Page 125 of Hades

The name hit me like a fist to the sternum.

I kept my face still. Kept my breathing even. But my pulse spiked so hard I felt it in my throat.

Darlene Kessler.

I knew that name.

Knew exactly what she’d done.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said carefully. My voice came out steady. Curious. Nothing more.

Brock nodded slowly. He wasn’t looking at me. Just stared into his tea like it held answers. “Ran a place called the Willow Bend Girls’ Home.”

I set my mug down and pressed my palms flat against the table to keep them from shaking.

“What kind of place?” I asked.

“A group home,” Brock said. “For foster girls. Vulnerable ones.” He paused and took another drink. “Supposed to be safe.”

The word hung between us. Safe. Like Darlene had ever offered anyone safety. Like she hadn’t been a predator wearing a savior’s mask.

“That’s good work,” I said. “Places like that matter.”

Brock’s eyes lifted to mine then. Just for a moment. Long enough for me to see he was measuring something. Testing the waters.

“Coeus said she died of a heart attack,” Brock continued. “But the symptoms don’t match.”

My hands were trembling. I wrapped them around my mug to hide it.

“That’s awful,” I said.

Brock nodded slowly. “Yeah. Except Darlene wasn’t what she seemed.”

I looked up at him. Met his eyes.

He was watching me now. Not suspicious. Not accusing. Just watching.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Coeus dug into her background. Found complaints. Allegations that got buried. Social workers who said the girls came back worse than when they went in.” His jaw tightened. “She was selling them, Lettie. The vulnerable ones. The ones no one would miss. Funneling them to buyers under the guise of helping them.”

The room tilted.

I knew there was something wrong there. Knew the place wasn’t what it seemed, and Darlene had been hurting those girls. The discipline, the trauma. But I hadn’t known how bad it had been.

“That’s—” I started.

And then I said it.

The thing I shouldn’t have said.

The thing that gave me away.

“She deserved worse than oleander.”

Silence.

The kind that crashes. The kind that drowns.