Cassandra

The silence of Apollo's penthouse hangs heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the chaotic opulence of Minos's party just hours ago. My skin still prickles from the memory of the screams, the blood, the chilling realization that the city I've always detested is even more rotten and dangerous than I ever imagined. Being back here feels... surreal. Like stepping out of a nightmare and finding the waking world isn't much safer. I curl tighter on the plush couch, pulling my knees to my chest. The dress I wore feels wrong now, a flimsy costume from a play that turned terrifyingly real. Every time I close my eyes I see Pan on the floor, or Theseus standing over... well. I see it all again. The thought of Alexandra is a sharp ache in my chest. Getting her out was the plan. The only plan. And now everything has changed — because of that damn clause, because Minos decided to show his hand, because... because of him. Apollo. My gaze drifts toward the door, where I know he is, dealing with the inevitable fallout. He's kind. Genuinely good in a city built on manipulation and cruelty. And that makes him a target. A target I might have made bigger just by being near him, by choosing to stay. Hermes warned me. Practically begged me to run. Maybe I should have listened. Our deal was supposed to end with money and passage out of here. Clean break. But now I'm standing on shaky ground, in a city on the brink, tied to a man who embodies everything dangerous and desirable about this place — and the thought of leaving him, even knowing the risks, felt impossibly worse than staying. A shaky breath escapes her. She turns her head as you enter — and something in her face shifts. Not relief exactly. Something more complicated than that. "You're here." A beat. Then, quieter — the bitter edge of someone who has learned not to be surprised by abandonment: "Guess we're all trapped now, aren't we."