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The stench of garbage and stale beer filled her nostrils. “I do not care.”

“You’ll never get to him. His ghouls will?—”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“Finnian has no weakness. You can’t possibly?—”

Naia snapped around, her nerves cut by the ends of their strings.

Theon’s boots skidded on the pavement to keep from crashing into her.

“I am so sick of people telling me what I can and cannot do! It’s my choice. Mine. So, either fuck off or help me.” Her last sentence caught her off guard, as she never thought she would command strangers to go away in such an obscene manner. It seemed harsh, but she reckoned it was precisely something Ronin would say. The fact some of his qualities had rubbed off on her was agitating. Though a bit of the tension had released in her chest.

Theon blinked at her. “You’re angry.”

“Your observation skills are truly riveting.”

“It’s pointless to act on anger.”

Naia appraised him once more through the streetlight casting into the shadow-spilled alleyway. The mask revealed only a small part of his upper face. Which would make sense, given if he spent most of his time with Ronin. It would be a safety measure. A way to avoid Ronin’s blood on his skin. Not to mention, a way to hide his true appearance without glamor.

She cocked her head at him, her breathing regulated, and interest piqued. “Are you a mage?”

Theon’s gaze narrowed on her.

“You seem to be close to Ronin, and yet, in the week I’ve been here, I haven’t seen you once.” She took a step closer, riding off the sureness deep in her gut.

There was something familiar about his aura. Not as strong as a High God’s, but subtle, similar to a floral fragrance mixing in a fleeting breeze.

“Your point?” His tone was the equivalent of an eye roll, dull and barely interested, but there was a flare in his eyes Naia didn’t miss.

“You are a god,” she said. “It’s why you’ve avoided me all week. Afraid I might pick up on it.”

He remained silent, glaring firmly at her.

Naia shook her head, confused. “I thought Ronin despises deities. Why would he befriend one?”

“I’d ask you the same question. He doesn’t step foot into the High God of Witchcraft and Sorcery’s territory for just anyone.”

She frowned, folding her arms. It hadn’t occurred to her how difficult it must’ve been for Ronin to accompany her to the charity event. Especially knowing about the massacre they had walked into.

“Ronin and the Blood Heretics despise what deities stand for,” Theon said. “As do I.”

Their eyes locked, and she could see the haunting remnants of centuries of sorrow etched in his expression. Similar to what she saw in the mirror in her own gaze.

If he were a god, he was more than likely a middle god, which meant he could transport. Not only that, but he probably knew where Finnian was.

“I hate the lot of them too,” she huffed. “You don’t have to like me, but think of it this way, if you take me to Finnian, I will probably end up confined or taken away by another one of my despicable siblings, which means I will be out of your hands.”

A beat passed before Theon sighed, the sound muffled by his mask. He stepped around her to continue down the alleyway. “I won’t wait for you, so keep up.”

She took long strides to match his pace as he led her through a maze of dark-lit alleyways. One seemed to stretch on forever, with the sight of loiterers huddled in corners and makeshift tents made of torn, ragged blankets. Naia couldn’t help but gawk, the sight squeezing her heart.

“Why are they…?” Naia’s pace slowed, internally wrestling on a way to help them.

“They’re homeless.” Theon made no move to stop and dwell on their socioeconomic state alongside her. “You’ll find the crevices of the city aren’t as shiny as the main streets. Turmoil exists everywhere, Lady Naia, not just in our world of deities.”

She caught up to him. “You know who I am.”