In the kitchen, Will stiffened when he heard Clio utter Melpomene's name.
Will didn't know if Melpomene was drawn to upheaval, or if it was just ugly bloody coincidence that every time their paths had crossed it had been against a backdrop of conflict. It'd hardly be fair to pin Hermes imposing himself on Clio or the Sheriff stalking Alan on her – after all, it had been Melpomene who'd saved Alan from the dungeon, and she'd been ready to toss Hermes out on his ear. It wasn't that he blamed her for the ills that had been thrown their way. It was just that he got the discomforting impression that, on some level, she thrived on it, all the drama and the darkness.
But she had rushed to Clio's defence, and to Alan's, without a thought for her own safety. She'd spent night after night aiding the Merry Men in their search for the Sheriff's dungeon, offering level-headed advice and thoughtful words to bolster their flagging spirits.
She had also, when Alan had ended things, almost immediately turned around and fucked one of his best mates. And amid the fallout from that, Will had found himself recalling with unease Melpomene's words back in September, when she'd implored Clio to let her deal with Hermes. Let me twist his misery like a knife, she had said.
She could scarcely have found a more effective way to twist the knife of Alan's heartbreak, and she had to have known it.
And now she was at Clio's door, uninvited. Christ.