Hela's figure remained formed inside the extinguished fireplace, motionless like a statue made of shadow and cold. The living half of her face showed no hurry. The other half seemed to carry all the dry patience of a corpse that had already heard far too many excuses. Freya stood rigid before her, still trying to process the sentence.
"Frey entered Helheim without my permission," Freya repeated, as if saying it again could make it make less sense. "That should not be possible."
"I know," Hela replied.
Her voice was low, but seemed to cross the room like a thin blade. Aphrodite was still sitting on Vergil's lap, but her posture had changed. Her body was more upright, one hand still holding Freya's old comb, the other resting on Vergil's chest to keep the bridge stable. Vergil sustained her presence without moving, watching Hela carefully.
