The suite was quiet when they returned, the kind of quiet that felt heavy rather than peaceful. The sea pressed faintly against the glass walls below, restless and whispering, the reflection of the city lights breaking across its dark surface.
Poseidon was gone.
Victor stood at the window, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a crystal tumbler that caught the glow from the city below. The alcohol inside wasn't just wine anymore; it was something stronger, a cognac that burned his worries down.
Behind him, Elias slipped out of his jacket, tossing it over one of the chairs before unbuttoning his cuffs. He didn't say anything right away because he knew Victor's mind worked when it became too still. The air between them was thick enough to hum, with a faint scent of salt and ozone, a remnant of godhood that never faded.
"You're quiet," Elias said at last, his tone mild. "That's not a good sign."
