ADRIAN

The dining hall still smells like wine and tension.

Everyone’s pretending the spill didn’t happen. The servants are scrubbing at the stain like it’s a sin they can erase, but the red only spreads deeper, darker. My brother’s laughter still echoes faintly in my ears, sharp, strained, nothing like him.

I watch Zeus storm out before dessert even hits the table, shoulders tight, jaw locked like he’s holding back something dangerous.

Something’s wrong.

I feel it in my bones.

I give it a minute before I follow, rising from my seat. “Excuse me,” I mutter, ignoring Father’s questioning look. The moment I’m outside, the air hits cold against my...