Page 64 of The Brothers Bane

But her words falter, dying in her throat. Because he’s there, Chaos, lounging in the vault like it’s his own personal den, surrounded by glass cases and spotlights.

One half of the key to Olympus, that gleaming artifact of power, is in his hand.

He looks at me, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “A bargain is a bargain,” he says, the words smooth and self-assured. He steps forward, the key extended to me like an offering.

I don’t move. I can’t. This isn’t the plan; this isn’t how it was supposed to go. My mind races, trying to find the angle, the play he’s making.

The air in the vault is heavy, charged with a tension that’s about to snap. My eyes flicker to Chaos’ smirk, the self-assured tilt of his head that says he knows something I don’t. I brace myself, ready for whatever he’s playing at.

He steps aside, and there she is?—

Nemea.

My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes are wide, shimmering pools of sorrow that threaten to drown me. She’s out of place, dressed all in black among the gleaming riches of the vault, a poignant figure of regret and betrayal.

“I’m sorry, I had to…” Her voice trembles, each word a knife to my chest. “Pan and Campe don’t deserve what you asked of them. Too many sacrifices for my sake…”

I’m stunned, frozen. My team, my plans, my control—all slipping through my fingers like sand. How? When? My mind races, but there’s no time to piece it together. I can’t even look at her, not when her grief is a mirror to my own failings.

Chaos’ voice slices through the tension, cool and condemning, yet somehow smug. “Shame on you for forcing such a compromise from those whose trust you hold.”

His words sting, but it’s the disappointment in Nemea’s eyes that cuts deeper.

He turns back to her, his expression softening in a way that makes my skin crawl. The sight of him so close to her, so intimate, ignites a fury I’ve never known. It’s a raw, primal thing that claws at my insides, demanding action.

But I’m rooted to the spot, a statue in my own story. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I’m the warden of Tartarus, a primordial being of chaos and strength. Yet here I stand, powerless and undone by the one person I never wanted to hurt.

Nemea’s eyes meet mine, and I see it—the pain, the apology, the resolve. It’s a silent conversation, a moment suspended in time. I want to rage, to fight, to take back control. But the truth is a heavy chain around my neck, and I have no choice but to bear its weight.

I nod, a subtle acknowledgment of her choice, her sacrifice. It’s all I can offer her now; all I can muster in the face of Chaos’ smug triumph.

He’s won this round, and we both know it. But the game’s far from over.

“Now, my dear,” Chaos says, his voice a velvet caress, “tell me what your favorite ice cream flavor is.”