Page 179 of Hades

What I let him see.

“You know what the real problem is?” His voice had gone almost conversational, like we were friends sharing secrets over coffee. “People don’t understand legacy. They think it’s about blood. About names. About who your father was.” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the chemical tang on his breath. Something artificial. Amphetamines, maybe. “But legacy is about vision. About understanding what needs to be done and having the balls to do it.”

I let my chin tremble. Let another tear slide down my cheek. “Please,” I whispered. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

His smile widened. “Because you’re going to die knowing exactly what you died for. What the Gods of Mayhem took from me.” He crouched down to eye level, the knife resting against his thigh. Then he stood abruptly and turned away, walking to the workbench.

My hands were bound in front of me, zip-tied at the wrists. Tight enough to bite. Loose enough that I could move my fingers. Loose enough to reach my necklace.

Zander grabbed a plastic water bottle from the workbench, his back to me, muttering something about keeping me conscious. About needing me awake when Hades arrived.

Three seconds. Maybe four.

My fingers found the small glass vial, warm against my skin. I yanked the vial free from the chain.

Zander turned back toward me and I dropped my hands, letting them fall into my lap, the vial hidden between my palms.

“You’re thirsty,” he said. He wasn’t wrong. My mouth tasted like copper and dust. My throat burned. I nodded, small and hesitant.

“Can’t have you passing out before Hades arrives.” He twisted the cap off the bottle and held it out. “Need you conscious.”

I took it. My hands trembled as real fear and desperation played across my face. The zip ties bit into my wrists as I brought the bottle to my lips, taking small sips. Enough to wet my throat. Enough to look compliant. Grateful. When I pulled it away, I kept the bottle in my bound hands.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded, satisfied, and turned back toward the workbench. “You know what Kronos told me once?” His voice drifted as he paced. “He said the key to breaking someone isn’t pain. It’s hope. Making them think they might survive.” He was caught in his own words, his own philosophy, his back to me.

Three seconds. Maybe four. My fingers deftly twisted the wax seal. Zander kept pacing, still talking. “That’s what I’m going to do to Hades. Let him think he’s getting close. Let him think he’s going to save you. And then⁠—”

I tilted the vial and let the liquid slide into the bottle I still held. Silent. Invisible. Done. I tucked the empty vial into my skirt between my legs. Zander turned back to me, his eyes finding the bottle in my hands.

“You still thirsty?” He smiled like he’d caught me in something.

“Please don’t take it,” I begged quietly. Humbly.

He walked over and snatched the bottle from my hands. Brought it to his lips without hesitation. Drank in long pulls, emptying it in one go. I watched his throat work. Watched him swallow. Watched the poison enter his system. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Should’ve drunk more,” he sneered. “Where was I?” He turned back to his pacing. “Right. Hope. The key is⁠—”

He stumbled, then caught himself against the workbench. “Fuck.” He shook his head, blinking hard. “Must be the adrenaline crash. Been running on—” His hand spasmed. The knife clattered to the concrete.

“What—” He stared at his hand. Then at me. “What did you⁠—”

“The water,” I said quietly.

His eyes went wide. “You—you couldn’t have⁠—”

“I could.” I held up my bound wrists, the small vial between my fingers. “And I did.”

His gaze dropped to my chest where the necklace hung, now missing its small glass vial. He lunged, making it two steps before his legs gave out. He hit the concrete hard, hands slapping against the floor, breath coming in sharp gasps.

“It’s already in your bloodstream,” I said, my voice steady. Clinical. “You’ve got maybe five minutes. Then again, you aren’t anywhere near as big as Kraken, so probably less.”

“You—” He tried to push himself up. His arms shook before he collapsed. “You fucking⁠—”

The first convulsion hit. His back arched. Every muscle in his body went rigid. A sound tore from his throat, a half scream, half choke. Then he collapsed, twitching, gasping. I didn’t speak. Didn’t explain. Just watched.

Another convulsion. Harder this time. His head cracked against the concrete. Blood pooled beneath his skull. He couldn’t scream anymore as his jaw locked tight. His teeth ground together so hard I heard one crack. His eyes found mine. Wide. Terrified. Pleading. I didn’t look away.