Not from hunger.
From the silence.
Then, it begins to recede.
And warmth returns slowly.
The lights steady.
The shapes at the edge of the room vanish, leaving only the cabin and the low crackle of the hearth.
Hades lowers his hand, and the cold lingers inside me, thin and sharp, but the bloodlust stays quiet, subdued beneath a layer of stillness that feels darker than peace.
“Well?” he asks softly.
My voice comes out rough, unsure, fucking terrified. “It… it felt like… standing on the other side of something.”
A faint curve touches his mouth. “You didn’t cross over. That’s what matters.”
Hesitating, my eyes meet his. “What were those things?” I ask, and Rogue jerks his head back in confusion at my question.
“What things?” he asks, but neither Hades nor I responds to him.
Hades exhales, dipping his head. “They’re the beings that are with me every second of every day.”
My shoulders slump as I sit forward, reaching out for his hand. His eyes widen, as if he is shocked by my forwardness. “They never leave?”
He shakes his head, and the thought breaks my heart. “Jesus, I bet you’d kill for just an hour of alone time?”
A flicker of a smile hints at his lips, and he clears his throat. “That’s not in the cards for me.”
Here I am, feeling sorry for myself and my situation, when this guy is living with literal ghosts following him everywhere he goes.I guess I don’t have it so bad after all.“I’m really sorry, Hades.”
He slowly pulls his hand from mine with a gentle nod. “It is all I have ever known. I think silence would be deafening.”
I weakly smile at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Thank you… for helping me. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, Charlotte,” he says, then turns and walks out of the room.
I slump back into my chair as Rogue spins to me, raising a brow in curiosity. “What?” I ask.
He lets out a small chuckle. “I have no clue what just happened, but I think that is the most Hades has ever said to another human outside of the club since I have known him.”
I shrug with a smirk. “Technically not human anymore.”
“Still… what the hell happened?”
“Let’s just say, he has a lot of ghosts surrounding him.”
Rogue furrows his brows. “Is that like a metaphorical thing or—”
I shake my head, and he lets the question drop.
We sit with it, the fire burning, and my hands slowly return to warmth. Rogue stays quiet, makes no move to fill the space with reassurance or ask me to explain what just happened. He stays. I am slowly learning that this is a thing he does. He doesn’t rush me through the aftermath of anything.
An hour passes—maybe more. The trembling settles. The bloodlust, which had gone almost completely silent under Hades’ pulse, begins to whisper again, but at a volume I can ignore.
When I finally lift my head, Rogue is watching me the way he always is now, calibrated, present, patient.
