Finally, he turned his head, meeting her gaze with an expression that was almost… hollow.
"Ares," he said.
His name tasted foreign in her mouth, like something sacred and ancient, like something whispered over battlefields and carved into the bones of myth.
At the sound of it, he stilled.
It was so subtle, barely a twitch in his posture, but Emerald felt it. Like hearing his name spoken aloud triggered something in him, something buried deep.
She repeated it, this time softer. "Ares."
His breath caught again; his eyes darkened. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it means something."
Emerald tilted her head. "It's your name. When's the last time someone called you that?"
"Don't," he said sharply, his voice low.
She blinked. "What?"
"Don't start getting curious. I'm not telling you my life story."
She sat back with a scoff. "There it is."
"There what?"
"That delightful charm. For a moment there, I forgot you're an asshole."
