Maybe a whole lot.
I don’t want to be reminded that what I’m standing in the middle of is real. That gods aren’t bedtime stories, and vampires aren’t just monsters in books.
Orpheus watches my face closely.
“The Underworld has always had factions,” he continues. “Creatures who believe power should be taken, not inherited. Creatures who resent bloodlines and the old laws.”
I force my expression to stay neutral.
I’ve heard this before.
I’ve heard whispers in candlelit rooms. I’ve heard ancient women mutter about the old ways and the new blood and the ones who would burn the whole realm down if it meant they got to sit at the top.
I’ve heard it. I’ve seen it. I’ve survived it.
Orpheus takes a step closer.
“Being his son didn’t make me untouchable, no matter whether I’m immortal or not,” he says. “It made me a target.”
I swallow. “Because they think you’re ruling like him.”
His eyes flicker. “Yes.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist again.
Not because I pity him, but because I understand him more than I want to.
I shift my weight, trying to keep my voice steady. “So people challenge you.”
“They always have,” he replies. “They always will.”
“And you kill them.”
He doesn’t flinch. “When it’s necessary.”
I think of the head. The body collapsing.
“How do you decide?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His gaze sharpens. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious,” I say, and it’s partly true. “Because you spared the rest. Why?”
“So, they’d make mistakes,” he corrects. “So, they’d lead me back to whoever is guiding them.”
A pulse of unease rolls through me.
“Someone’s guiding them,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“I don’t waste certainty,” he says.
I stare at him. “Then what now?”
Orpheus’s gaze drifts to the door, like he can see through it, like he can see the entire club, the city, the alley, the shadows.
