"Sir Geomary," Hyperion whispered, a faint crease forming between his brows as unease settled over his expression. He turned slowly toward his son, the movement deliberate, and let out a quiet sigh that carried more weight than his words. "What exactly had he said?"
"About the experimentation," Hades replied evenly, watching him with careful attention, "and how there were no children truly born from a world tree miracle."
Hyperion's gaze sharpened, though his voice remained measured. "And did he admit that I knew anything about this so called experimentation?"
It was, by all accounts, a clever question, one meant to test and corner, until Hyperion would reveal something vital. But what lingered in Hyperion's mind was not the realization that he had been maneuvered into the admission. It was the way Hades had smiled at him, slow and knowing, as if the answer had already been decided long before the question was asked.
