Page 103 of Hades

Lettie’s eyes narrowed slightly. She was smart enough to read between the lines.

“Not just Kronos, but a man named Morpheus,” I continued, keeping my voice level. “Everyone in the underworld knows he’s her brother now. And that makes her a target.”

I watched her process that. Watched the questions form in her mind.

“People will use her,” I said. “To get leverage. To send a message. To hurt someone she loves.” I paused, letting that sink in. “With Kronos gone, she’s vulnerable in ways she’s never been before. No one’s protecting her but us, and we need to make sure she’s safe.”

She leaned back against the counter, her fingers going white as she gripped the edge. The weight of what I was saying crashed down on her. I watched it happen in real time, saw the moment her brain caught up to the implications. The moment she understood that Rhea’s vulnerability wasn’t just emotional. It was physical. Lethal.

Her jaw tightened. “You’re saying people want her dead.”

Not a question. A statement.

And fuck, I loved how her mind worked. How she cut through the bullshit and landed on the truth without me having to spell it out.

“I’m saying people want leverage,” I corrected. But the distinction was thin. Razor thin.

She was already there. Already understanding the implications without me spelling them out. That was the thing about Lettie. She didn’t need me to explain the darkness. She already lived in it.

She turned away from me. “I need to make her tea,” she said quietly. Changing the subject. Shutting down the conversation before I could push deeper.

I watched her move to the cabinet and pull down a tin. Her movements were automatic. Practiced. Like she’d done this a thousand times before.

She filled the kettle. Set it on the stove. A blue flame licked up the sides of the metal. The kitchen filled with the soft hiss of heating water.

Then she reached behind the sugar container, her fingers closing around something small. A small glass jar. No label.

She uncapped it. Tapped a small amount into the teacup. Just a pinch. Maybe less. Her movements were calm. Precise. Like she was measuring salt or sugar. Like this was just another ingredient in her mother’s afternoon tea.

The kettle began to whistle.

She poured the water over the powder. Stirred it with a spoon. The liquid darkened slightly as whatever she’d added dissolved into it.

This woman. My woman. She was so much darker than I’d realized.

And I was so fucking turned on by it.

She carried the tray laden with lunch and tea down the hallway to the woman who sat in her recliner and did nothing but yell and judge and make Lettie’s life hell. The woman who might have stolen Apollo’s sister. The woman who might have kept Lettie from her real family.

I leaned against the counter. Still processing what I’d just witnessed. The jar. The careful dosage. The complete absence of hesitation or doubt.

Because now I understood. This wasn’t just a woman who could be controlled or claimed. This was a woman who controlled everything around her. Who bent her world to her will through knowledge and precision and a complete lack of moral hesitation.

She was ruthless.

And she was mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lettie

When I returned from my mother’s room, the kitchen felt different. Quieter. The air had shifted somehow, like something had changed while I was gone.

Brock wasn’t leaning against the counter anymore.

He’d moved the plates to the table, setting them next to each other instead of across from one another. Close enough that our elbows would brush when we ate. Close enough that I’d feel the heat of his body through the entire meal.

He’d chosen our drinks and placed them beside the plates, pulling out the chair next to his. My throat tightened. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in my chest, spreading through my ribs like heat from a fire I hadn’t known I needed.