(Apollo)
Apollo let the threat hang between them for a moment, then sliced it neatly aside.
“But the mortal lived,” he said. “And she burned last night exactly the way I needed to see.”
Cael’s gaze flicked up, just once. “Then my interference did not harm your… experiment.”
There it was again—that infuriating, clean logic. Disobedience framed as service.
Apollo studied him the way he’d study a blade he’d just discovered a hairline fracture in. Trustable. Useful. Potentially deadly if mishandled.
“The girl’s flame is rare,” he said at last. “And I’m not finished with it.”
The word girl scraped against his teeth. Once, he would have said mortal or subject or, on a merciful day, vessel. Once, everything that bled in his realm had been a resource, a lesson, a warning. Never
