"Not right now." He pressed his forehead against Ken's, both of them just breathing for a second. "Right now you're freezing and you've got blood on your hands and none of the rest of it matters until you're warm."
The penthouse hit differently after everything — the warmth, the velvet curtains, the hum of the city somewhere far below. Ken stood in the living room and felt the wrongness of how normal it looked.
Hades disappeared toward the kitchen. Ken sat on the sofa and stared at nothing.
He came back with a tray. The pastries — the exact ones that had scattered across the bedroom floor in Hell — were somehow perfectly recreated, steam rising off a cup of tea beside them. Ken looked at them and then looked at Hades.
"How."
"Sit down and eat something."
"You just lost your throne and you made pastries."
