I’m sorry, Philotes. It seemed to echo through the apartment, and it took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t a true echo. They’d both spoken the words. Somehow, that just made her feel worse, though it made no logical sense. Perhaps it was the feeling that it must be really bad if Philammon, who had been all but glaring at her moments before, was suddenly sympathetic.
When the bit of material caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, she accepted it without question or notice of where it had come from. She simply took it, lifting it to wipe at her eyes. But that motion ended up with her face buried in her hands, her cries barely muffled by the handkerchief, as she let her emotions overwhelm her. The loss of her dear and beautiful Artemis hurt deeply. But far, far worse was the realization that her sister had been right, and what that meant she was going to have to do.
Taking slow, deep breaths, she fought to get her sobs under control. Lifting her head, she turned the crumpled handkerchief in her hands, finding a dry corner to rub against her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… you must be…”
Another deep breath and a silent reminder that speaking worked better when you were coherent. Her voice was husky and raw from crying, but composed. “I have definitely come at a bad time. And I didn’t mean to intrude on your grief. I apologize.”
The small, damp scrap of fabric was twisted between her fingers, her eyes watching it knot and unknot. Unable to look at either of them. Her family had done this. Her brothers had killed their aunt. That Missy was her friend was incidental, at least to them. No wonder Philammon was so hostile. Underworlders attacked his family, and then one had shown up on his doorstep.
Was this how it was going to be with those she cared about as well? She knew she going to encounter suspicion and anger because of what her brothers were doing with those that didn’t know her. But her friends… would they react that way as well? It was an incredibly selfish thought, and Frienship was ashamed for having it, but it was hard to avoid with the examples standing right beside her. Asklepios, calm and measured, reassuring as he always was. And Philammon, who’s pain was nearly radiating off of him in waves.
There was no way she could avoid the truth in Nem’s words. No way she could ignore how this was going to affect those she loved and cared about, whether they were related by blood or not. She loved her brothers, but what they were doing was wrong, and it hurt her. Just look at what Akheron and Moros had…
Moros.
Asklepios had said something about Moros.
About Moros and Artemis.
With alarm in her eyes, she looked at her friend. “Doc? Did you say that Moros… dragged her away? Does he… does he still have her?”
Lottie knew that what Moros had, if he had anything at all, was nothing more than the shell that Artemis had inhabited. Nothing of her friend would remain. But still, proud as the Huntress was, to know that Moros…
Whatever she was imagining, even knowing how dark and twisted that particular brother could be, whatever she thought he might have done, the true horror was she knew she probably wasn’t even close. If Moros had Artemis, then Philotes needed to somehow retrieve the body so that it could be accorded the dignity and respect that Missy would have demanded and deserved. It was the least she could do for her friend.
Quietly she murmured, speaking to herself rather than the others nearby. “I have to get her back.”