Page 169 of Hades

“He’s right there,” Zander said. “He’ll see you. I’m just getting you out of the crush.”

I looked toward Brock again. He wasn’t far. That mattered. He wasn’t gone. He was right there, broad shoulders tense beneath his cut, head turned toward Zeus, one hand lifted as if giving an order or stopping one. He was less than ten feet away. Ten feet was nothing.

Zander guided me around the edge of the booth. I let him. That was the terrible part. I let him because he didn’t feel like danger. Because my head was full of names that didn’t fit. Because my mother’s sobs crawled under my skin. Because Rykard looked like a man bleeding out in public and Apollo looked like the boy my stolen life had ruined. Because Brock had been solid all morning, and for one breath, I believed solid things stayed where you left them.

The crowd swallowed us in three steps. Noise folded around me. Bodies pressed close. A woman with a stroller cut between us and the booth, then two teenage boys with snow cones, then a cluster of women turning to stare back at the commotion. Zander’s hand moved from my elbow to the center of my back, not pushing, just... steering.

“This way,” he murmured.

I followed because there was a gap there. Shade between two booths. Less noise. Fewer faces. My heart beat wrong.

Brock.

The thought came late. Too late. I turned my head, but the booth had disappeared behind a wall of people. Balloons. Smoke from the barbecue stand. A yellow banner whipping in the wind.

“I need to go back,” I said.

“In a second.” Zander’s voice stayed gentle. Calm. “You’re shaking.”

I looked down. I was. My hands trembled at my sides, fingers curled like I’d been holding on to something that wasn’t there anymore. Brock’s hand. Panic flickered. Not a full flame, just the first lick of heat under my ribs.

Zander guided me between the quilt booth and the honey table, past a stack of folding chairs and into the narrow service lane behind the vendor tents. The noise dropped so suddenly it felt like sinking underwater. The backs of booths were uglier than the fronts. Cardboard boxes. Coolers. Extension cords. Trash bags tied to posts. A woman counting cash inside a trailer. A man smoking near a generator. Ordinary. So ordinary. That was why I didn’t scream. Nothing had changed enough for screaming.

“Zander,” I said.

He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

“I need Brock.”

The words steadied me. Brock. Not Hades. Not the VP of the Gods of Mayhem. Just Brock. His hand on the back of my neck. His voice in the dark. “Need me. I can handle it.” His mouth against my hair when I woke from bad dreams I refused to name. The way he drank tea from my hands and stayed. My breathing hitched. I stopped walking.

Zander stopped too. For the first time, his hand didn’t fall away. It stayed at my back. A little too firm. My skin prickled.

“I need to go back now,” I said.

“Of course,” he replied.

But he didn’t turn around. He smiled instead. Not wide. Not cruel. Not anything dramatic enough to explain the cold suddenly crawling up my arms. Just a small, patient smile that didn’t match the man who bought lavender every fall.

“Zander.”

“It’s loud back there,” he said. “Too many men. Too many people pulling at you.”

My mouth went dry. “Let go of me.”

His hand shifted. Not off. Around my wrist. The grip was still gentle enough that anyone watching might think he was steadying me. That made it worse. Danger should announce itself. It should bare teeth or raise a fist. It shouldn’t wear a familiar face and speak in a calm voice.

I pulled back. His fingers tightened. There. There it was. Too late. My heart slammed into my ribs.

“Don’t,” I said.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Every part of me went still. Because that was what people said when hurting had already begun. I looked around. The service lane had emptied without me noticing. The woman counting cash was gone. The smoker near the generator had turned the corner. The festival noise was still close, but muffled by canvas, trailers, and distance. Close enough to feel safe. Far enough that no one was looking. I had walked myself out of sight. No. He had walked me.

My breath came too fast. Brock will notice. He’ll turn, reach back, find air where I was, and the world will end for whoever stands between us. Hold on to that. I clung to the thought with both hands.

Brock will notice.