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After she left with Dionysus, he sat with Ilias.

“Those two fucked,” the satyr said.

“Finally,” said Hades, downing his whiskey in one swallow. “Did Hermes give you an update on the warehouse and the club?”

“Yes,” Ilias said. “It went up in flames last night.”

It was good to know, considering Hades expected retaliation from Theseus.

“I don’t know if I made the right decision,” he said. He knew that warehouse in the Lake District wasn’t the only place Theseus was storing weapons. He wasn’t that stupid, though he hoped it had made a dent in his arsenal all the same.

“I don’t know that there are right or wrong decision where we are headed,” said Ilias. “There are just decisions and their consequences.”

Hades supposed that was right.

Then he noticed how the satyr’s eyes shifted from him and widened. He sat up in his chair.

“Hades, the news.”

But he had already turned to see the headline flash across the screen:

Explosion and Shots Fired at Talaria Stadium.

Here was Theseus’s retribution.

Hades appeared in the middle of the chaos of Talaria Stadium.

The magic of the gods hung heavy in the air as they fought amid the sounds of horrified screams, clashing metal, and gunshots.

“Persephone!” Apollo screamed as a bullet struck her shoulder.

She staggered, and as she fell, Hades caught her, sweeping her up into his arms as she gave a guttural cry.

“I’ve got you,” he said and immediately took her to the Underworld, leaving the mayhem at the stadium to the other Olympians.

Fucking Fates.

How many times was this going to happen?

He set her on the bed, only having enough patience to help her out of her jacket. Once it was off, he tore her dress to reach and inspect her wound.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she said, the words slipping between her gritted teeth.

“I need to see if the bullet left your body,” Hades said. When he looked at her back, there was an exit wound.

“Let me heal it,” she said.

“Persephone—”

“I have to try,” she argued. “Hades—”

He forced himself to step back, though he wanted to do it himself. He was faster and it would make him feel better. Of all the times she wanted practice, why now?

“Do it, Persephone,” he barked. He had not intended to sound so hostile. This couldn’t be any easier for her. She was the one who was hurt, but he couldn’t help panicking.

She took deep breaths and then closed her eyes. He watched her wound for any signs that her magic was working, growing frustrated the longer she just lay there bleeding.

“Now,” he said, impatient, but he saw her magic at work as the wound began to close.