Qebhet opened her mouth to say she was fine, sorry, she was just tired, late nights, sorry, but the lie of it was so transparent, the excuses lodged unspoken in her throat. Instead, she gave a wordless nod, managed an "Okay," and "thank you," before sinking heavily onto the bench.
They were dead.
She didn't know when the realisation had dawned, but she felt the impact shudder through her now, driving the blood from her face, turning her cold.
Kaden was dead, and Hecate was dead. The boy she'd promised to protect and the friend she'd promised to help. They were dead, bodies strewn at the bottom of a remote gorge or by the side of a highway – whatever it was Ares did with the people he murdered – with nobody to cleanse them or bless them or sing to them, nobody to guide them over the threshold or usher them back.
Stars. They were dead, and she was sitting here waiting for a lamb pita.