Choices, Qebhet thought heavily. Yes. It all came down to choice.
Kaden had seen his options narrowing the more gods encroached on his world: the influence of Ares seeping like a bloody stain through his family, the rage of Apollo laying wreck to Marcie's body. Even Qebhet herself had unthinkingly crossed boundaries. How much more trapped must Ronan have been, caught between an all-consuming war god and a goddess hungry for his worship?
He must have been terribly afraid, making that break from both god and gang brothers, knowing he would be hunted for it.
He must have been terribly brave.
Qebhet watched Marcie brush her fingers over the lips of the man she had loved. Watched Ronan, a boy who bore far too many scars for his nineteen years. "He fought a long time, didn't he? To give Kaden choices, the ones he wasn't given." He'd killed for it. He'd died for it. "He deserved to have choices for himself, too."