The first thing Gwen noticed wasn’t the sword — it was the stillness. The Sword of Thanatos rested at his side like it belonged there, but he didn’t lean on it, didn’t posture, didn’t reach for attention the way most warriors did when they walked into Mythos. He moved like someone who knew exactly how much strength he carried and had no need to prove it. No divine shimmer clung to him, no god’s presence hovered at his shoulder — just quiet resolve and the kind of restraint she’d only ever felt in the rarest relics that had survived centuries without breaking. For once, her fingers didn’t itch to read the past; she wanted to know him the human way, uncertain and unguarded. When his gaze met hers, steady and unclaimed, something in her chest softened instead of bracing — and before she could overthink it, before Nike’s whisper or Olympus’ weight could interfere, she stepped closer and said softly, “Come home with me.”