I sat on the edge of the mattress and put my head in my hands.
What the hell was wrong with me?
The bathroom mirror had shown me someone I barely recognized. Bruises marked my neck, scratches ran down my chest, and beard growth shadowed my jaw from days without shaving. My eyes looked hollow and fevered.
I looked like exactly what I was: a man coming apart at the seams.
My bag sat at my feet. I reached in and pulled out the only thing I'd taken from the catacombs besides the clothes on my back. My collar. The white tab and stiff fabric fit in the palm of my hand.
I'd worn one every day since my ordination at twenty-three, putting it on every morning and taking it off every night. It had been the physical reminder of vows I'd taken, the person I'd promised to be: celibate, obedient, devoted to God above all else.
I'd broken every single one.
The collar was clean, at least. It hadn't been around my neck when Lorenzo killed my father, when we'd fucked on that warehouse floor, when I'd bitten him. It was pristine. Innocent of everything I'd done.
I should have thrown it away, or left it in the catacombs with the version of myself who'd believed in redemption and divine calling and knowing the difference between right and wrong.
Instead I'd grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket like a talisman. Like some part of me still needed to carry it, even if I'd never wear it again.
I turned it over in my hands. The weight of it was familiar.
But that man was gone. That man had died the moment Lorenzo's hands had touched me and I'd wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted everything we'd done and more.
I set the collar on the nightstand and stared at it.
Through the walls, I could hear Lorenzo moving around in the living room, and Diego and Jasper talking in low voices. Normal sounds. People living normal lives.
Nothing about this was normal.
We headed out afterdark when the streets were crowded enough to provide cover. Lorenzo walked ahead with Jasper, not beside me. Every time I glanced at him, he was looking anywhere else.
Diego fell into step next to me. "You two need couples therapy."
"We're not a couple."
"Right. You just fucked on a warehouse floor and now you're doing this whole wounded gazelle routine." He lit a joint. "Very healthy."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Noted." He took a drag. "But for the record, Lorenzo looks like someone kicked his puppy, and you look like you did the kicking. So maybe think about that."
He moved ahead to walk with Jasper, leaving me alone at the back.
The humidity pressed down like a hand on my chest. Sweat stuck my shirt to my back. Every breath tasted thick and wrong.
We turned onto Bourbon and the crowds thickened. There were tourists everywhere, beads hanging from balconies and music pouring from every open door. Lorenzo navigated through them like water. I followed in his wake, trying not to lose sight of him in the chaos.
A woman stumbled into me, drunk and laughing. "Sorry, honey!"
I steadied her automatically, then looked up to find Lorenzo had stopped. He was watching me over his shoulder, expression unreadable. Our eyes met for half a second before he turned away.
The distance between us felt like miles.
"So this Oracle," I said when we'd moved to a quieter street. "Jasper said Zeus can't touch her. Why?"
Jasper glanced back. "She's a broker. Information, specifically. Been running her operation out of New Orleans for thirty years, maybe more. She knows everyone in the Pantheon's business. Every deal, every kill, every secret people are desperate to keep buried."
"How?"
