Rex let the silence stretch, thick and poisonous, watching with predator-like focus as each name landed like a fresh blade twisting in Apollo's chest.
He could see the gears turning behind Apollo's bloodshot eyes, the horrifying realization dawning as the list moved from strangers to allies to something far more intimate.
"And your mother," Rex finished, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that somehow carried further than his earlier screams. "Amelia."
The name hung between them like a guillotine blade.
The color drained from Apollo's face in slow, nauseating degrees, leaving him a ghastly, waxen pale beneath the dried blood spatter. His mouth opened, his throat working convulsively, but no sound came out, only a pathetic, wet wheeze.
The divine energy still clinging to his skin didn't flare with power; instead, it shuddered and flickered like a dying lamp, responding to the full body tremor that now wracked his frame.
