Page 155 of Hades

“I know you are.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice so only she could hear. “But you don’t have to prove it. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

Her eyes searched mine, looking for something. Control, maybe. Or the promise that I wasn’t trying to take over.

“I need to do this,” she said finally. “It’s my booth. My products. If I’m not the one setting it up, it doesn’t feel right.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to make her sit down and watch while we handled everything. Lettie wasn’t weak. But I saw the way her hands trembled slightly from the need to maintain control over the one thing that was entirely hers.

So I made a choice.

“Compromise,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of compromise?”

“You arrange everything. Touch every jar, every bottle, every fucking soap bar if you need to. But the heavy crates? The lifting? That’s on us.” I gestured to Pegasus and Memnon. “They carry; you direct. You still control your booth, but you don’t break your back doing it.”

She considered that, her eyes flicking to the prospects standing a few feet away, waiting for orders.

“They don’t touch the products,” she said. “Just the crates.”

“Deal.”

“And I arrange everything myself.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She nodded slowly, then looked at Pegasus and Memnon. “Bring the crates to the table. Set them down gently. Don’t drop anything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pegasus said immediately.

Memnon just nodded and moved toward the truck.

I watched them work. Watched Lettie direct them with quiet authority, unpacking each crate with careful precision, arranging jars by size and type, placing tincture bottles in neat rows, stacking soaps in small pyramids.

Everything had a place. Everything had a purpose.

Her mother sat in the folding chair at the back of the booth, silent, watching the street with that same unsettling energy.

By the time the sun was fully up, the booth was ready. Jars gleamed in the morning light. Herb bundles hung from hooks along the tent frame. Soaps sat wrapped and labeled. Tinctures lined up like soldiers.

Lettie stepped back and surveyed her work. She nodded once, satisfied.

Pegasus and Memnon positioned themselves at the edges of the booth. Not hovering. Just present. Watching the crowd gather.

I stayed close to Lettie, my hand at her back as the morning passed in a blur of activity.

Women approached with questions. Lettie answered each one with patience and care. An older woman asked about arthritis salve. A younger one whispered something about anxiety. A mother wanted something to help her daughter sleep.

Lettie never judged. Never questioned. Just listened and offered solutions.

I watched her work. Watched the way she softened her voice, her posture. The way she made people feel safe enough to ask for help.

This version of Lettie was different from the one I knew in her kitchen. Softer on the surface. More accessible.

But underneath, I saw the calculations. The way she assessed each person who approached. The way her eyes tracked movement in the crowd even while she smiled and answered questions.

She was always hunting. Always watching for threats.

Just like me.