WHO: Apollo, Cin and Brody WHEN: Wednesday WHERE/WHAT At a drastic turning point for everyone involved WARNINGS: Gun violence
In the distance, high, high above the city of New York and only slightly less high above Apollo’s penthouse apartment, two dots were circling in the sky. The movement had caught his eye early in the morning – his right eye, his newest eye, to be specific, and he tilted his head this way and that, closing one eye and then the other. He hadn’t noticed any difference in sight between his eyes before now, but this morning he could definitely see the distant birds circling with his right eye, but he wasn’t picking them up with his left. Hmm.
He watched one-eyed for a while, curious, yes, but darkly suspicious. The idea that the eye stabbed out by the Muse of Tragedy was picking up a good sign was pretty much implausible, and when the birds swooped close enough for him to get a better look, that clinched it.
The birds were ravens, and they were spelling out a warning of death. Apollo didn't need Zeus around to clarify that. He gripped the edge of his balcony, his knuckles white and straining as he watched the birds swing South, and thought, furiously: no. A lot of people were South, but the one most at risk lately was Clio, and Apollo would rip the fucking city apart before he saw her harmed again. Lucifer? Was it fucking Lucifer?
But the birds didn't maintain their path South for more than a few gut-clenching minutes. Instead, they started to veer South-East.
There were a lot of people out that way, too, but few he gave a shit about.
One bird twisted violently in the sky, and fell, almost too fast to see, to the ground.
“Fucking fuck,” Apollo snapped at the sky, dread sharpening him like a whetstone, and he shot like an arrow down to his car.