The psalm used to thrill Eureka. It was one thing to walk through the valley of death—but to walk through death’s shadow meant that you didn’t know where death was, or what light behind it made its shadow. The psalm made death sound like a secret second moon in the sky, orbiting everything, making every minute night.

On many nights, not long ago, Eureka had bargained with God to take her life and bring back Diana. She didn’t want that anymore. She didn’t look at Dad’s body and wish she were in his place. In a way, she already was in his place, and in the place of everyone she had killed, regardless of whether she knew their names. Part of Eureka had died, was always dying now, and becoming part of her strength. This was a muscle she sensed she would use when the time came to defeat Atlas and redeem herself.

“ ‘For thou art with me,’ ” she finished the psalm. “ ‘Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’ ”

“You couldn’t cry at Diana’s funeral, either.” Solon took a seat on an antique cockfighting chair, sipping prosecco carefully from a glass with a broken handle. “What gets you through it? God?”

Eureka stared at Solon’s broken glass and remembered the window shattering above her head the night Diana left her family. She remembered the water heater bursting in the hallway, the storm entering their living room. She remembered being unable to tell what was hail against her skin and what was glass. She remembered her feet on the soaked and shaggy carpet on the stairs. Then sobbing. Then Diana’s slap across her cheek.

Never, ever cry.

Solon was watching her as if he knew all about it.

“She wanted to protect you,” he said.

“You can’t control the way somebody feels,” Eureka said.

“No, you can’t,” Solon said, retying the satin ribbon of his robe into a sailor’s knot. “Not for long, anyway.”

Eureka looked down at Dad in the canoe. Before he’d died they’d grown apart. It was Rhoda, and then it was high school, and then it was the fact that she’d grown apart from everyone after Diana’s death. She’d always assumed she and Dad would have time to reconnect.

“After Diana died, the sunrise amazed me,” she said.

“You used to watch it with her?” Ander asked.

Eureka shook her head. “We used to sleep until noon. But I couldn’t believe the sun had the audacity to rise after she died. I remember at her funeral, I told that to my uncle, about the sunrise. He looked at me like I was crazy. But then, a few days later, I found Dad in the kitchen, frying eggs. He didn’t think anyone was home, but he’d gone through an entire carton. I watched him crack one into a pan, stare at it as it cooked, then flip it onto a plate. They formed a stack, like they were pancakes. Then he tossed the wholeplate in the trash.”

“Why didn’t he eat them?” William asked.

“It still works, he said, like he couldn’t believe it,” Eureka said. “Then he walked out of the kitchen.”

Eureka was supposed to go on, to say that Dad had taught her how to tell a joke, how to whistle through a sugarcane husk, how not to punch like a girl. He’d taught her how to fold a cloth napkin into an origami swan, how to tell if a crawfish was fresh, how to two-step, how to play a G chord on the guitar. He’d cooked her special meals before her races, researching the right balance of protein and carbohydrates to give her the most energy. He had shown her that unconditional love was possible, because he had loved two women who hadn’t made loving them easy, who took for granted that his love was always there. He’d taught Eureka one thing Diana never could have: how not to run away when it felt impossible to stay. He’d taught her to persevere.

But Eureka kept all that to herself. She gathered her memories around her like a secret shield, the shadow of a shadow in a flooded valley of death.

Solon poured another broken glass of wine and rose from the cockfighting chair. A cigarette dangled from his lips. “When a loved one dies in an untimely manner,” he said, “one feels as if the universe owes one something. Good luck, invincibility, a line of credit with the man upstairs.”

“You’re so cynical,” Cat said. “What if it’s the other way around and the universe has already blessed you with the time you had together?”

“Ah, but if I’d never loved Byblis, I wouldn’t miss her.”

“But you did love her,” Ander said to Solon. “Why can’t you cherish the time you had, even if it couldn’t be forever?”

“You see, this is the problem with conversation,” Solon said with a sigh, and looked at Ander. “All we ever do is talk about ourselves. Let us stop before we bore each other, well, to tears.” He turned to Eureka. “Are you ready to say goodbye?”

“Dad’s supposed to be with us,” William said. “Can’t I use my quirk to make him come back?”

“I wish you could,” Eureka said.

Solon unmoored the canoe, then pointed the vessel toward an opening in the darkness. “He will float through there and drift gently out to the sea.”

“I want to go with him.” Claire reached for the canoe.

“As do I,” Solon said. “But we still have work to do.”

“Wait!” Eureka pulled the canoe with Dad’s body toward her a final time. She withdrew the slender orichalcum chest from the inner pocket of his jean jacket. She held it up in the candlelight. The green glow within it pulsed.