Six

"Good morning, missie!"

A loud clap startles me awake.

I groan, blinking against the harsh sunlight that spills into the room as Callum throws the curtains wide open. The sudden brightness stings my eyes, and I bury my face in the pillow with a muffled complaint.

"Why are you so loud?" I grumble.

Callum laughs, utterly unbothered. "Rise and shine! It's a beautiful day, and you're wasting it by sleeping."

I roll onto my side, glaring up at him through squinted eyes. His silver hair practically glows in the sunlight, and his ocean-blue eyes are far too full of morning cheer. It's unbearable.

"'Missie,''Little mouse'," I add. "Just how many nicknames do I need?"

Callum leans against the bedpost, grinning. "What can I say? We're just excited to have our very first guest in the manor. It's been dull around here."

I sit up slowly, rubbing my face. "Glad I could provide entertainment."

He claps his hands again. "Exactly! Now, get up and get dressed. Breakfast is waiting, and trust me, you don't want to miss it."

I sigh, but there's no use arguing. Callum is like an unstoppable force of energy, and resisting him feels impossible.

As he strides toward the door, I flop back onto the bed dramatically, but he only chuckles. "Five minutes, little mouse. And don't make me come back in here."

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with the sunlight and the lingering remnants of sleep.

I sit at the edge of the bed, staring at the dress laid out for me. Soft ivory fabric, delicate embroidery along the hem—elegant, refined. And completely impractical.

I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

Whoever picked this must assume I'm the kind of woman who enjoys corsets and silks. I scan the room, searching for my own clothes, and spot them neatly folded on a nearby chair. The sight of them—the worn white shirt, leather pants, and sturdy boots—fills me with relief.

Without hesitation, I grab them and change, sighing as the familiar fabric settles against my skin. The dress might be beautiful, but I have no intention of prancing around like some delicate noblewoman. Pants allow me to move, to run if I have to.

Once dressed, I yank my boots on and stride toward the door, pulling it open.

Callum is leaning casually against the wall outside, arms crossed, waiting.

The moment he sees me, his jaw practically drops.

"Gods above," he mutters, eyes raking over me with blatant shock. "You're still wearing that?"

I arch a brow. "Is that a problem?"

He blinks, then lets out a dramatic sigh. "Well, there goes my vision of a well-dressed lady gracing our miserable halls."

I smirk. "Sorry to disappoint."

Callum places a hand over his heart, feigning deep sorrow. "Truly, little mouse, I am devastated."

I roll my eyes. "Are we eating or not?"

Callum snickers, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. This way, then. But don't be surprised if the others have a thing or two to say about your... attire."

I don't care. Let them talk.

As we walk through the dimly lit halls, Callum falls into step beside me, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets.

"So," he drawls, casting me a sideways glance, "did you sleep well? Or did the ghosts of the manor keep you up?"

I shoot him a look. "Ghosts?"

His lips twitch with amusement. "Oh, didn't Hades tell you? This place is crawling with them."

I roll my eyes. "Right. And let me guess, they wander the halls wailing in agony?"

He gasps, placing a hand over his chest like I've just mortally wounded him. "You wound me. I would never be so cliché." Then he grins. "But if you hear whispering in the middle of the night, don't say I didn't warn you."

I shake my head, unimpressed. "I think I'll take my chances."

He hums, clearly entertained by my skepticism. "Shame. I was hoping you'd come running into my room for protection."

I snort. "Unlikely."

Callum just chuckles, his laughter warm and easy. It's strange, this lightheartedness. The way he teases me so effortlessly, as if we aren't in the middle of something much darker—something far more complicated than he lets on.

Before I can dwell on it too much, we round the corner, and a set of grand double doors appears before us. Callum pushes them open with a flourish, revealing a long dining table stretching across the room. The walls are lined with dark wooden panels, and at the far end of the table, lounging in one of the chairs with all the ease of a king on his throne, is Hades.

And he's already watching me.

As I step into the dining hall, my gaze flickers past Hades and lands on the man seated to his right.

His skin is tan, his hair a light brown that falls just past his ears, and his eyes—green, sharp, assessing—follow my every move. Not with intrigue, not with disdain. Just... observation. Detached. As if he's already measured me up and found nothing particularly noteworthy.

Callum strides past me and pulls out a chair beside Hades with an exaggerated bow. "Your seat, little mouse."

I hesitate, casting another glance at the silent stranger before lowering myself into the chair. Callum slides into the seat next to me, grinning like this is all some grand performance he's enjoying far too much.

"Good morning," Hades says, his voice smooth, unrushed.

I glance at him. He's leaning back slightly, one arm draped lazily over the chair's armrest, his dark eyes scanning me in that unreadable way of his.

I don't respond immediately. My attention shifts to the long table, where plates of food are already set—warm bread, fresh fruit, steaming cuts of meat. My stomach twists, reminding me just how long it's been since I last ate.

Then, the man with green eyes finally speaks. "You're not what I expected." His tone is flat, expression unmoving.

I arch a brow. "And what exactly did you expect?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing."

I frown. What is that supposed to mean?

Hades chuckles beside me, low and knowing. "Don't mind Kieran," he murmurs. "He's just not used to surprises."

Kieran. So this is the man Callum was speaking to last night.

I study him again, but he doesn't return the scrutiny. His attention has already shifted elsewhere, as if he's decided I'm not worth the conversation.

Charming.

Callum, sensing the tension, claps his hands once. "Well, now that we're all acquainted, let's eat. Don't want our little mouse starving, do we?"

I roll my eyes but reach for the bread anyway. One thing is clear—whoever these men are, they're far from ordinary.

The meal carries on in awkward silence, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. I focus on my plate, pretending not to notice the way Kieran's sharp gaze flicks toward me every so often, as if assessing whether I even belong here.

Then, finally, he clears his throat. "Where did you find this one?" His voice is even, but there's something in it—curiosity, skepticism, maybe even irritation.

I pause mid-bite. This one?

Hades exhales slowly, setting down his knife and fork with deliberate care. "Kieran," he says, his patience thinning, "don't."

Kieran leans back in his chair, unfazed. "She's sitting at our table. She's eating our food. Shouldn't she at least know what we are?"

A strange tension thickens the air.

I lower my utensils, glancing between them. What we are?

Callum hums, breaking the quiet as he slices into his meat. "I think the real question is—does she want to know?"

That earns him a sharp look from Kieran.

I feel the weight of their attention shifting toward me, as if they're waiting to see how I'll react. But Hades is the only one who doesn't turn, his jaw tight, his grip still resting on his utensils.

Kieran's stare remains fixed on Hades. "Does she?"

Hades finally looks at him, dark eyes calm but unyielding. "That's not your concern."

Kieran lets out a slow breath, like he's biting back words. "It becomes my concern when you keep bringing in strays."

Strays.

Hades holds Kieran's gaze, silent for a long, simmering moment. "Enough."

And just like that, the conversation is over.

Kieran shakes his head but doesn't push further. Instead, he reaches for his cup, muttering something under his breath before taking a slow sip.

The tension is still thick between them and my mind starts piecing things together.

Hades isn't just one of them. He's their leader.

The way he speaks, the way Callum and Kieran listen, even when they don't like it—it's clear. He's the one they follow. The one whose word carries weight.

But what kind of group are they?

A brotherhood? A pact? A secret council?

I glance at them again, taking in their stark differences—Callum, light and playful; Kieran, sharp and severe. And then Hades, who commands without even trying. Who exerts control without raising his voice.

My gaze lingers on him longer than I mean to.

Because, beyond everything else, Hades is the most—

The tallest.

The most charismatic.

The most dangerous.

There's something in the way he moves, in the way he exists, that makes it impossible not to notice him. Even now, as he silently drinks from his cup, utterly at ease, it's like the entire room bends around him.

And then there's the scent - a mix of lavender, wood, and mint.

I caught it in the maze, but it's stronger here. Impossible to ignore. It fills the air between us, weaving through my thoughts, curling around my senses. It's intoxicating. Familiar, in a way I can't explain.

I shift in my seat, pushing the feeling away.

Because whatever pull I feel toward him—whatever strange awareness lingers between us—I can't let it distract me.

Not when I still don't know who they really are.

Callum suddenly leans back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, breaking the heavy silence. "Well, I'd say we've done an excellent job of making our guest thoroughly uncomfortable."

He gives me an easy grin, but the attempt at lightheartedness doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Shall we try again? I, for one, would hate for our first guest to think we're all brooding shadows lurking in a decrepit manor."

Kieran scoffs. "Speak for yourself."

And just like that, the tension creeps back in.

Kieran shifts his gaze toward me, his green eyes sharp, assessing. "Let's just get to the point. What was your real reason for joining the trial?"

A dull clang echoes through the room.

I glance toward Hades just in time to see him drop his utensils onto his plate. He stares blankly at the table, unmoving. His expression is unreadable, but something about it makes my pulse stutter.

He knows. I can feel it in the way his shoulders have tensed, in the way his fingers curl slightly against the wooden surface.

Still, I lift my chin.

I won't hide it.

Not from them. Not from him.

"I entered the trial to find my sister," I say, voice steady. "She was taken. Stolen from me. I knew if I got past the trials and was chosen, I'd have a chance to get inside, to figure out where she is." I exhale sharply. "And if I had to destroy everything in my path to get her back, I would."

Silence.

Callum, for once, isn't smiling.

Kieran studies me with a look I can't quite place.

And Hades—Hades still hasn't moved.

A long pause stretches between us before Callum finally speaks.

"What's her name?" His voice is different now. Quieter. Almost careful.

My brows pull together at the sudden shift. "Fayne," I say.

The moment the name leaves my lips, I feel it.

The change. Like the very air in the room has thickened, pressing down on all of us.

Hades' fingers flex against the table, his head tilting just slightly as if processing something unspoken. Kieran exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath. And Callum—Callum leans forward, his usual lighthearted demeanor completely gone. And in that moment, I know. They know something.