The entire second floor of Block C was suffocatingly silent that morning.
Clarisse, Milo, Gavin, and Rowan exchanged tense glances as they gathered in the observation room, careful to keep their voices low. Rowan had just finished debriefing them on the latest intelligence gathered from one of their trackers, but it was clear Hades wasn't listening.
Because he was in a mood.
A terrifying, volatile, explosive mood.
The kind of mood that made even trained killers nervous.
The air vibrated with barely contained violence. His presence radiated a pressure so heavy it seemed to crush the oxygen itself. His face was carved in stone — blank, unreadable — but his eyes… his eyes burned with sharp, flickering irritation, as if something beneath the surface was clawing to get out.
His lips were a thin, bloodless line.
His usually fluid, precise movements had turned rigid. Tense. Like a coil wound too tightly.
And oddly enough — this morning — he had chosen wine.
Not coffee.
