The city had shifted in rhythm since that morning on the balcony.
Three days had passed, enough for the news of "Poseidon's jealousy" to trickle through the divine and mortal networks alike, whispered half in awe, half in mockery. For once, Elias didn't mind the gossip. The rumors served their purpose: to set the stage.
From the outside, everything looked normal. The sun had climbed high above the glass skyline, turning the sea into a sheet of fractured light, and the wind carried the soft, metallic tang of salt and ether. Victor and Poseidon had disappeared to "attend negotiations," which in truth meant they were already executing their roles.
Victor was the shadow, the storm that moved unseen, his presence scattered across half a dozen ether signatures. Poseidon was the noise, the spectacle of divine tension, commanding waves to tremble just enough to draw attention. Between the two of them, the ocean had become a theater, and Elias was the bait quietly writing from its edge.
