Page 63

I woke to cold sheets against my skin, my lungs seizing with the immediate, crushing certainty that he was gone.

"Luka?" I called, my voice echoing through our empty sanctuary. The artificial dawn of the Acropolis filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the rumpled bed where I'd held him just hours before.

Love. That's what it had been. Not passion or physical connection, but something deeper, more profound.

The way he'd clung to me, whispering "I love you" over and over like a desperate prayer.

The way his tears had dampened my shirt as I'd held him.

I'd known it was goodbye even then, but couldn't bring myself to shatter our last moments together with futile arguments.

The special dinner. The memories of Bosnia he'd never shared before. The visit to the sanctuary. The way he'd kissed me, as if memorizing every detail. It all made terrible, perfect sense now.

"No, no, no," I muttered, throwing off the covers and searching the suite with increasing desperation. No note on the counter. No message on my phone. Nothing but the lingering scent of him and the ghost of his touch on my skin.

He'd gone after Prometheus. Alone. Just as I'd feared he would.

I was still standing frozen in the middle of our living room, mind racing through possibilities, when a sharp knock echoed through the suite. I yanked open the door to find Lo, looking uncharacteristically serious in all-black tactical gear, his usual flashy accessories nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" I demanded, grabbing Lo's arm and pulling him inside. "Where did he go?"

Lo disentangled himself from my grip. His face, normally animated with mischief or exaggerated drama, was solemn in a way that sent ice through my veins.

"It's not good, doc," he said, dropping onto our couch. "He did it. He went after Prometheus, like we knew he would."

"And? What happened? Is he—" I couldn't bring myself to finish the question.

"He's alive," Lo said quickly, holding up a hand. "But he's been detained by Rhadamanthys and taken to Tartarus."

The relief of knowing Luka was alive collided with fresh terror. "Tartarus? What does that mean?"

"It means," Lo explained, his face grim, "that he's being held in the Pantheon's maximum security detention facility until the tribunal."

"Tribunal?" I echoed, my mouth dry.

"Three days from now," Lo confirmed. "Just like Rhadamanthys said. Luka killed Prometheus—one of the Seven—one of the organization's directors. In our world, that's somewhere between high treason and deicide. "

My legs finally gave out, and I sank into the chair opposite him. "What does that mean for him? Are they going to—" Again, I couldn't finish the sentence, the possibility too horrific to voice.

"Not yet," Lo said, leaning forward. "The Pantheon operates on tradition and protocol, almost to a religious degree. The tribunal will determine his punishment... or his vindication."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to think clearly despite the panic threatening to overwhelm me. "So Prometheus is dead," I said.

Lo nodded. “Dead as can be.”

“And Ana?”

"Rhadamanthys has her in protective custody as a material witness for the tribunal."

"How do you know all this?" I asked.

"I have contacts," Lo said vaguely. "And I've been monitoring Pantheon communications since Luka left. As soon as I learned he'd been taken, I called in every favor I could."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a small metal disc, no larger than a poker chip. "Which is why I have this. A temporary visitor's pass to Tartarus. We can see him, but only once before the tribunal."

Hope flared in my chest, bright and painful. "When?"

"Now," Lo said, standing. "The transport is waiting, but we need to move quickly. The pass is only good for the next four hours."

I was already heading for the bedroom to change. "Give me two minutes."

"Vincent!" Lo's voice stopped me at the threshold. When I turned back, his expression was uncharacteristically gentle. "Prepare yourself. Tartarus isn't... it isn't a pleasant place. "

I nodded once, sharply, and went to get dressed. Whatever awaited us, I would face it for Luka. He'd given up everything to protect me; I wouldn't abandon him now.

The Tartarus facility burrowed deep beneath the Acropolis, the elevator plunging so far down my ears popped painfully three times before we stopped. The air changed as we descended, growing colder, staler, tinged with something metallic that coated my tongue and made my skin crawl.

"How did you get this access?" I asked as the elevator plunged deeper than I thought possible.

Lo's smile was tight. "Let's just say I have friends in places both high and very, very low. And everyone owes Luka a favor, whether they realize it or not."

The elevator finally stopped with a soft chime that seemed incongruously pleasant, given our destination.

The doors opened onto a circular antechamber where two guards in matte black tactical gear stood flanking another doorway.

Their faces disappeared behind obsidian visored helmets, their bodies unnaturally still except for the synchronized rise and fall of their chests.

They didn't fidget, didn't shift weight from foot to foot like normal humans.

They stood as if they'd grown from the floor itself, exuding the cold efficiency of predators who never needed to rush because prey never escaped.

Lo approached confidently, presenting his visitor chip. One guard examined it while the other ran some kind of scanning device over both of us.

"Visitor clearance confirmed," the first guard announced, his voice mechanically filtered through his helmet.

"Forty-five minutes authorized. No physical contact with the detainee.

No exchange of items. All conversation monitored.

Any violation of protocol will result in immediate termination of visitation privileges. "

Termination of privileges, or termination of us? I wondered darkly, but kept the thought to myself.

The second door hissed open, revealing a long corridor lined with what appeared to be cells, though they looked more like high-tech capsules than traditional prison bars. Most were empty, their transparent fronts revealing sterile white interiors.

At the far end, in the final cell, a figure sat on a simple bench. Even from a distance, I would have recognized him anywhere.

Luka.

The moment I saw him, my heart nearly stopped. Without thinking, I rushed forward, outpacing the guard, who called sharply after me. I didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting to him.

When I reached the transparent barrier of his cell, I pressed my palms against it, the cold surface shocking against my feverish skin. "Luka," I whispered, my voice cracking open like thin ice.

He rose from the bench immediately, wincing with the movement but pushing through the pain.

His face showed evidence of his violent struggle with Prometheus—bruises blooming purple and black across his cheekbone and jaw.

The bullet graze at his side had clearly gone untreated.

But what struck me most was his expression—alert, calculating, unbroken despite everything.

He pressed his hand against the barrier to mirror mine, our palms separated by mere inches of transparent material that might as well have been miles.

"Vincent," he murmured, leaning his forehead against the barrier. I did the same, closing my eyes briefly, imagining I could feel his warmth through the cold surface between us.

"Forty-five minutes," the guard reminded us before retreating to a position at the corridor entrance.

"Well, look at you," Lo said, his voice deliberately light. "Finally found accommodations worthy of your sparkling personality. Love what they've done with the place. Very minimalist chic. Very you."

Luka's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Didn't think they'd let anyone in," he said, his voice hoarse as if he'd been screaming. Or as if someone had tried to choke him. The thought made my hands curl into fists.

"We're here," Lo confirmed. "And I had to call in every marker I've collected since 2012 to get that, so make it count."

Luka nodded, then shifted his gaze fully to me. "Vincent," he said, my name carrying a weight of meaning I couldn't fully decode.

"You're hurt."

"I've had worse," he said, the familiar deflection somehow comforting in its predictability.

"No, you haven't," I contradicted gently. "Not like this."

He sighed, his hand moving briefly to the untreated bullet graze at his side, then wincing as the movement pulled at his injured arm. "It was worth it. I killed him, Vincent. Prometheus is dead."

I nodded, my brain clinically noting my contradictory responses: relief flooding my system with endorphins while dread simultaneously constricted my throat.

Classic trauma response. I'd probably diagnose myself with acute stress disorder if I weren't so focused on Luka. "You did it, Luka. You saved Ana."

Luka's expression shifted, a complex mixture of joy, pain, and disbelief crossing his features. "She remembered me. When she heard him confess what he'd done... and then she shot him."

"Shot him?" Lo interjected, leaning forward with sudden interest. "Ana shot Prometheus?"

"Yes," Luka confirmed. "She's the key, Vincent.

Her testimony about what he did to her, to both of us.

.. the Pantheon has rules about asset treatment.

He violated nearly all of them. And Prometheus wasn't just violating asset protocols. He was working against the Pantheon itself. He confessed to killing Apollo right in front of me. In front of Ana. He was talking about challenging Zeus.”

"Jasper thinks Zeus is planning some kind of internal purge,” Lo said. “His current theory is that Prometheus was his primary enforcer."