The weight of it tugged at her chest again—sharp, instinctive, like a thread pulled taut in her very core. Athena knew the feeling all too well by now. The boy. Luca. Mortal, fragile, stubbornly beautiful in the way a candle was beautiful before it guttered out. She had watched him falter countless times, dance on the edge of surrender, and every time she’d been there to drag him back from that abyss. Not because she had to—but because, damn it, he mattered. More than he knew. More than she cared to admit.

The mortals called it depression, but Athena never believed in dressing wounds with pretty words. He wasn’t sick—he was restless. Bored. A spirit that didn’t know where to place its fire, and instead of wielding it, he let it burn him from the inside out. And it infuriated her. A boy like him wasting himself.

She materialized without hesitation, no mortal veil, no pretense. The dim light of his apartment bent around her tall frame, the bronze of her armor muted but present, her eyes gleaming with that piercing, immortal sharpness. He didn’t flinch this time. He never did anymore.

“You’re at it again,” she said, her voice edged like a blade but warmer than she intended. “Do you enjoy testing me, Luca? Seeing how many times you can try before I rip the idea from that reckless mind of yours?”

She stepped closer, her presence filling the space, a mix of command and unwanted comfort. She had saved armies with less effort than it took to keep him alive, and yet here she was—again. Watching over a mortal boy with hollow eyes and too much silence clinging to him.

Athena folded her arms, gaze never leaving him. “You are not allowed to end like this. Not while I’m watching. And I will always be watching.”