Eve
My heart has morphed into a drum in my chest as all the implications sank in, Vassir had returned but now in the hands of the last person who should wield him.
I drew in air through my nose and let it out through my mouth; the last thing I needed was hyperventilating in the dire situation. We needed to find a solution, a fast one.
I envisioned my father’s dreadful eyes against my own will, dread clouding my calm and reason, I saw those wicked depths filler with power that he should never have been able to wield. And I felt...
Lost...
Unable to even dredge bravery out of the usual places in . I found myself deflated by the fear and apprehension of what was to co.
If he won, got what he wanted, whatever twisted goal that was...
What would happen to everyone? The family I now had? Whoever had not been involved in his sches but that I had left behind?
How many would suffer as they stood in the way of his mission?
My limbs felt like they were held down by anvils, my head spinning, my veins filling with ice, horror snaking up my spine, leaving paralysed. My air ways close, my eyes twirling...
>"Evie..." Rhea’s voice tore through my panic, "you have to stay calm. I understand you are afraid but this... will only let him win."
Her voice waa soothing as it always was but the flood only beca a tsunami. I tried to conjure up hope, so positivity but I was becoming buried in my fears.
And then...
Two heavy hands, rested on my shoulders, warm breath ghosting past my ear.
"Red..."
I snapped out of my spiralling thoughts, the ones so close to engulfing . I twisted towards him, our eyes eting in the bright lights of the bathroom, my grip on the sink loosened.
In the storm of gray and specks of blue that I had never noticed before, was an expression that made my heart stop for an entirely new reason.
His eyes flickered with concern and another that I did not want to acknowledge; yearning. He rubbed my tense shoulders, his fingers eliciting jolts of electricity through my skin and I found myself leaning into his warmth, his body.
"Hades," His na left my lips in a breathless murmur. My lids grew heavy, my eyes darting to his lips.
His eyes flickered again but this ti with an intensity that sent a pleasurable chill through ; it was a hunger, one that he quickly snuffed out.
His lips tilted into a smile, remnants of dimples making an appearance. A mischievous lilt seeping into his voice. "You rember the first ti you kicked in the nuts?"
I blinked, taken aback by the words out of his mouth. "What?"
He ignored my surprise, his hands kneading the knotted muscles of my shoulders. "It was not even the last thing I thought you would do. It was not even on my list. You knocked the wind out of with a single move," His voice grew soft. "You were powerless against , at any ti you knew... I could’ve crushed you. And still, you stood your ground. You didn’t flinch." His voice dipped low, almost reverent. "You didn’t cower. You fought."
I swallowed thickly, my breath catching in my throat.
"I wasn’t brave," I whispered. "I was terrified."
He leaned in, his forehead brushing mine. "Bravery isn’t about not being scared, Red. It’s about kicking your enemy in the balls while you’re shaking."
A reluctant laugh slipped out of . It cracked sothing—just a little—through the storm still howling in my chest.
His thumb traced a gentle arc across my shoulder. "You are still that girl. Still the one who’ll swing first, even when the odds are stacked and everything in you is screaming to run."
I closed my eyes. Let the warmth of his presence anchor .
"You make sound like so war goddess," I murmured.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. "No. You are a war goddess. Just one who occasionally panics in bathrooms."
I snorted. "Occasionally?"
"Okay," he conceded, lips twitching. "Frequently. But with impeccable timing."
I looked up at him again, steadier now. His touch hadn’t erased the fear, but it had cleared the fog around it. I could see again—feel the weight of the threat, yes, but also the path through it.
"I don’t know how to fight him," I admitted. "Not like this. Not with shadows and stolen pieces of a dead god."
"We’ll figure it out," he said, firm now. "We always do."
"But what if we’re too late?"
His eyes darkened—not with anger, but with the sa dread I carried. And then he pulled close, just enough for our foreheads to touch again.
"Then we make sure the last thing he sees," Hades whispered, "is you standing in his way."
My breath caught.
For a mont, all I could hear was the thundering in my chest, his words ringing in my ears like a war cry wrapped in devotion.
His hands slid from my shoulders to my waist, tentative but sure, like he was asking for permission without needing to speak it. My body answered before I could think—leaning in, curling toward him like instinct, like gravity.
"Red..." he murmured again, voice rough, reverent.
I didn’t stop him.
Didn’t want to.
His forehead was still against mine, our noses brushing, the heat between us no longer just comfort—it was sothing deeper. Older. Hungrier.
His lips hovered near mine. Just a breath away.
"Tell to stop," he whispered.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "I should."
"I know," he murmured.
But neither of us moved. The space between us shattered. His lips brushed mine once—soft, searching, a question dressed as a kiss.
I answered it.
And then, the door slamd open---
A tiny, startled voice cut through the air like a lightning strike.
"What are my mummy and daddy doing?"
We froze.
I blinked, heart still thudding from the kiss, and turned.
There he was.
Elliot.
Standing in the doorway with his oversized pajama top slipping off one shoulder, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand, his curly hair a halo of bed-wild fluff.
Hades straightened like he’d been caught breaking a sacred law. I nearly stumbled backward, heat blooming in my cheeks like wildfire.
> "Elliot," I croaked, voice too high, too sudden. "You—uh—you’re awake!"
He tilted his head, utterly unbothered, eyes wide with sleepy confusion.
> "Were you fighting?" he asked, peering between us like a tiny detective. "Or doing face-squishing?"
Hades coughed into his fist.
"I—uh..." I glanced at Hades for help.
"Training," he blurted.
Elliot’s brows furrowed. "You kiss when you train?"
"Only the advanced level," Hades said solemnly.
I shot him a glare. He just shrugged like what else was I supposed to say?
Elliot yawned dramatically and padded into the room, reaching up. "Can I sleep with you?"
That tiny, innocent voice broke .
I bent down, scooping him into my arms. "Of course, baby."
He nestled into my neck imdiately, murmuring sothing incoherent, and I felt his little body go heavy with sleep again.
Hades reached out, brushing a finger across Elliot’s hair. His eyes t mine, soft and burning all at once.
"Rain check?" he murmured.
My cheeks burned hotter. I buried my face in Elliot’s curls, mostly to hide the stupid smile tugging at my lips.
"Rain check," I whispered back, and the smirk that spread across Hades’ face made my heart stutter all over again.
Without another word, he took a step forward and gently lifted Elliot from my arms. Our son barely stirred, just curled tighter into Hades’ chest like he belonged there—and he did.
Hades glanced at , one brow raised. "Bed?"
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of them. My boys.
We padded quietly through the room. The mont Hades laid Elliot in the middle of the bed, the child rolled instinctively toward the pillows and let out a deep sigh, like the world couldn’t touch him here.
I slipped under the covers beside him, brushing his hair back as he settled. A second later, Hades joined us on the other side, the mattress dipping under his weight.
For a few monts, none of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was sacred.
Elliot’s hand found mine under the blanket, and I held on like it was the only tether keeping from spinning apart again.
---
Ellen
My eyes snapped open—but only darkness greeted .
Thick, impenetrable, suffocating darkness.
For a mont, I thought I was blind. My breath hitched, shallow and panicked, and I tried to move—
But my body felt... wrong.
Heavy.
No. Unbalanced.
The cold hit first. A cruel, tallic chill seeping into my skin like I’d been lying on stone. I flexed my fingers instinctively, trying to feel the surface beneath —except only one hand responded.
The other—
I couldn’t feel it.
I couldn’t feel anything.
I turned my head, slow and stiff, and winced at the sharp pull at the base of my skull. The sll of antiseptic and sothing burnt clogged my nostrils. My tongue felt like ash.
Where was I?
I shifted again, this ti managing to lift my right arm. My palm t cloth—blankets, maybe—but when I tried to mirror the movent on my left—
Nothing.
No resistance.
No weight.
No limb.
I stilled completely.
My breath shuddered.
Then, heart racing, I forced my eyes to adjust. Gradually, shapes began to form—dim outlines, blurry against the black. A soft light flickered from sowhere behind , casting a pale glow across the edge of a silver tray... tools. Scalpels. Tubes. A monitor blinking in steady green.
And beside —
My breath caught.
A stump.
Wrapped in gauze.
Neat. Clinical. Fresh.
Where my arm should’ve been.
My brain scread, No. No. No. No.
A sound tore out of . A strangled, broken sob that barely passed my lips.
I wasn’t dreaming.
I wasn’t injured.
I was changed.
Incomplete.
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