Time was supposed to help heal all wounds, so it was what I needed to give myself. Time. Then, the agonizing ache that wouldn't leave my chest would slowly fade away, and I'd be left with nothing but distant memories and a new understanding of our world.

I woke up the next day with another couple of texts from him. He wanted to talk, wanted me to let him plead his case. But we'd done this twice already, dinner where I'd sat and listened while he'd charmed me into forgetting anything that wasn't him. I wasn't falling for it again. I was too smart for that.

To keep myself distracted and get away from Gigi's questions, I headed off to work the next day. Seeing my colleagues and keeping busy would prevent me from overthinking about what I'd left behind. As I walked the grounds of the museum, the familiar hallways seemed almost foreign. Those few weeks at the Westergaard estate felt like months, as if my entire life had been put on hold for much longer than it actually had.

Colleagues greeted me with enthusiasm as I crossed their paths, and I did my best to match their energy and pretend I wasn't feeling hollow inside. But while work acquaintances were easy to fool, I dreaded the moment I'd meet Ian, Henry, and Ingrid. They knew me enough to notice if something was off. That was why I took in a deep breath before opening the door to the shared office, hoping things would be smooth.

To my relief, I was the first one there, so after a sigh, I went to sit on my chair. I was catching up with a few emails when the door opened, and Ian appeared. Unmoving, I observed as my boss walked in, oblivious to my presence. Just as he was reaching his desk, I cleared my throat. With a slight jump, he turned around to face me. His face went through an array of emotions—fright, surprise, and confusion as soon as he recognized me.

"Holy shite, lass... Ye scared me."

"Do I look that tired?"

He shook his head with a broad smile as he came toward me. I'd missed him and his plaid shirts, lush beard, and glasses. I stood from my chair, and we hugged for a moment.

"I didn't know ye were coming back," he said once he'd released me.

"Yeah, I wanted to surprise you. And everyone, really."

"It's good to have you back, Mila. This office isn't the same without you in it."

The grin that claimed my lips didn't even need to be faked. "I can see that. It's so clean and orderly."

His deep laugh echoed within me. "Ye know what I meant, ye little minx. So, how was Oslo? We haven't spoken since your trip there."

I held back a wince. "It was...great. Ulr—Mr. Westergaard took me to a gallery that sells priceless antiques." Talking of Ulrik—or rather Haakon—came at a price, and I was forced to look away from my boss and to my desk instead. "I never realized how easy it is for rich people to own whatever they want. He bought so many things there and never even batted an eye at the prices."

"That's not right if ye ask me. Such pieces belong in museums, not pirate collections," Ian mumbled. Part of me wanted to argue in Ulrik's favor, to explain that he actually returned most of his collection to their countries of origin, but I held back. I had no obligation to defend him or his image. Ian seemed to reach that conclusion himself since he continued with, "I suppose it's a good thing he's willing to share, though. Did you finish your selection for your exhibit?"

This time, I couldn't help but grimace. With everything going on, I hadn't even gotten that far into my reflections. The repercussions of my hasty leave and Ulrik's revelations were still slowly making their way into my grasp. I wanted Ulrik and his lies gone from my life. My broken heart couldn't take more of him, not when I now knew the truth. But borrowing from him as I had intended would mean another two ears of entanglement, at the very least. Two years of being constantly reminded of him, of the time we shared together, of the world-altering truth bombs he'd dropped on me...

I'd been having sex with the actual son of Odin. Worse yet, I'd fallen in love with my childhood hero, a being who was over eleven centuries old. What a clusterfuck...

"I'm not sure I can go through with the exhibit," I sheepishly confessed, avoiding Ian's eyes once more. "As it turns out, I might have bitten off more than I can chew."

"I thought ye were finding great pieces over there?"

"I was, but...the idea I had—to center it around Haakon and great Norse legends—feels wrong. I think I need to come up with a new theme, but I don't know what. Maybe we should do what you originally suggested about the trading system and how Vikings changed the economy?"

"That's going to delay things. We have a month to submit the exhibit and the pieces we need so that we can open in the spring. The scenography will change, and the one that ye worked on and that was already approved will be for nothing."

"I know," I said with a wince. I'd already spent so many hours working on the exhibit that canceling it would be a waste. And that was without including the time others had already put in. "Maybe I can make something work without the Westergaard pieces," I tried.

Ian said nothing for a moment, looking at me intently as though he were trying to read my mind. I stood under his scrutiny, aware that he'd caught up on something.

"Did something happen with Mr. Westergaard?" he asked very gravely. My wince and elusive gaze gave him an obvious answer, but he didn't reach the correct conclusion. "Did he hurt ye, Mila?"

My eyes widened with surprise. Ulrik had hurt me, yes, but not in the way Ian thought. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be too incriminating, but nothing came. I couldn't tell Ian the truth about Ulrik's origins because not only would he never believe me, but it also wasn't the kind of knowledge I could freely pass around. But I didn't need that to explain my reluctance to collaborate with Ulrik.

"No, he didn't," I asserted. "Not really, at least."

"Then what happened?"

"We...we became intimate," I confessed.

Ian paused for several seconds, processing my words behind his neutral expression. "Ye got in bed with him?"

"Several times." And out of bed, too...

"And things got ugly?"

"Kind of, yes..."

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. The disappointment laced in it tore a little piece of my heart out. I never wanted to disappoint my mentor, but I'd done just that.

"Ye do know he's the museum's biggest donator, aye?"

"I'm well aware, yes."

"And ye got entangled with him."

"I tried not to. I really, really tried," I whimpered. "But...he looks like he does, and he's charming, and he was so kind to me—sometimes."

Ian passed one of his big hands over his face. "I suppose I should have seen it coming. Ye're both young and attractive, living in close proximity for three weeks... Yeah, that was always going to happen."

"I promise we tried to stay professional," I insisted.

"I believe ye, lass. But now we have beef with one of the museum's biggest sources of income, and that's no good."

"It's not like that; he doesn't have a problem with us. It's me, I—I don't want to...deal with him."

"What did he do to you?"

He'd offered the world to me, promised to be truthful and honest, only to leave out the most crucial part of himself. He had entrapped me by making me fall in love with him, hoping I would stay despite the blow. Every fiber in me felt like Ulrik's lies warranted my reaction, but Ian didn't know all that, and if I answered yes to his question, he would assume the worst had happened. And no matter how hurt I was, I wouldn't tarnish Ulrik's image like this. It wouldn't be right.

So, resigned, I shook my head. "Let's just say we didn't part on good terms."

Ian's expression was one of disappointment and authority. "Then that's not how it works, Mila. Yes, ye shouldn't have let things go that far with him. But now's the time ye act professionally. Ye bite down yer tongue, and ye get things done. Ye're both grown adults, so ye act like it."

It was only fair, so I pinched my lips and endured the blow. Ian was right. No matter how things had ended with Ulrik, I had a job to do, and I couldn't let my hurt feelings get in the way of that. I'd begged for the honor of creating my very first exhibit. People counted on me for it now, and I couldn't let them down. But I was confident that I could manage without Ulrik's collection. It had been the plan until recently, and it would become the plan again.

"Can you not tell anyone?" I asked Ian with a pleading look.

"About yer 'entanglement' with Mr. Westergaard?" I nodded. "Of course, lass. That's yer private life, and I'm not one for gossip."

"Thank you. I'm sorry that I disappointed you like that."

"Eh, ye didn't. Believe it or not, but I was young and foolish once, too. I'm not surprised it happened, but I hope there won't be hell to pay for it."

Ulrik didn't strike me as someone vindictive or petty. And he knew he was the one who'd messed up in this situation, so I wasn't the one at fault.

"Everything will be okay," I reassured my boss. "He isn't like that."

"Good... Now, I do hope ye sort this out because I really want to see those pieces ye told me about. Quite the collection this man has, eh?"

Yes, it was quite the collection, indeed. Which ultimately made sense, given that he'd been gathering it for over a thousand years...

By the time Ingrid arrived, the awkward tension had dissipated, and everything was back to the way it used to be. Or almost.

I was distracted, constantly brought back to moments I'd shared with Ulrik. Everything made so much sense, but at the same time, I still couldn't accept it. His talent for languages—Norwegian, English, Japanese, Italian, and God knew how many more—was now an easy feat since he'd been there for a millennium. His uncanny sexual abilities, too. No wonder he knew the female anatomy so damn well. He's been working his way around it for ages.

After a moment in the shared office to catch up with a few things, I decided to pay a visit to my buddy Henry. He, too, had no idea I was back, and I was sure his easy-going nature would help me feel better. I knocked once I arrived in front of his lab's door and waited for his invitation in. Hunched over a microscope, he didn't look up at me at first, finishing up with his observation first. When he did, his eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

"You're back?!" he asked, incredulous.

"No, I'm a ghost. I'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

"Deal."

We walked to one another with grins and exchanged a brief hug. "So, how was your vacation?" he teased.

"It was nowhere near a vacation, you dick. And it was...enlightening."

"Yeah, I saw the pictures. Some of those pieces are remarkably well-preserved."

"I know. I so wish I could have brought you with me. You'd have been in heaven."

"Maybe next time," he said with a shrug.

I held back from telling him there wouldn't be a next time and looked around instead. "What about you? Any advances?"

"Well, kind of. I've been working on the sword in my spare time because I have so much to do for other departments. And I'm tired of having to explain to colleagues around Europe that it isn't a prank, so I'm all alone now. But I got to do an X-ray earlier this week, and I found a hidden detail," he explained, visibly excited.

I waited while he went to get something from the backroom, fidgeting. It was one thing to have him work on the sword when it was an archeological mystery. It was another now that I knew the truth behind its impossible state of preservation. Now I understood why Henry struggled to get even a shave of metal out of it. The dwarves in the mines of Nidavellir had forged it. The blade was as mystical as Thor's hammer and Odin's spear. The laws of men and physics didn't apply to it.

Henry came back with the sword and a large folder, and he settled both on the glass in the middle of the room. Then he went to fetch a magnifying glass and returned. "Alright, so in the X-ray, I found out that something was engraved under the ornaments here," he explained, pointing at the grip. "It's runes, so I couldn't translate it, but I thought you might."

"Sure. Show me."

He pulled out a dark sheet from the folder and spread it in front of me before handing me the magnifying glass. "Right over here," he showed on the X-ray.

I leaned in and looked for the runes, curious. It was hard to distinguish because the engraved details of the ornaments came in the way. But once a few runes had revealed themselves to me, I instantly knew what it was. The signatures of the proud artists who'd crafted this masterpiece. Brokkr and Sindri.

"So?" Henry asked when I straightened up.

"Uh... I don't know. It's hard to tell. I'd need a clearer view," I lied.

He sighed, disappointed. "I knew it would be a long shot. Have you translated the runes on the other sword?"

Oh, wow... I'd been so busy that I hadn't even taken a moment to sit down and do that. Now that Henry was mentioning it, though, it seemed incredibly silly of me. "No, not yet."

"Maybe they'll make more sense than this one."

"Maybe yeah..."

"If you want to do it now, I have the picture you sent me on my tablet," he offered.

I nodded, and while he went to fetch his tablet, I sat on a chair by the table. Looking at the sward was doing strange things to me. It belonged to Ulrik, its legitimate owner. And not out of some weird generational claim, but because it was actually his, a gift from his father.

Henry sat by my side as I did my best to translate the runes, but they didn't make much sense either. We stared at the notes I'd written down, perplexed. "Either you're terrible at this, or they were very drunk when they wrote it," Henry caustically let out.

"I'm amazing at it, but I doubt they were drunk." I think about it for a few seconds, my eyes alternating between the sword's picture on the tablet and the actual sword on the table. "What if—"

When I didn't continue, hesitant, he insisted. "What if what?"

"These swords are an identical pair, right?"

"Yes."

"They were meant to be together. So what if the runes are meant to be read together as well?" I ventured.

"Does it make more sense when you read them that way?"

I gave myself a moment to think about it and ripped the page off the notebook to start over. I drew the runes in the same order they were in, symbolizing the two swords side by side. Then I worked on the translation again again, and my eyes lit up. "It does, yeah," I breathed out.

"What does it say, then?"

"Per usual, this is an interpretation because a strict translation is impossible," I reminded him."

"I know, I know. Just tell me already!"

"Okay, so... Put together, it would say something along the lines of 'This hallowed gift grants the power of Odin to whoever wields both blades.'"

We stared at the sword in silence for a moment, stunned. I wasn't entirely surprised because I knew this had been a gift from Odin to his illegitimate son, but the power thing had me speechless. Was this why Ulrik wanted the sword back so badly? Was there something else to the blades? Both swords needed to be together to unlock some kind of extraordinary power. Odin's power.

"Alright, I maintain they were very drunk when coming up with this," Henry concluded, skeptical.

"Yeah, that's...weird," I agreed, playing along.

"Even though I've seen proof myself, I swear I feel like this whole thing is an elaborate prank."

"I know the feeling..."

Ever since this sword had landed on my lap, my life had become a messy swirl of unfortunate events. At this point, I would rather have never gotten it than everything it came with. I missed my life before Ulrik, before I knew gods were real, and before my heart was torn in half. I missed those easy, effortless days of work among friendly colleagues and then coming home to my best friend. Not knowing had been so easy in comparison to this. It was too early to tell if I would prefer returning to that blissful obliviousness, but all that knowledge was weighing on me, changing my life in the most elemental way.

All of that because Annie McCaine had sent me this stupid sword.

"Pack it up," I told Henry. "We're sending it to Norway—to its rightful owner."

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes. I'm done with this."

"There a lot more that we could find from this Mila. Ancient secrets and—"

"It's not like anyone would ever believe us, is it? You've said it yourself that professionals in your field think it's a prank." I paused long enough to admire the sword one last time. This was a curse, not a blessing. "I'd rather we send it back and move on," I insisted.

That way, there was nothing left between Ulrik and me. We didn't owe anything to one another, and hopefully, he would stop texting me soon.