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The moment the heavy double doors closed behind Deus and Zion, the room exhaled like a living thing. Hazel's fork hovered midair, her appetite lost somewhere between the polished marble table and the phantom shadows of the two men who had just left. The brothers had departed with the same effortless arrogance they arrived with—smirks curling like smoke, words dripping honey but carrying venom underneath.
For a heartbeat, she thought they had gone for good. She straightened in her chair and dared to ask, her voice tentative.
"They've… left the Citadel?"
Hades, who sat across from her, didn't immediately answer. He was pouring himself a dark cup of bitter-smelling tea, the liquid curling with steam like spilled night. His silver hair fell forward as he moved, obscuring his eyes. When he finally spoke, his tone was low, unamused.
"No. They're still here."
Hazel blinked. "Still here?"
"They like to wander," he said, setting the cup down with deliberate slowness. "And to remind me of their presence. It's an old game to them."
Hazel swallowed hard, glancing toward the doors. The faint scent of the brothers still lingered, all sandalwood and frost. "They enjoy tormenting you?" she asked carefully.
Hades' lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Enjoy is a mild way of putting it."
She bit the inside of her cheek and sat back. The table was absurdly long between them, like a chasm designed to keep kings and queens at a polite distance. But the space did nothing to mute the memory of last night. The warmth of his hands on her skin, the tremor of his breath, the way his voice had broken against her ear.
Heat surged into her cheeks and, before she could stop herself, she hiccupped.
It was small, ridiculous, but it snapped through the silence like a stone through glass. She reached for her goblet of water, nearly knocking it over, and took a gulp so large it made her eyes water.
Don't think about it. Don't look at him. Don't—
She dared a glance at him anyway.
He was watching her. Not with the cold, unreadable eyes of the King of the Underworld, but with something softer. Quieter. His gaze flicked to the side the moment she caught it, but she'd already seen it.
Hazel's heart rattled in her chest.
Last night had been a storm. And now, in the morning light of the Citadel, she felt like a traveler who had washed ashore on a foreign beach, clothes torn by the tide but still somehow intact. She had never expected to feel this way in this body—Hazel's body—but here she was, blushing like a girl reading a romance novel under her bedsheets.
She placed the goblet down with exaggerated care and forced herself to look anywhere but at him. The chandeliers. The carved pillars. The painted mural above them depicting ancient wars. Anything.
Hades remained silent. His long fingers tapped once against his cup, then stilled. His expression gave nothing away, but his jaw was tight. Hazel could see it even from this distance.
She cleared her throat, searching for something to cut the tension. "So," she began brightly, "your brothers… they, uh, visit often?"
Hades' eyes flicked to hers. "More often than I'd like."
"Why?" she pressed. "What do they get out of it?"
"They come to remind me of my place," he said simply. "To inspect. To meddle. To amuse themselves. Whatever reason they invent on a given day."
Hazel frowned. "That's awful. Why let them?"
A shadow of a smile ghosted across his mouth. "You think it's that simple?"
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to ask more. But the question burned anyway. "You're their brother. Shouldn't they…" she trailed off.
"Shouldn't they what?" His voice was quiet but edged with something sharp.
"Care about you," she said finally.
For a moment he looked at her as though she had spoken a language long forgotten. He turned his face slightly, the light from the tall windows slicing across his cheekbone like a blade.
Hazel stared down at her plate. The food had gone cold. She twisted her fork aimlessly, gathering and releasing, gathering and releasing. Anything to keep her hands from trembling.
This silence, she realized, wasn't just awkwardness. It was history. Heavy and jagged and spilling out between them like broken glass.
And yet she wanted to reach across it anyway.
"Hades," she said softly, "what really happened between you and your family?"
His eyes lifted to hers, and for a heartbeat she thought he might tell her. She saw it, just a flicker behind his gaze: a war of memory, guilt, rage, pain.
But then he stood.
He rose with the quiet grace of a predator, chair scraping softly against the marble. "You should eat," he said, voice polite but distant. "You need your strength for the day."
Hazel blinked up at him. "Wait, you're leaving?"
"I have matters to attend to."
"But—"
He inclined his head, the movement formal. "Later."
And then he turned, cloak whispering against the floor as he strode toward the doors.
Hazel's fingers curled tight around her fork. "You can't just keep running away from questions," she called before she could stop herself.
He paused at the threshold but didn't turn around. "It's not running," he said quietly. "It's… restraint."
The doors closed behind him.
Hazel stared at the empty space he'd left, heart beating a wild staccato.
She sat back slowly, feeling the cold marble of the chair seep into her skin. Her eyes drifted to the food she hadn't touched. Her mind churned.
Restraint.
That word echoed through her like a bell.
He had shown it last night too, hadn't he? Even in the storm of desire, he had hesitated. Asked for consent. Moved with care despite the hunger in his eyes. As though he was terrified of hurting her. As though some part of him believed he was nothing but destruction waiting to happen.
Hazel pressed a hand to her lips, the memory of his touch still lingering there.
Persephone had been right. There was something broken and beautiful about Hades, something no one else seemed to see.
But she did.
And it scared her.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. "What happened to you?" she whispered to the empty room.
The chandeliers swayed faintly above her, though there was no wind.
For the rest of the meal she sat alone, the taste of last night's passion still warm in her chest, and the cold reality of Hades' fractured bloodline coiling around her like smoke.