The Loyal Spartan
“I heard the same. A soldier, they say. Some low-ranking brute who got lucky during the chimera attack. Can you imagine? A daughter of Poseidon, with a dog of Ares? It’s a disgrace.”
I was wiping down the bar, my movements automatic, my attention feigned on the task at hand. But I listened, my senses sharp. I felt a shift in the atmosphere behind me, a sudden, tense stillness that was out of place in the bustling tavern.
I glanced over at Hypatos, who sat in his usual spot, his back to the room. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched, but I knew he was listening. I could feel it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hand tightened around his mug, his knuckles white.
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