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Hazel tried to read, to distract herself with the weighty tomes stacked in her chambers. She had tried to speak with Miriam, who fussed over her hair and clothes as if nothing had happened. But her mind returned again and again to his face at the table—stone-hard, expressionless—and the single word he'd left her with.
Restraint.
It rattled around her skull, refusing to leave her in peace.
And so, when night descended over the Citadel, she found herself wandering.
Her silver hair caught the glow of the wall torches as she moved through long halls and down winding staircases. She didn't know where she was going exactly—only that she felt him. His presence. Like gravity tugging her forward.
The path carried her to the northern wing of the Citadel. A place she hadn't explored before, the air colder here, the walls lined with tall obsidian mirrors that didn't quite reflect right. Shadows bent differently in them, as though the glass remembered another world.
And there, at the end of the corridor, she found him.
Hades stood in front of a set of iron doors she hadn't seen before. They were massive, etched with sigils so old she couldn't decipher them. His back was to her, his shoulders tense beneath his cloak. He wasn't moving, just staring at the doors as though they held the weight of centuries.
"Hades?" Hazel's voice was soft, almost swallowed by the dark.
He didn't turn.
She stepped closer, the cold seeping into her bare feet even through the carpet runner. "I looked for you."
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice quiet but dangerous, like distant thunder.
Hazel's heart thudded. "Why? What is this place?"
His hand flexed at his side. "A mausoleum of sorts."
The word made her stop short. "A mausoleum?"
He finally turned his head, just enough for her to see the hard line of his jaw. His eyes glimmered with a strange light, but his face remained carefully blank. "For Eliot."
The name rang in the air like a tolling bell. Hazel blinked. "Eliot?"
"My brother," Hades said, voice clipped.
Hazel's breath caught. She remembered the family tension at breakfast, the way Deus and Zion had smirked like men who knew how to twist a knife. She remembered Persephone's warmth, her strange loyalty to Hades where the others offered none. And suddenly, it clicked.
The missing piece.
"You lost a brother," Hazel whispered.
Hades' eyes darkened. "No," he corrected softly, his voice cracking at the edges. "I destroyed him."
Hazel froze, her pulse hammering. "What do you mean… destroyed?"
Hades turned fully now, his cloak sweeping the cold floor. His gaze pierced her, endless and unbearable. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."
"It matters to me," Hazel said firmly, surprising herself with the steel in her voice. "If it hurts you this much, it matters. Tell me."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched. The torches guttered, the air pressing tight around them. Hazel could see the war behind his eyes—whether to send her away or finally let the truth bleed out.
He exhaled slowly, his voice low. "My family has always… toyed with weakness. We were trained to devour it, in ourselves and in others. They—Deus, Zion—knew I was different. They used it against me. Pushed me. Mocked me. Manipulated me until something inside me… broke."
Hazel's chest ached. She stepped closer without meaning to, drawn by the weight of his words. "What happened?"
His jaw clenched. "Eliot was there. He… tried to stop them. Or perhaps he joined in—I can't remember anymore. All I know is that my restraint snapped. My power—" He cut himself off, fists curling tight.
"You lost control," Hazel whispered.
"Yes." His voice was like ice splintering. "And when the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of him. Nothing but ashes. My brothers never forgave me. Nor did I."
Hazel's heart twisted. She imagined it—Hades younger, maybe not yet hardened into the king he was now. Surrounded by those who should have loved him, torn apart by their cruelty, and then realizing he had killed one of his own.
No wonder his aura was a fortress. No wonder his family treated him as a monster.
And yet, standing here, she didn't see a monster.
She saw a man crushed beneath the weight of his own past.
Hazel reached out before she could think better of it, her fingers brushing against his clenched fist. His skin was cold, trembling faintly under her touch.
"It was an accident," she said softly.
His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and bitter. "An accident doesn't bring a man back from the dead. It doesn't erase the blood on your hands."
Her throat tightened, but she didn't pull away. "No… but it doesn't erase your humanity either. You were provoked. Manipulated. You were just—" she hesitated, thinking of Ariana's own family back in her world, the cruelty of people who should have protected her— "a boy in pain."
His eyes softened, just a flicker, before hardening again. "You shouldn't pity me, Hazel."
"I'm not pitying you." She swallowed, her voice trembling but sure. "I'm… understanding you. There's a difference."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Hazel could hear the pounding of her own heart, feel the warmth of his hand beneath hers. He hadn't pulled away. That alone spoke louder than words.
Finally, Hades exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "You shouldn't have come here," he repeated, but his tone was different now. Less warning, more plea.
"Maybe I was meant to," Hazel said softly. "Maybe you weren't meant to keep carrying this alone."
He stared at her for a long moment, eyes storm-dark and searching. Then, slowly, he turned back to the iron doors.
Hazel followed his gaze. The sigils carved into the metal seemed to glow faintly in the torchlight, as though they pulsed with buried grief.
"Eliot's tomb?" she asked gently.
"Yes." His voice was almost a whisper.
Hazel's chest ached. She wanted to ask more, to press deeper, but she could feel his limit. The wall was still there, even if it had cracked.
So instead she stood quietly beside him, her fingers brushing his until, at last, he let his hand close around hers.
For the first time since she had met him, Hazel felt the sharp edges of his darkness soften—just slightly.
And though the Citadel still loomed with its cold and shadows, she realized something in that moment:
Hades wasn't the monster his family painted him to be.
He was a man haunted by ghosts.
And she, inexplicably, wanted to face them with him.