The hotel suite was quiet in the way storms are quiet, the air charged, waiting for the next strike.
The glass balcony doors were thrown open, sea wind sweeping through the room like it wanted to escape too. The ocean below was calm again, but it was the calm of something watching. Somewhere deep beneath it, Poseidon lingered, but not close; there was only so much divine rage one could share a coastline with.
Victor stood near the window.
He had shed the robes of ether, the crowns, and the skeletal radiance, but the god had not gone anywhere. The human shape was only a courtesy. His jaw was tight, his posture cold, and his eyes too bright to pass for mortal reflection. He hadn't spoken since they returned.
Elias sat on the couch, one knee drawn up, his wrist resting loosely on it. The bracelet pulsed slowly in counterpoint to his heartbeat, a physical reminder of who held his life and whose life he held in return.
The silence stretched. It tasted metallic.
