Athena’s POV
I can’t feel my toes.
They're still there—I think—but they’ve gone numb from dragging across the cold tiles. The soles of my feet left little pink smears behind us, like some pathetic breadcrumb trail. That’s all I am right now. Meat and blood and silence.
They dressed me like a doll. A dead-eyed porcelain puppet wrapped in white linen. The fabric clings to me, damp from the wash and thin enough that it leaves nothing to the imagination. Not even shame.
I should be used to shame by now.
The guards shoved me through the wide double doors into Isabella’s sitting room like I was a delivery. No words. Just the stink of sweat and iron and cheap soap.
Then they left.
And I was alone.
With her.
And him.
Raphael stood near the fire, hands tucked behind his back like he was o
