The morning sun had only just begun to spill over the hills when Apollo stepped out into the pasture, his golden hair catching the light like a crown. Normally, this was his favorite part of the day—surveying his herds, the cattle and sheep he so carefully tended, proof of his divinity and superiority. They were his pride, his perfection made flesh, every last animal a reflection of his own brilliance.

But today?

His jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t crack. The field stretched before him in quiet emptiness, not a single hoofprint or bleating voice left behind. Every last one of his precious cattle was gone. Vanished. Stolen.

The god of light stood there in stunned silence, his golden eyes narrowing until fury sparked behind them. He was Apollo. God of prophecy, music, the arts—and this was how he was repaid? Someone had dared to rob him, to humiliate him, to touch what was his?

And then he heard it.

The faint creak of a hammock swaying in the breeze.

Apollo turned, slow and deliberate.

There, sprawled lazily in a hammock he had no business being in, was his baby brother. Hermes. Barely three years old, with curls sticking in every direction and tiny winged feet twitching as if even in sleep he couldn’t sit still.

Apollo’s hands curled into fists. The nerve of the brat. A three-year-old god of thievery—his brother—had stolen every last one of his cattle. He should have been furious enough to scorch the earth around him, but instead, Apollo found himself caught in that infuriating tug of softness.

How could something so wicked look so utterly harmless?

He stepped closer, his voice low, sharp, and filled with restrained venom. “Hermes…” His tone was silk stretched thin over steel. “If you value those tiny little wings of yours, you will wake up this instant and tell me what you did with my cattle.”

Apollo’s light burned brighter across the field, a god’s wrath barely restrained—yet the way his gaze lingered on the sleeping child betrayed the truth: his fury warred with something softer, something he’d never admit aloud.

Because even as he prepared to unleash divine judgment… he already knew he was going to let the little thief get away with far too much.