Page 139 of Hades

She didn’t worry about me during the other fifty-one weeks. But during Harvest Week, she performed concern like it was part of the ritual.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you?” Her eyes sharpened. “Because it seems to me, you’re getting involved with dangerous people.”

“They’re not dangerous.”

“They’re bikers.”

“So?”

“So bikers bring trouble. Violence. Chaos.” She leaned forward. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The concern in her voice felt so familiar now. Five years of hearing it during this week and this week only. Five years of wondering what it meant.

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

“Can you?” She sat back. “I wonder.”

The conversation ended there. She finished her breakfast in silence, then stood and carried her plate to the sink. Rinsed it. Set it in the dish rack.

Just like she did every year during this week.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said. “I think I’ll sit on the porch for a while. Get some fresh air.”

She walked out before I could respond.

I sat at the table, staring at her empty chair, feeling the weight of five years of unanswered questions pressing down on me.

Cerberus whined.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”

The rest of the morning passed in that familiar haze of unease. I worked in the garden, harvesting lavender and chamomile, but my hands moved on autopilot while my mind circled the same questions it circled every year.

Why only Harvest Week?

What does this festival mean to her?

What is she waiting for?

Because that was what it felt like. Waiting. Anticipation. Like she knew something I didn’t. Like this week held significance I couldn’t see.

I’d tried asking directly, years ago. She’d looked at me with those cold eyes and said, “Some things are better left alone, Violet.”

So I’d left it alone.

But the questions never stopped.

By noon, I’d worked myself into that state of low-grade panic I’d learned to expect during Harvest Week. My chest felt tight. My stomach churned. Every sound made me jump.

When I heard the rumble of Brock’s bike, I nearly dropped the basket of herbs I was carrying.

Cerberus barked once. A greeting, not a warning.

I set the basket down and walked around the side of the house. Brock was already off his bike, his eyes scanning the property like he always did.

Looking for threats.