Hephaestus let him take the paper back, it only been to draw his attention away from his work. He settled into his chair, steepling his fingers and gazing at Pygmalion. He was a cocky, arrogant fool, and Hephaestus was going to topple him from his pedestal and remind him, who, exactly, was responsible for him even having his gifts in the first place.
"No," he rumbled at last. "Merely confirming my suspicions. And to remind you that talents are a gift from the gods, and they can be taken away just as easily." His smile was as cold as ice. "And yours fall directly under my patronage. So I would tread carefully, if I were you."