The dust motes in the library didn't dance; they hung suspended in the heavy, stagnant air, like the city itself was holding its breath.
The assignment Ellyn was given, what can kill a god, seemed to possess a physical weight, a jagged edge that cut through the silence. The three of them stood in the center of the vast, shadowed hall, the silence stretching until it felt brittle.
Eris looked at Aldwin, her gaze flat and unyielding. She didn't blink. She didn't soften her expression. She simply corrected the premise of the entire conversation.
"We are not going to kill a god old man," she said. Her voice wasn't raised, but it carried a finality that brooked no argument. It was a statement of fact, a boundary drawn in the dirt. She wasn't interested in the hubris of deicide; she was interested in the mechanics of a tragedy.
