Across the city, in the bright sunshine of the arts district, Ken was walking back from a sandwich shop.
He had a paper bag in one hand and a soda in the other, his mind still half-lost in the painting he'd been working on that morning. The red needs to be darker, he thought. More like blood. Less like Valentine's Day.
He turned the corner onto a street lined with small cafes and boutiques. There was a restaurant up ahead—a familiar one. He'd worked there once, years ago, before everything changed. Before Hades.
Ken's stomach turned at the memory. His old boss. The man who had lent him money when his mother was dying. The man who had then invaded his dreams, taunted him, made him feel crazy. Ken hadn't known then that Delvon was a patron of Death. He'd only known that something was deeply, terribly wrong.
And then Hades had found out. And Delvon had gotten that scar on his face.
