The tears had dried on your cheeks by the time you settled beside Persephone in the garden, but your eyes were still red, your golden hair slightly tangled from your frantic escape. You sat in silence for a moment, the scent of night-blooming jasmine and moonflowers hanging in the warm air around you, wrapping you like a blanket.

Persephone let you sit. She always did. She understood that kind of hurt—hurt that came from someone you loved deeply. Someone who could wound you not with violence, but with carelessness.

“I didn’t even do anything wrong,” you whispered finally, your voice hoarse. “I mean, maybe I did, but I don’t even remember what we were fighting about. One minute we were fine, and the next… I was saying things I didn’t mean. And then he said that.”

Persephone’s lips pressed into a line. “Heimdall’s an ass.”

You startled a laugh, broken and breathy. “He’s… not always. He’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated men are only appealing until they start acting like gods’ gift to women.”

You glanced sideways at her, and she raised a brow. “What? I’ve been married to Hades for centuries. You learn a thing or two about brooding immortals who think their emotions are more important than yours.”

That made you laugh again, and this time it didn’t hurt.

Persephone shifted on the bench, pulling you gently until your head rested against her shoulder. “You always see the best in people, Zara. That’s not a bad thing. It’s what makes you you. It’s what makes you beautiful.”

“But it also makes me easy to hurt.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But don’t let that make you hard.”

You blinked, staring out across the underworld garden. The soft glow of will-o’-the-wisps drifted between rows of silver-veined leaves, and in the distance, the soft lapping of the Lethe filled the silence.

“I brought him muffins,” you murmured. “Blueberry ones. His favorite. I even put honey in them because he likes them sweeter than most people do.”

Persephone turned toward you, frowning softly. “And he made you feel small for that?”

You hesitated. “He was mad, too. I could see it in his eyes, but instead of saying sorry, he said… that he wouldn’t be lonely long. That plenty of women would gladly warm his bed.”

The words still echoed in your head, like a cold slap. Heimdall’s voice had been low—dangerously smooth. You remembered the way his purple eyes had narrowed, a flash of something cruel in them.

And you hated how it still made your heart ache.

Persephone’s hand was warm on your back. “That wasn’t just cruel. That was intentional. He wanted to hurt you. And baby, that’s not love.”

“I loved him.”

“I know. And maybe he loved you in his own way. But he didn’t see you. Not really. He saw your power, your lineage, your beauty—but he didn’t look closely enough to see the girl who bakes muffins when she’s sorry. Who laughs too loud when she’s nervous. Who spends hours in the garden whispering to plants like they’re old friends.”

A lump formed in your throat again, and you swallowed hard.

“He never asked about the scar on my wrist,” you said, quiet. “Or why I flinch when someone raises their voice. Or why I braid my hair three times every morning. He never noticed the small things. Not like…”

You trailed off. Persephone gave you a knowing look. “Not like someone else might?”

You gave her a half-hearted glare. “Are you seriously matchmaking already?”

She grinned. “Of course. Aphrodite’s already compiling a list of potential suitors. I told her you need someone soft. Someone present. Someone who doesn’t see your light and try to bottle it, but someone who wants to bask in it.”

You snorted. “That sounds so unrealistic.”

“Oh please. You think I’d let my favorite sister-daughter settle for anything less than legendary?”

You gave her a weak smile, your fingers plucking at the hem of your dress. “I don’t want another Heimdall. I want someone who actually likes who I am. Who likes that I cry during sad songs and bring food to people when I don’t know what else to do. Someone who likes my muffins.”