Page 112 of Hades

“My mother does that sometimes.”

The words were casual, but something about her tone shifted. Not enough that most people would notice. I noticed.

I’d spent decades listening to what people didn’t say.

“Does she?” I asked.

Lettie’s smile stayed in place. “In her own way.”

That meant yes. But not in a way worth discussing. Or maybe not in a way Lettie wanted to discuss with me.

I let it go.

For now.

“This soup is wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“Brock eat it?”

Her cheeks colored slightly. “Brock eats anything I put in front of him.”

“That sounds like Brock.”

Her eyes softened before she could stop them.

There it was.

I’d seen women look at men with lust. With pride. With possession. With the desperate hope of being chosen.

Lettie looked at Brock like she was terrified of how much she wanted to believe him.

“He’s different with you,” I said.

Her hand froze around her spoon. “Different how?”

“Quieter.”

She looked surprised. “Brock?”

“Yes.”

“Most people wouldn’t call him quiet.”

“Most people don’t know what quiet means in a man like him.” I leaned back in my chair, studying the girl who’d somehow walked into our clubhouse and become the center of Brock Davis’ world before any of us had time to brace for it. “Brock has always felt deeply. He just learned young not to let most people see it.”

Lettie lowered her gaze.

“He loves harder than anyone realizes.”

Her fingers tightened around the spoon.

I let the words sit between us.

Outside the porch, Cerberus stretched out near the steps, head on his paws, eyes still open. Chickens clucked somewhere beyond the garden fence. A breeze moved through the basil, carrying the scent of herbs, warm earth, and flowers.

For a moment, I could almost pretend the world was gentle.