It was too soon for Phobos to have returned from Concept, but her thoughts kept returning to him. Although they had not formally married, Phobos called Styx' family his own now and she agreed with his decision to slip away from the war. He had been in almost the same position as she - divided - but he had the option of leaving. Styx would have gone as well, if she believed for a second that it would be seen as anything other than betrayal or abandonment of her duties. Too embroiled in both Olympian and Underworld affairs, Styx had no choice but to stay and find her own way out of fighting either one side, the other, or her children.
The end solution was a betrayal of her children's trust, and she knew it. But between abusing their trust and the possibility of being called to fight against them, she knew which choice was the right one. She'd not hesitated to make it, and it was only through Akheron's kindness that she'd not suffered physically. Fuck, though, if she wasn't suffering now.
Staring at the black polished floor in her temple in the Underworld, Styx clenched and unclenched her fingers rhythmically. Deimos' expression across their parents' table was still too fresh in her mind. The fury with which Bia had taken herself from that meeting. The way her sons felt at her side. Intermittent bursts of bright hatred emanated from Akheron, piercing her thoughts with bittersweet sharpness. As of yet, no one knew what had passed between him and her. But Phobos would need to know. When he returned. When he returned...
She stood abruptly from the edge of the table where she'd been sitting. Leaving half herself in the temple to await her children or Akheron or both, she bilocated to Phobos' steps on Olympus. A note, in case she wasn't free to go to him...Yes. A note, a cowardly fucking note. Her eyes burned green with loathing.
And that was when she noticed that the steps were not empty.