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the fabric above her head. She held her curved sickle in one hand, the tool she used to cut the threads of life that turned gray, the souls whose time had come.
    “Not exactly. I went to visit Mother.”
    “You didn’t tell us you were going to see her.”
    “It was a spontaneous decision.” One he’d made out of desperation and hope—the two things fueling him right now. “She has faded to abstraction, I’m afraid.”
    “Something we all should probably have done centuries ago,” Atropos said bitterly. “It would have saved us from this.”
    Maybe it would have, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree. “At least this way we can greet our enemies with weapons in our hands.”
    “What weapons?” she snapped, waving her sickle. “This? It will do me little good against what’s coming for us.”
    “I plan to be holding the weapon Mother used to defeat Chaos in the first place.” He watched Atropos closely, waiting for her reaction to the news.
    Her lip curled in disgust, and she turned away. “Best of luck with that—another ridiculous waste of time.”
    His brow furrowed. “The Blade of Life could save us, even if Chaos were to stride into this domain and try to dismantle the loom himself.”
    “And who would wield it—you?”
    “Of course.”
    “So like always, you’ll follow your futile quests, leaving us to do the real work. Have you ever thought about what it’s like for us here, brother? Locked away, toiling, with only each other for company, while you come and go as you please?” Atropos rolled her eyes, which were ringed by dark circles. “Go talk to Lachesis and Clotho. I have a job to do.”
    He took a step back, regret and sorrow twisting inside. There had been a time when he and Atropos had adored each other. She was the sickle and he was the reaper, clearly the more bloodthirsty of all the siblings—and the fiercest. But sometime over the last many years, the fondness had faded, replaced by resentment. “Atropos, I’m trying to save us. I’ll make this better—I promise.”
    The sickle of death caught light from above as she lunged forward and edged it up under his chin. He felt the nip, but it was like that of a friendly animal, one that knew its master, as he met her dark gaze. “Save your promises for someone who has faith in you,” she said. Then she turned and stalked away, pausing only to grab a graying thread and brutally cut it away.
    Moros flinched as he felt the sting. He pushed the hurt away, willing one of his Kere to reap the soul, and headed for the loom, frowning at the clanking coming from the other side. When he peeked around the edge of the fabric, he saw Lachesis, her short blonde hair standing on end, kicking the grand loom. She was disheveled, her suit jacket hanging open to reveal a sweat-stained shirt beneath. “Has it malfunctioned?” he asked.
    Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. “Moros,” she said softly, her face crumpling.
    He rushed forward, his arms open, desperate to offer her comfort and push back the helplessness threatening to choke him.
    She stumbled into his embrace, and he shushed her as she sobbed. “She was here,” she said. “She walked right in to gloat.”
    “Eris, here?” he murmured. He gritted his teeth as she nodded. “Atropos didn’t mention it.”
    “Atropos was standing right here when Eris appeared. We all were.”
    “How did they find you?” He felt sick as he thought of his trunk of souls. He had moved it from his private sanctuary after what happened with Nader, Eli, and Trevor, creating a new realm in which to hide it, but before then, Eris might have found a way to enter his quarters unnoticed.
    “I have no idea,” said Lachesis. “But Eris wanted to know where you were.”
    And that was why he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He’d hoped their mother would come to his aid, and he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand. “Was she alone?”
    Lachesis shook her head, her fingers curling into