Theon almost jumped out of his chair when the office door slammed open. Ares stormed in looking like violence wrapped in expensive silk. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, and his eyes dark with something far worse than anger. He crossed the room without greeting Theon and dropped heavily onto the couch near the window.
Theon slowly closed the file in his hand. "Well," he drawled, leaning back in his chair, "where are your manners?"
Ares didn't answer. And that alone was enough to make Theon pay attention. Normally, Ares would have replied with something dramatic or annoying or a funny expression. Instead, he sat there staring ahead like he wanted to punch through the wall.
Theon studied him for another second before placing the file aside completely. "What's wrong with you?"
Ares exhaled sharply through his nose, then dragged a hand down his face. "You were right."
A small grin tugged at Theon's mouth immediately. "I usually am."
