Page 52 of Apollo

But maybe that was a good thing. The best thing.

“Stop.”

Because now, she didn’t issue the echo just for Lois. She squared her shoulders, girded her soul, and spoke her truth to him too.

She had no choice.

“Sometimes, stop is the most powerful choice of all,” she asserted, as calmly yet strongly as she could. “Just stopping it all. The wondering, the waiting, the conjecturing, the hoping. When you can do that, just accept that you’re not a priority for someone and that there’s no logical way you ever could be, you’re free. And soon, you learn to be happy in that freedom.”

“Happy.” Though Lois’s reiteration matched hers for volume, another element tinged the tone. Something like curiosity, except . . . not. A question that already had its answer. “Because you’re free. So, you mean off the hook from having to care in return, right?”

For a moment, she actually thought that would unseat Apollo from his murky hideout. His gaze certainly flashed as if preparing to launch a standing ovation. In return, she made damn sure she flared her nostrils with angry emphasis.

“In my line of work, caring about people isn’t good business practice.”

“Ah. Right.” Lois didn’t relent from that annoying I’ve-got-a-question-and-an-answer bit. “And you’re pretty good at your job, is that right?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Okay. So, tell me what you were doing with the guys on your team when you and I first met.”

She winched her head around with a sharp glare. “Excuse me?”

“Back at DeLux.” Lois practically singsong’ed the breezy challenge. “You remember that, right? In the atrium where you and your boys dropped in, ready to take me by gunpoint because I was in disguise as Natasha? Only you didn’t, thanks to the fact that I was on a ‘speed date appointment’ with a demigod who had your SWAT-guy wannabes kissing the floor.”

“Wannabes? For your information, every gentleman on my elite team is worth five fighters on any special tactical team across the world.” She spat it all out now, pivoting fully around. “Those men have seen shit that would make this place, demons and goblins and all, look like the Keystone Cops nursery. They are warriors with more honor in their fucking pinky fingers than—”

“And yet you don’t care about them.” And damn it, the woman had to be that elegant about the clapback, arching her dark whisky brows with impeccable timing. “Because that’d be bad business, yeah?”

Wen reached up and tugged at her back collar. She retreated physically, as well. Continuing this debate would be a pointless cause. Lois Lance was as savvy as her street-smart doppelgänger. Though unlike Natasha Korra, who had undoubtedly struck up a fresh partnership with Ito already, the petite scribe was chill about allowing her to back up by another couple of steps.

The farther she got, the calmer her pulse settled. But not back to normal. That wouldn’t happen until she finally found Genny again, and that wouldn’t happen until she dealt with the proverbial elephant in this room. Orin this case, the sneaky sun god in the shadows.

Apollo had the grace to look chagrined, though hardly shocked, about her stomp toward his impromptu hidey hole. And she was hardly stunned when a pair of steaming pizza boxes suddenly appeared in his grip. The food smelled amazing yet now turned her stomach.

When an animal wanted out of its cage, not even a prime slab of meat could tempt it to stay behind the bars.

Still, her fight-or-flight moment wasn’t his fault. If he’d heard every word of her exchange with Lois—she had zilch reason to think otherwise, given the extra layers of understanding across his face—he already knew that, as well. But she owed him at least her courtesy, even if impatience defined her fresh fidgeting and terse voice.

“Hey.” Okay, it was more like her rom-com-heroine-catches-the-hero-shirtless wheeze, but it didn’t dent his own discomfort.

“Hey.” He jerked back his head as if freeing his cheeks from errant hair strands. She was torn between gratitude and fury about it. Those gold streaks knew exactly how to play with the noble poetry of his face. On the other hand, this wasn’t a moment for poems. It couldn’t be. “You want pepperoni, vegetarian, or plain cheese? I didn’t know what you’d prefer for a drink, so I brought a flat of assorted stuff.”

Sure enough, she blinked like a fool when he angled enough to give her a view of the amusement park-sized tray consuming the other side of his grip. Packing it out were enough assorted beverages to hydrate a small army for a couple of days.

The sight jumped her blood pressure again.

Was this the same cocky jerk who sat opposite her at DeLux and ordered her to down the healing potion he’d ordered for her?

The same imperious house host who told her how desperately she needed a shower?

The exact same guy who commanded his crow corps to drag Rizon off to the hard labor mines of Hell?

How was that commander now this cowed pizza delivery dude? Worse, why was he being too damn adorable about it?

“I—it’s okay,” she succeeded in stammering. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

And there, at least, was the complete truth. If he was going to pull the honest-and-vulnerable card, fate could return the favor with a bit of conviction for her to fling back. Besides, where was the space for a famished stomach when a girl’s brain was chocked with confusion?