He'd told Pandora to wait outside. "Stay," he'd commanded, as though the woman were a dog. Sometimes -- on good days, bright days -- Hephaestus forgot that he was a god and not a man. Pandora's presence brought it all back, shortened his long temper and lowered his voice into a deep, rumbling volcanic warning.
Not that staying calm had been easy as late. Allegra's (death) disappearance made that impossible. Talk with Sato was salt in an open wound, and the stubborn nature of elusive Hope left Hephaestus on the verge of something awful.
Be calm. Be gentle. You're dealing with fragile things.
It took more effort than he liked to not rip the bakery's door off its hinges. The mortals paused to stop and stare, for the Olympian walked on weak legs, but he was also a bear of a man, broad-shouldered and with arms that looked more apt to destroy than create. Hephaestus ignored the lot of them, focusing instead on what thin thread of Greek-familiar-god-hope he could sense. Once spotted, he pinned Elpis with his eyes.
Stay, he warned.
Stay, he pleaded.
It wasn't a long walk from door to table. It just felt that way.