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to why I only asked for Kronos’s sickle. I think it unnerved them, but in the end they thought it was appropriate for who I am. For what I do. The way I figure, the weapon that the Tyrant used to castrate my uncle, to maim my elder brothers when he came to power, was a fitting reward. And if such a weapon can injure gods and kill lesser immortals,” Thanatos said, looking at her pointedly, “then surely it can handle a fucking abomination like your husband.”
    “But— he’s— if you and Hypnos are back, that means he’s—”
    “Did you not hear? Sisyphus escaped,” Thanatos said, setting the sickle against the wall. Merope paled in fear, panic seeping into her at the thought of her tormenter loose in the Underworld. He sauntered over to her, wings outstretched, his upturned arms presented to her. “But he was kind enough to gift me with these before he left.”
    Merope gasped, and cupped her hand over her mouth as she stared at the deeply pitted scars decorating his arms. “Are you alright?”
    “Mostly. Where it counts, at least,” he said with half a smile and his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Don’t worry about me, my lady. I’m a god; it won’t take long for the scars to disappear. By morning, I doubt you’ll even see them.”
    Merope was too distraught to catch his insinuation. “How did he escape?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me that.” Thanatos narrowed his eyes at her. “ When did Sisyphus learn how to bridge the divide between our world and the world of the living? What didn’t you tell us?”
    “I… I don’t know how he—,” she trailed off in fear. Nightmares of Sisyphus, Tartarus, the Keres, burning, screaming, choking… “Please, you must believe me! For the last eight years he hid everything he did from me! Don’t send me back to the Pit, I beg of you! I swear to you, I h-had… n-no idea he could-d…” Her words were lost. She broke down crying, tears obscuring Thanatos’s softening expression. “I…”
    “Shh…” Thanatos ran his hand along her cheek, cupping her face, trying to soothe her. She sobbed and shook and he felt her tears trickle over the back of his hand. He shook his head. This was not going the way he’d wanted, and he weighed whether or not he should even be here. Thanatos had spent the last month hunting down the sorcerer king, thoughts of Merope haunting his every step. He wasn’t used to waiting for women. For Thanatos, the time between desiring a willing woman and having them on their back was never greater than the span of an hour.
    Once he had returned to Chthonia, he’d waited three agonizing days at his king’s bidding before coming here. Aidoneus had told him to wait until Sisyphus was in Tartarus. And so he waited. Against every instinct he’d ever had, he waited, until she became a torment in his mind. Sisyphus was gone, and he wasn’t about to wait another month. Merope was killing him just as surely as he, Death, was the end of all things. He’d read all the signals she’d given him since the moment they met, her eyes examining him just as carefully as he had looked at her. But now, when he was so very close, she was hysterical and feared him utterly. What in Tartarus did that bastard do to you, Merope?
    “Merope, it’s alright. Look at me,” he said, waiting until her eyes met his. Maybe she was too damaged for what he really wanted. Or, he thought, maybe this was the perfect means by which they could both have some brief peace together and forget about the cruelties of the world above. Her deep hazel irises swirled in fear, then swam in relief when he studied her calmly. Another tear fell, caught between his fingers. He brought it to his lips and darted his tongue out to drink its saltiness, hoping that wasn’t the last taste of her he’d have this evening. “Merope, I’m not him. You have nothing to fear from me— ever. Even if you weren’t under the protection of the Queen.” He leaned forward and kissed