and my head felt like it was going to explode. Valentine said it would tear me apart. He said I needed to be immortal to be able to deal with the changes." I pause – trying to explain what is becoming clear to me. "Only I'm fine. Well – not fine – I feel different. Powerful. Angry. But I'm not dying. I'm not going mad."

"How?"

"Valentine and Psyche didn't end on good terms. I only remember snippets, but he told me himself."

"So what are you saying?"

"There was this moment on the ferry where the old me, and the current me kind of . . . came to an agreement. I think we both want the same thing." I take a deep breath. "We want rid of Venus once and for all. And we want to get rid of Valentine."

I turn to look at him and he meets my gaze. He's holding something back – I can see it in the rise and fall of his chest, and the hard line of his jaw. His face holds none of its usual warmth, yet still something hot burns behind his ocean eyes.

"Then there's no need for us to be warring with each other," he says. "We want the same thing."

"I guess so," I say.

"But we can't let the army of the dead attack the Cupids Matchmaking Service."

I fold my arms across my chest. "It will create enough of a distraction for me to get inside."

He closes his eyes a moment, body tensing. His teeth are gritted. "And two supernatural armies fighting against one another will send out an invitation to a real family re-union that neither Cal, or I want to attend. Though I'm guessing it was part of Valentine's 'end of the world' plan all along."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"A war of that magnitude will cause another god to rise. A god just as powerful, and vengeful as Venus."

He pauses and something comes back to me – either from a history lesson, or from Psyche's memories.

"Mars," I say. "God of War."

Cupid inclines his head. "Yeah. Or, as Cal and I call him - "

"Dad." Cal's weary voice comes from the doorway.