“I think I’m going to die,” Griffin says as we reach the field and he collapses on the grass. “No. I think I want to die.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say, pacing a circle around his carcass. “Besides, we have to cool down.”

“I can’t move.”

“You have to.” I focus on my breathing as I reach down and grab his wrist, tugging him back to his feet. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow if you don’t.”

Despite his groans, he follows me into a jog around the track.

After one lap at a casual pace—and on flat ground—my breathing has almost returned to normal and the burn in my quads has ebbed to a comfortable ache. Trust me, after this many years of running, a dull ache is comfortable. It’s comforting.

“If I didn’t know you adored me,” he says as we start our second lap, “I’d think you were trying to kill me.”

“Just imagine what I would do to someone I don’t like.”

Someone like Adara.

No. I shake my head. I will not let her sneak into my thoughts, into this time with Griffin. My time with him is limited enough this summer, between his job and my camp and the looming test and whoever is sending me on a wild-goose chase for the missing record of my dad’s trial.

Why can’t anything on this island be simple? At Pacific Park, the most dramatic thing that ever happened was a social nobody winning homecoming queen. One year at the Academy and suddenly I’m a goddess, dating a real-life hero, and hunting for a Mount Olympus record book.

“What do you know about the secret archives?” I ask absently.

Griffin stumbles. “The what?”

“The secret archives of Mount Olympus,” I repeat. “Come on, I know they’re not really a secret.”

“Oh, those secret archives.”

“Are there other secret archives?”

“Not that I know of.” He laughs. “What do you know about the secret archives?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” I shrug as we round lap two. “I know they contain the records of Mount Olympus and the remains of the Library of Alexandria.”

“Really?”

“And they have seriously limited access.”

“I don’t know much more,” he says. “What do you want to know?”

There are so many possible questions. How far back do the records go? What else do the archives hold? Who files the documents? But there is only one question I care about.

“I want to know how someone would steal one of the records—”

Griffin stumbles again. “You don’t want to—”

“—and why they would steal the record of my dad’s trial.”

“Someone stole that?” he asks as we slow to a walk. “How do you know?”

“Because when Nicole and I went looking for it yesterday, it was gone.”

“So that’s how . . .” He shakes his head, scowling, and then starts over. “That’s how you knew about the archives.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not what he started to say.

“I don’t know why someone would steal your dad’s record,” he replies. “There’s a rumor about a secret entrance to the library. If someone wanted to get in and out of the secret archives unnoticed, that might be how.”

Great. A rumor of a secret entrance to the secret archives. How is that supposed to help me? I feel like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a Harry Potter book. Next, some evil genius is going to be plotting to kill me.

We finish our cooldown laps and make our way through the tunnel to the campus quad. As we reemerge into the morning sun, I hang back a step to admire Griffin in his fresh-from-a-workout glory. His nicely tanned arms and legs are glistening with sweat, the moisture catching the low-angle sun like a mirror rippling with every move of his lean muscles.

When he realizes I’m not at his side, Griffin turns, catches me ogling, and his mouth spreads in that cocky grin I love so much.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases.

“Maybe.” I saunter up to him, then—unable to keep up the coy act—wrap my arms around his neck and tug him close until our foreheads touch. “You have a problem with me looking?”

Shaking his head slowly against mine, he hums, “Huh-uh.”

Then his hand cups the back of my neck and he pulls my mouth the few inches to meet his. I love the feel of his soft lips against mine. Nine months of kissing him whenever I want and I still can’t get enough.

I slip my arms farther around his neck, stretching myself into him and up into the kiss. When he drops his hands to press against my lower back, shivers race down my spine and over my exhausted muscles. He’s mine, all mine. No one else gets to kiss him like this.

An image—a memory—flashes into my mind. Of Griffin. Of me watching him across the crowded school cafeteria while he is locked in exactly this embrace. With Adara.

I jerk back.

It feels like a bucket of ice water emptied over me.

Removing myself from Griffin’s arms, I take a step back.

“I, uh . . .” The stabbing pain around my heart is worse than any lactic-acid buildup. I know it isn’t fair, holding something from the past against him. But is it really in the past? I can’t think. I need to get away from him so my brain can return to seminormal function. “Gotta go.”

“Yeah,” he says, breathing heavy. “You’d better hurry if you’re getting a shower before camp.”