Eve
A man stepped into view from the hallway's shadow—tall, midnight hair swept back in sharp, deliberate strands, the same dark as Hades'. But the resemblance ended there.
Because where Hades was fire forged into control, this one was ice laced with poison.
His suit was pressed to perfection, deep navy against skin the color of polished onyx, but the collar open just enough to reveal the curling tips of tattoos—arcane, intricate—snaking up from beneath like something alive.
The inky lines on his face did nothing to distract from the striking insidious aura is face exuded.
His steps were soundless on the concrete.
But I heard them.
I felt them.
Like a warning bell beneath my skin.
"What the hell is this?" I barked, my voice low and brittle. My spine straightened despite the pulse kicking in my throat. "Why is he here?"
Cain didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
That smile—Gods, that smile—was enough.
