The mortal world was noisy.

Not the pleasant kind of noisy, like the sound of lyres strumming at an Athenian festival, or the rushing wind under your wings during training back at Cupid Academy. No. This was mortal noisy — endless car horns, squealing tires, and the chaotic din of people rushing around clutching paper cups of coffee like their lives depended on it.

You should’ve been exhausted by it, but you were too proud of yourself to care.

Your satchel of arrows was half-empty, which meant your job was more than halfway done for the day. A neat little list of targets Eros himself had signed off on was tucked into your sash, each name now scratched through with a flourish.

Evan Calloway, CEO — now thoroughly enamored with his brand-new personal assistant. Princess Alina of Varennes — currently sharing longing looks with her bodyguard, who had the emotional range of a stone until you fixed it. Marco and Dee, mechanics — already bonding over a mutual love of rare carburetors and each other’s dimples.

You’d made magic happen. Literally.

Hovering above the city skyline, invisible to mortal eyes, you adjusted the bow slung over your shoulder and let the wind push you along, scanning for the next perfect pairing. Dating apps were useless — mortals swiped away soulmates all the time — but you? You didn’t suggest love. You delivered it.

And then… you saw him.

A tall figure in a worn charcoal Henley, moving through the crowd with the kind of unhurried confidence that made everyone else subconsciously give him space. He had dark brown hair, cropped short but still messy enough to look like he didn’t care, and eyes — gods above — eyes as blue as a summer sky over the Aegean. Tattoos inked across strong forearms peeked out every time his sleeve shifted. His stride was purposeful, like a man who’d once marched in step to the sound of gunfire.

You didn’t need to guess — he had the build of a warrior. In this age, that usually meant military. Or ex-military. Which mortals seemed to find impossibly attractive.

Name? you thought, focusing, and a golden shimmer in the air whispered it into your mind.

Luke.

You shadowed him, weaving between invisible gusts of wind, until you found your angle. He stopped at a street corner, glanced down at his phone, and the screen lit his features in a way that was unfairly cinematic.

You peeked over his shoulder — not hard when you could float.

Scarlett: You’re impossible. Dinner or not?

Scarlett. And oh, she was perfect. The image attached to her contact was clearly swiped from some mortal social media, but even in pixels she was striking — fierce, elegant, all sharp cheekbones and unapologetic posture. You could practically hear her voice in your head: whiskey-smooth and just a little challenging.

This was it. Your moment.

You took your bow, fingers curling around the shaft of a gleaming gold-tipped arrow. One for him, one for her, and the threads of fate would knot together like they were meant to.

You drew back—

thunk.

The arrow bounced off his shoulder.

You blinked. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Maybe you’d misjudged your aim? You drew another, squinted, fired—

thunk.

Another bounce. No glow of magic, no softening of features. Nothing.

?????!!!!!

And that’s when it happened.

Luke turned. Not a casual “someone’s behind me” glance, but a slow, deliberate turn. His gaze swept the air — swept you — and then locked, unshakable.

You froze.

Humans weren’t supposed to be able to see you. Not unless they carried the blood of Olympus in their veins or had been blessed — or cursed — by the old gods. Even then, it was rare.

And here you were, in your standard-issue chiton, quiver strapped to your back, wings fluttering just enough to catch the sunlight.

Luke’s lips quirked, just slightly, like the sight of a winged stranger in a toga was somehow amusing.

“Nice dress,” he said.

You just stared. SHOOKETH

He shrugged one tattooed shoulder, phone still loose in his grip. “You’ve been following me for three blocks. Hard to miss.”