The first thing Zeus noticed when he came to was the humming. Low, mechanical, constant. Like a fridge, or a generator. The second thing was the tape across his mouth.

He tried to move, but his hands were zip-tied behind his back and his legs were bound at the ankles. His head throbbed. He blinked against the dim light overhead—flickering, fluorescent, old. A basement maybe. Storage room. Somewhere meant to be forgotten.

Across the room, Poseidon was already awake.

His hoodie was gone. Blood crusted one side of his face, and his wrists were red from where he’d been pulling at the ties. He didn’t look scared. He looked furious.

Zeus made a noise, throat raw.

Poseidon’s head jerked up. “You good?” he asked, voice hoarse, like he’d already been screaming.

Zeus nodded, barely.

There was a speaker in the corner. It crackled. Then: “Time to earn it, boys.”

The voice was smooth. Calm. Like a teacher before a pop quiz.

“Door’s locked. But I’ll give you a way out. One of you makes it. Maybe both. Depends how quick you learn.”

A pause. A click. Then a loud clank from somewhere above them, like a latch being thrown.

Zeus didn’t understand yet, but Poseidon did. His expression shifted, just slightly.

He knew what kind of game this was.

Zeus didn’t want to ask. But he did anyway, once Poseidon yanked the tape from his mouth.

“What did he make you do?”

Poseidon didn’t answer at first. Just looked down at his hands. There was blood on them—but not his.

Finally, he said, “He gave me a knife.”

Zeus didn’t ask anything else after that.

They were just kids.

But kids who’d learned how to wait. How to not flinch. How to survive things that didn’t make sense.

This was just a new kind of silence. A new kind of storm.

And somewhere out there, someone was watching.