The map table had become the center of everything.
Not because anyone had declared it so. Because Athena stood there, and Athena was the only one who understood the fractures well enough to explain them. For three days—or what passed for days in Heaven's broken twilight—she had worked without sleep, tracing the silver lines, recalculating the stress points, sending Hermes to check and recheck the anchors.
Zeus had stayed near her. Not helping. Just present. The chaos around his wrist had quieted to a slow pulse, like a heartbeat that refused to speed up or slow down. He watched. Listened. Said little.
