Mars sits cross-legged on the grass, plucking idly at her lyre. The golden light catches on her hair, almost making her glow, but her expression is far away. Luke leans against a tree behind her, arms crossed, blue eyes fixed on her as though memorizing every detail.

“Your timing’s off,” Luke says, voice casual.

She snorts. “You’re off.”

He smirks and drops down beside her, close enough that their knees brush. “I’m just saying—Apollo’s kid, you should have perfect rhythm.”

“Maybe I’m distracted,” Mars says softly, glancing at him. “You’ve been… different lately.”

Luke’s smile falters. “Different how?”

“You disappear for hours. You talk less. Sometimes I catch you looking like…” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “…like you’re somewhere else entirely. Somewhere I can’t follow.”

He looks away, jaw tightening. He hates how easily she sees through him. “Maybe I just have a lot on my mind.”

She reaches for his hand. “Then let me help carry it. That’s what we do, remember?”

The warmth in her touch is almost enough to undo him. Almost. But Kronos’s whispers are still in his ears — promises of tearing down the gods who left him and everyone else to suffer.

“You wouldn’t understand, Mars,” he says, softer now, but with a finality that stings.

Her lips press into a thin line. “I understand more than you think. You’re not the only one the gods have failed.”

Luke glances at her sharply, but her gaze is steady, almost challenging. The sunlight fading through the trees bathes her face in gold, and for a moment, he wishes they could stay here forever — no prophecies, no gods, no war.

But forever isn’t for people like them.

“Come on,” he says, forcing a grin and standing, tugging her up with him. “I’ll race you to the archery range.”