Hera sat in her tower chamber, fingers pressed against her temples. The songbirds she'd been training weren't ready. Most still confused her commands. Some forgot their messages entirely. Yet she'd sent one out yesterday—a sparrow with instructions to watch the northern gardens. Now that sparrow was missing. Someone had caught it. Someone on Olympus knew what she was building. She descended the spiral stairs of her tower, each step measured and controlled despite the tension coiling in her chest. The building rose above the clouds, its golden columns catching the light. She'd chosen this place precisely because it was far from the main halls, far from prying eyes. Now that distance felt like exposure. Her hand traced the cold marble of the doorway as she stepped outside. The feathers lay scattered on the terrace. Tattered. Torn. The soft brown plumage of her sparrow, streaked with blood. Hera knelt and gathered them into her palm. Someone hadn't just intercepted the bird. They'd killed it. Left the evidence where she would find it. A message within a message—they knew about the tower, about the training, about everything she'd built in secret. Hera closed her fist around the feathers until the quills bit into her skin. The network was compromised before it had even begun. But the person who did this had made one mistake. They'd shown her that they were watching. Which meant she could watch them watching her. She would rebuild. But this time, she would be hunting the hunter.