Feo had a rather strong grip on his hand still as Lucius dragged himself to a sense of more consciousness than he previously had. His hand pushed through golden blond hair, stifling a yawn again as he blinked free the cobwebs of sleep.

At the last, Feo was still awake. Which was not entirely surprising but a little disappointing for Lucius at the least. He had hoped that Feo would get some rest on the flight to Kansas but, as it turned out, that was perhaps a hope that was made in slight vain. Not that he really understood why nor did he think he was smart enough to understand why.

But that was fine. He'd be fine. It was all fine.

Lucius leaned back again, stretching out a little bit before settling down again. Granted he wasn't sure how long he had been out for but it seemed like others were getting ready for a landing. Which was fantastic. That was exactly what he had hoped would happen. Get on the plane, take off, fall asleep, land.

Less waiting, no real need for patience or anything. Just sleep.

Lucius's sapphire eyes flicked to the window, noting the lack of anything. There was a city at the least but outside of that? Fields. Just straight up fields.

Lucius gave Feo a rather lopsided smile as he turned from window to demigod. "Ready for the nothingness that is Kansas?" He let out a weary chuckle and shook his head. "It'll probably be a lot more driving and riding in a car. The supposed artifact was in one of three cities and their respective museums.

A part of Lucius really hoped that they wouldn't have it on display and rather have the Cestus tucked into the back of the storage room.

Luckily, they were landing in Hutchinson. One of the cities that potentially had something was Hutchinson. The next was Garden City, which was nowhere near the place they needed to go. But just north of that, in Scott City was also another potential spot for the Cestus to show up. Was he prepared to absolutely spend a lot of money on the Cestus? Oh he was. But he was also prepared to use that demigod flashy charm that he had. It was a lot of ifs and relied heavily on godly charm but he figured he had it. It wouldn't be that hard.

What would be, in the meantime, was finding a hotel and potentially convincing Feo to stay there while he went to find the Cestus. As much as Lucius enjoyed having an adventure buddy... he was realizing there was a reason that he often traveled alone.

Not that Feo was bad at all but Lucius didn't often plan details ahead of time. They usually rested and waited on another point of events happening or not happening. It was all so fluid, so loose, anything could change and anything could happen. He could just suddenly move and do something entirely different. Which was easy to do on his own--but having to try and communicate that to someone else? That was where it became difficult.

Anxiety showed itself in many ways. Nerves and the nervousness of the human was an incredible thing. Some people ran, some people froze and some, like Lucius took it head on. The inner workings of his brain whirred like gears. He couldn't be nervous if he didn't act nervous. If he didn't act nervous, then he wouldn't be nervous and that meant he had to be something else. If that was something else, then he could be whatever he wanted because he was in control. That led to confidence because he was in control and, if something went wrong, that was fine. He'd come up with an idea to get it back on track or, just let it flow because maybe it would work out in the end.

Everything was fluid, everything was accounted for.

The young man glanced up as the plane eventually came to a stop, the steward pushed the doors open and the stairwell pushed to the door of the plane.

He stood up and stretched out before glancing back at Feo with another dashing smile. "Come on. I think we're going to get a hotel room first," he explained loosely, "just in case. I'd like to have a place to kind of reconvene to in case we have to pause the search for a little bit. My suspicion is that the Cestus is actually in one of the smaller cities. But we'll probably spend a few hours here and by then it'll be closer to night because of Time zones and all of that," he waved one hand as he spoke, trailing down the steps with a giddy few hops. "I have plenty of funds to cover for the entire trip."

And plenty more in case he had to haggle for the Cestus.

But that was if.

Lucius stepped forward, letting the breeze play with his golden hair. The young man took in a breath and let it out again. The air felt different, it felt looser, fresh and tinged with the hinting of a fresh storm that either was coming in or had just rolled through.

His footsteps carried him forward, walking along the airport. There, waiting, was a yellow taxi. It looked like they were dropping someone off to the airport. Lucius snagged Feo's wrist, pulling him along as he called out to the taxi.

Lucius stretched his other hand out and signaled for the taxi to wait as he sat down in the back. "Thank you, it's been a long day. Ha--we're looking for a hotel room, you wouldn't know anything nice?"

"Nice?" The man questioned. "How nice are we talking?"

"Fairly nice for a relatively good price," Lucius responded, settling in the seat.

The man rattled off a few hotels and their prices. Most of them ranged from 8 to 10 dollars for a room per day. It was a little on the pricey side but Lucius was prepared for that price. He paused at the first one, it didn't look too terrible actually.

"This will do, thank you," the young man fished his wallet out to pay the driver and stepped out of the vehicle with a slow breath. A little longer.

He walked in, the same bubbly smile on his face as he bought a room--paying for three days--walked the rest of the way to the room and, once the door closed, sat down on the bed. a small sigh escaped from his lips as he shook his head and pulled the watch from his wrist, letting the cream white feathers unfurl.

Feo trailed after Lucius in silence, his feet moving in time with the other man’s unhurried steps. He allowed Lucius to guide him along with that effortless, almost carefree energy that seemed to radiate from him. There was something magnetic in the way Lucius carried himself, an ease in his every movement that made it seem as if the world was at his command, and Feo couldn’t help but be drawn into it, even if he didn’t fully understand it. In contrast, his own steps felt heavier, slower, like the weight of the plane’s descent had settled onto his shoulders instead of dispersing into the ground as it should have. It was as though he were carrying the remnants of the journey on his back, the finality of it pressing him forward yet holding him down all at once.

Lucius’s grip on his wrist was firm but not tight, an almost casual assurance that Feo didn’t resist. He allowed himself to be pulled along, following without protest. There was a certain comfort in the other man’s presence, in the way Lucius seemed to move through the world with a sense of unshakable certainty, but there was something unnerving about it, too. The uncertainty that always lingered at the edges of Feo’s mind had nowhere to hide in Lucius’s wake.

The car ride to their destination was uneventful. Feo didn’t bother looking at the taxi driver as Lucius waved them down, nor did he engage in the light conversation Lucius had with the driver. Instead, he stared out the window, his gaze unfocused as the world outside blurred into a mix of dull gray, open roads, and the occasional stretch of flat, barren land. Old buildings—dusty and forgotten-looking—sprawled out in the distance, spaced more sparsely than Feo would have expected in an area like this.

His mind wandered back to the Cestus, its mystery gnawing at him with each passing moment. They didn’t know exactly where it was, only that it was somewhere within the state’s borders. But that wasn’t what unsettled him. It was the knowing that something like the Cestus wouldn’t stay hidden without reason. He didn’t know why he felt it so strongly—why he couldn’t shake the sense that they’d be met with something more than just dusty museum exhibits or cluttered storage rooms. He’d come across relics like it before—there were hundreds in Asgard, stolen or crafted, famous in origin—, but there was something different about this one. Something... wrong. But for now, he could only follow Lucius, letting the other man take the lead.

The taxi pulled up to a modest hotel, one that seemed almost too plain for the journey they had just begun. Feo followed Lucius inside, his discomfort only growing with each step they took through the brightly lit lobby. The stark lighting felt out of place, too clean, too bright, as if it didn’t belong in the strange, quiet town that stretched out around them. He hovered near the front desk, watching in silence as Lucius made the arrangements and paid for their room. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, a desperate attempt to keep himself from fidgeting. The steady hum of nerves in his chest hadn’t lessened, and the idea of being confined to a small room—no matter how temporary—only made him feel more trapped. The soft clink of coins in the pouch on his hip and the low murmur of Lucius’s voice faded into the background as his thoughts swirled, a jumbled mess of anticipation and dread.

Once they were inside, Feo hesitated at the door. He stood there for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes scanning the simple, clean space. It wasn’t much—a small bed, a couple of chairs, and a table. But the simplicity of it all felt almost suffocating, as though the room was too empty to feel like a place of refuge. It was almost too quiet compared to the hum of the plane’s engines and the muffled sounds of the city outside. The air was still, and Feo couldn’t help but feel the weight of it pressing down on him, making his movements feel more sluggish, more uncertain.

Lucius, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the stillness. Without a second glance at the room, he crossed to the bed and sank onto it with a nonchalant ease, as though he belonged there. Feo couldn’t quite bring himself to follow, lingering near the door, his gaze still fixed on the other man.

It was then that Lucius removed his watch, the gesture slow and deliberate. The feathers hidden by it began to unfurl, their movement almost hypnotic in its grace. Feo’s breath hitched involuntarily as his eyes widened, drawn to the stark contrast of cream-white against Lucius’s golden hair and the muted tones of the room. It obviously wasn’t the first time he had seen them, but something about the way they unfurled this time made his chest tighten with a strange mix of awe and unease. Feo found that he had missed them—and for some reason, even been worried that they were gone forever.

He stood there, unmoving, his gaze locked on the wings as they stretched out in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t fear that rooted him to the spot—no, it wasn’t fear at all. It was something else, something deeper, a mixture of awe and something he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the way the feathers glowed faintly in the dim light, as if they were alive in a way that nothing else in the room was. Or perhaps it was the strange familiarity of it all, the knowledge that these wings were as much a part of Lucius as anything else about him.

Either way, seeing Lucius’s wings was a relief.

As was being on the ground.

The silence from the other demigod was perhaps telling. There in the silence was that uncertainty, that shivering and quaking fear that trembled behind his eyes. It was the way he looked so uncomfortable no matter where they went, the fact that this Nordic demigod--a demigod of Loki to be exact--couldn't even try and act somewhat more confident. He was a child of the god of lies and Lucius... wasn't. But there he was, leading the way without a second thought.

It was the silence leading up to the impending conversation that Lucius was slightly dreading. It was a conversation that he had been avoiding ever since the airport, since the plane ride and now there was no where else to turn. It was a conversation that needed to happen. Feo still hadn't said a single word. But Lucius was thinking about how to start the conversation in a way that wouldn't backfire too terribly.

There were a thousand ways he could start this conversation. But the demigod of Zephyrus knew that he needed it to go exactly the way he wanted otherwise things were going to fall apart. If they hadn't already.

Lucius turned sapphire eyes toward the demigod, finding him locked in place with his eyes on his wings. Right. The wings. So that was why he stuck around. It was only for the ethereal feathers that adorned his back--figured. But he'd keep that note in the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand.

"Listen," Lucius began to speak, "Feo, I think we need to have a little conversation," his legs crossed over each other, leaning back to rest his hands on the bed. "Let me first start off by apologizing. I wasn't aware that you wouldn't be as comfortable outside of campus as I am. I know it's been affecting you and I'm sorry, I should've been more aware of you and how you would feel."

He took in a breath and let it out again, ruffling feathers as his fingers tapped along the sheets for a moment or two while he thought through the rest of his words.

"As much as I want to have fun and go on, I can't do that in good faith knowing that you aren't comfortable with it," his words were slow and deliberate, picked carefully. "So, I think it might be best if you stay here for now. It's safe, it's quiet and it should allow you to have a moment to breathe, calm down and take time to refocus your thoughts. You don't have to worry about the rush, any groups or crowds or anything else right now."

Lucius figured that if he twisted it just slightly, push more worry and concern through his tone then it would work. It'd get Feo to think about himself and hopefully, it would work.

"I don't want you to get hurt--physically or emotionally--and I think I should've realized that sooner," Lucius finished with a quiet sigh, "I'm sorry."

"No."

Feo’s gaze finally broke from the wings, snapping to Lucius’s face with a sharpness that almost felt like a blade. His expression, once quiet and uncertain, hardened in an instant, as if a mask of steel had replaced the vulnerable features Lucius had glimpsed only moments before. The apology, well-meaning as it might have been, scraped against the raw edges of his pride, and for a moment, something sharper flickered in his eyes—resentment, defiance, maybe even a hint of betrayal.

“No,” he said. His voice was low but resolute, each word clipped and deliberate, carrying the weight of finality. There was no hesitation in his refusal, no room for argument in the way his jaw tightened, as though physically bracing against Lucius’s inevitable reply. “I’m not staying here.”

Before Lucius could utter a word, Feo moved. The shift was startling in its precision, a sudden burst of purpose that turned the tension in the room into something almost electric. With one fluid motion, he yanked his tunic over his head, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, the fabric snug against the lean, wiry lines of his torso. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as if each action served to punctuate the resolve in his words.

He tugged the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows, baring forearms marked with faint scars and calluses that spoke of hard-earned resilience. The motions were methodical, a tightly controlled sequence that betrayed none of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. He didn’t spare Lucius so much as a glance as he turned on his heel and strode toward the farthest corner of the room.

The soles of his boots made barely a sound on the worn carpet, each step a study in quiet precision. Reaching the corner, he crouched and let the tunic slip from his hands, letting it fall in a careless heap on the floor. For a moment, he hovered there, crouched on the balls of his feet like a coiled spring, his fingers brushing the fabric with a soft gentleness.

Then, with a kind of rigid determination, Feo sank down onto the floor. His movements were slow but deliberate, every muscle tense as he folded his legs and pressed his back against the wall. The corner he chose was stark and bare, an unfriendly sort of space with peeling paint and a faint musty smell that clung to the shadows. Yet Feo didn’t seem to care.

He sat with his shoulders squared and spine straight, a posture that spoke of defiance despite the oppressive stillness of the room. One hand rested on his knee, fingers curling loosely, while the other hung at his side, drumming absently against the edge of his thigh. His head was angled downward, his gaze fixed on a scuff mark on the carpet as though it held the key to some unspoken truth.

“I’m not a child, Lucius,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, almost conversational, but there was a quiet edge to it—a sharp undercurrent of defiance that couldn’t be ignored. “I don’t need a babysitter, and I don’t need you telling me where I can or can’t be.”

He gestured vaguely toward the room without lifting his gaze. The movement was subtle, almost dismissive, as though the space itself were beneath acknowledgment. “If this—” the word lingered in the air, heavy with disdain “—is all you’ve got to offer, then no. It’s not enough. I won’t pretend otherwise. And, in truth, I don’t think it ever will be enough. I’m not leaving you.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the stillness like the stroke of a blade. Lucius’s presence loomed at the edge of his vision, but Feo didn’t so much as glance up to gauge his reaction. Instead, he remained grounded where he sat, rooted to the corner like an immovable force.

“I have my reasons,” Feo added after a moment, softer now but no less resolute. His voice carried a note of finality, a quiet insistence that brooked no argument. He didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any explanation for the choice he had made.

And still, he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, unmoving and resolute, his presence a silent testament to his defiance. Whatever battle Lucius thought he might fight here, it was clear that Feo had already decided the outcome.

Lucius watched that expression shift from his wings to himself. There was a flash of emotion that flickered behind his eyes--something sharp and edged. So, that was how it was going to be? No. He said, resolute and deliberate. There was a sharp note to Feo's voice, he wasn't staying here. He was supposedly acting like he was changing now? Ha--that was laughable. He was only acting this way because Lucius had let his wings out. The flash of white feathers and suddenly he was far more brave than before? Tch, pathetic.

His sapphire eyes trailed after the other demigod as he slid across the room. Lucius didn't say a single word and simply watched him. There was a tension in the way he stood and dropped the tunic, hovering around where he stood. Then he sank down to the floor against the wall.

A small ripple ran through the feathers that Lucius had out. For not being a child, there was a long flight that felt otherwise. The resentment was building up in his chest as Feo threw out that he didn't need a babysitter--which was laughable considering the flight and the airport and just getting out of campus. For someone so determined to prove otherwise, Lucius had found himself seeing the opposite. It wasn't very convincing unfortunately.

While his first instinct was to reply with a low and tart retort, that was not going to be helpful. Whatever he was trying to insinuate by gesturing to the hotel room was lost on Lucius. Not that he cared anymore. It was all a game of pretend to him now. Find the Cestus or don't, it didn't matter. Just get rid of this demigod who thought he was so much more... than he clearly was.

This was exactly why he usually did his own thing.

Lucius tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out a more constructive way of continuing the conversation rather than tearing through the situation and fueling the fire.

A slow sigh escaped from his chest, looking toward Feo once more.

"I want to believe you," Lucius finally said, throwing a weary and tired tone into his voice, "I really do, Feo. I want to believe that you ... you can do this but I'm not sure. I don't mean it... badly, at all. But think about it, just--just give it a little thought from the outside perspective, please. Getting here, getting to this spot right here," he gestured to the hotel room, "wasn't easy for you. Getting out of campus, the taxi, the airport--and the woman--the flight... this isn't much, no. But it's the closest one that looked relatively nice and clean. I want to believe that you can, Feo, but ... I'm worried that it's going to hurt you more than it's going to do good."

Lucius shook his head lightly. "You don't have to stay here, I'm not forcing you to. But, from my perspective, I think it's going to be best if you lessen your stressors and activities that will heighten that... stress. I don't know what happened last night but whatever it was... it's still affecting you, Feo. I was... I was selfish in dragging you along, I shouldn't have. I should have given you time to rest and process what had happened. It's not fair to you for me to drag you around... on one of my stupid plans..."

His tone grew more dry and edged, a touch of resentment in his tone aimed at himself as he stood up and paced around the bed.

Feo remained still, his back pressed firmly against the cold, unforgiving wall. His fingers, drumming an erratic rhythm against his thigh, betrayed the anger and frustration that churned just below the surface. It was a rhythm that seemed to echo the storm inside him, the noise of his thoughts far louder than the muted conversations around him. Lucius’s words hovered in the air like a delicate web, each sentence crafted with painstaking care, trying to unravel the tension that had been growing between them. But to Feo, every word felt like a barb, each one digging deeper into the wounds he didn’t even know how to fully recognize. They were suffocating, pressing against the fragile remnants of his composure, threatening to break him down piece by piece.

He didn’t respond right away. The words—his words—seemed stuck in his throat, tangled in a knot of emotions he didn’t fully understand himself. It wasn’t just anger that clouded his mind, it was something deeper, something darker. His hands clenched involuntarily at his sides, the tension in his body radiating through every muscle, every fiber. It felt as though he were standing on the edge of something vast, something overwhelming, and all he could do was hold on, hoping it wouldn’t consume him. For a long moment, it seemed like everything inside him was trembling—not from weakness, but from the sheer force of being misunderstood, of being reduced to something fragile, something easily shattered.

Slowly, his head tilted upward, and his eyes, once dull and distant, now blazed with a mixture of hurt and fury. The raw intensity in them spoke volumes of the frustration that had been building inside him for so long. His hands shot out, palm flat against the wall, pushing himself upright with a sudden, jerky movement, as though he were snapping out of a trance. His breath hitched in his chest, shallow and uneven, and he could feel the pulse of his heart quickening, urging him forward even as his mind screamed at him to hold back.

“Don’t you dare,” Feo’s voice cracked like thunder, rough and unyielding, cutting through the air with a power that belied the weariness in his eyes. "Don’t you dare stand there and act like I need to be coddled or protected. I’m not a damn child, Lucius. I’m not some fragile thing you can break down and fix with your pity." His voice trembled with emotion, though it was hardly a sign of weakness. It was the kind of trembling that came from holding back a flood, from trying to maintain control when all he wanted was to let go. He could feel his chest heaving, his pulse thrumming in his throat, but he fought it down, tried to keep the fury at bay—tried to hold on to the remnants of his composure.

"I don’t need your pity," Feo continued, his voice now colder, harder, like a blade scraping against stone. "I don’t need your concern or your fake comfort. What I need is for you to stop treating me like I’m some burden you have to fix. You think I don’t know what you think of me? You think I don’t see it, feel it, every time you look at me like I’m something broken, something that needs to be fixed?" His hands trembled at his sides, but not from fear. No, it was the anger, the frustration, the desperate need to break free from the suffocating weight of expectations that made his hands shake.

He gestured wildly, his fingers sweeping through the air as if he could somehow slice through the tension, as if he could make Lucius understand without having to explain it. "You think I don’t know how hard this has been? You think I don’t already know the weight of every damn thing you’re trying to say? I know, Lucius. I know it all already." The words seemed to burn as they left his mouth, the frustration finally spilling over, too much to keep contained any longer.

His gaze, once frantic, hardened, his jaw clenching with such force that his teeth ground together. He was so tired of feeling like he was being seen through a lens that wasn’t his own. "I’m not pathetic, Lucius," he spat, the words sharp and venomous, each one a declaration of defiance. "I’m not some fragile little thing you can just pity and fix. I’m doing this the only way I know how. And if I have to walk through hell, you can be damn sure I’ll do it on my own terms."

His heart raced in his chest, a frantic rhythm, the fear of being inadequate, the constant anxiety that he wasn’t enough, swirling like a storm inside him. But there was something else beneath it all—a fierce, burning need to be seen, not as a broken man, not as someone in need of saving, but as someone who could stand on his own, who could fight his own battles. His fear didn’t make him weak—it made him human. And yet, there was no place in his heart for pity.

"I’ve been running my whole life, Lucius." The words slipped from his lips, quieter now, but no less intense. "I’ve been running from the man I was supposed to be, from the life that was planned for me. And I don’t need you to save me from that." Feo took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his chest heaving with each word, each breath. "I don’t need you hovering over me, trying to fix everything like it’s all broken, like it’s something I can’t handle on my own. What’s broken is me—inside. But that’s mine to fix, not yours."

The anger in his voice ebbed, replaced by something softer, something far more vulnerable. He was no longer shouting; the fire had dimmed, replaced by something raw, something real. "Just… just stop trying to be my savior. I don’t need saving, Lucius. I just need someone who’ll let me breathe. Someone who won’t make me feel like I’m drowning every time I try to take a breath." His tone wavered just slightly, betraying the fear that still lingered beneath the defiance, beneath the anger.

His eyes bore into Lucius with an intensity that was almost palpable, a silent plea behind the fury. "So sit down, and relax, and think about how the hell you’re not going to get killed tomorrow." Feo rubbed his eyes, the weight of everything pressing on him, before turning toward the door. He could feel the walls closing in, and he needed space, needed to be away from the suffocating tension.

Without another word, he walked out, leaving Lucius behind in the quiet of the room. As the door clicked shut, Feo’s mind flickered to a different thought—something that could, for a fleeting moment, ease the sharp edge of his thoughts.

Did Kansas have beer?

While initially a small bit of tension rose up in his shoulders as Feo launched himself to his feet, glaring back down the room at him. A force, an anger, the fury that boiled beneath the surface of the Norse demigod. He didn't need his pity? Good. Lucius was tired of it.

Lucius shook his head lightly, lowly. But that was good--the fact that he had picked up on that feeling, that outward subtle mask that Lucius had been showing him. That was good, it meant that he had kept his inner resentment, his inner emotions all neatly tucked away. Even he could somehow get rid of this demigod and it seemed like it was working quite well.

His words shifted, turning the tide toward himself. That he knew how hard it had been, which was good. At least he had that much. Pathetic? Well, he might not think so but Lucius had yet to see something else. He claimed that he had been running his whole life--but that was ... odd. Considering the words that Feo had stated about being nothing more than a pawn for Loki and he had, wholeheartedly, believed that until Lucius had opened his big mouth and said something different.

The winged demigod remained silent, his face rather impassive. There was no real emotion in it, a touch of perhaps irritation but nothing more. He'd love to watch this man try and fix himself but as he left, Lucius scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, let me just sit here while you go find a bar, I know how men fix things," his voice was low and flat, replacing the watch on his wrist.

Wait till tomorrow? Yeah right. This was a free pass to get started on his own and not have to worry about anybody else screwing anything over. Or anyone.

Lucius paused for a few moments to gather his own emotions. There was so much desperation in the words that Feo had thrown at him like knives. The only issue was that Lucius had been itching for that type of thing. That was exactly what he wanted. Feo needed space, away from him, perfect. How he did it? Lucius didn't really care anymore. It was a liability to drag around now. Even if he claimed to do things... well, Lucius had seen otherwise. But not that he would show that or say that or anything of the sort. It was better if Feo thought of him as some idiot just trying to fix everything around him as he saw it.

But that was fine. Feo was getting drunk, which was even better. He'd be hungover the next day and that meant Lucius had an extra day of just going out by himself.

He moved to the door, glancing through the small peephole to make sure that Feo wasn't nearby before slipping out with the key in his pocket. A rather calm smile placed itself on his expression as he slid out of the foyer and glanced around the town. It was, to be fair, a relatively good size. The hotel wasn't too far from the airport but that was too close to where Feo could potentially be.

He'd start with a library, maybe. Or a museum. Whichever was closer. He flagged down the bus, hopping up onto the large vehicle with a lopsided smile. "Which stop has the museum?" He asked the bus driver. The man thought for a moment. "Well, we don't really stop at the museum. But we do stop by the park. It's just right around the block."

Lucius gave him a warm smile, thanked him, paid for the bus fare and took a seat. Perfect.

Feo's boots hit the cracked pavement in a steady rhythm as he walked through the quiet streets, his mind still buzzing with the remnants of the conversation. He didn’t want to think about Lucius or his own words anymore. The fight had left him exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that lingered in the bones and wouldn’t be chased away by sleep. He needed something to dull it, something to fill the hollow space left behind by the weight of his emotions.

The neon sign of a small bar flickered in the distance, its dim glow barely cutting through the early evening darkness. He didn’t recognize it for the sight, but instead for the smell—taverns in Asgard held the same musky scent of degeneracy. Feo didn’t hesitate as he stepped off the sidewalk and pushed through the creaky door, the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke immediately hitting him. The place was quiet, just a few scattered patrons nursing their drinks, their conversations low and muffled in the dimly lit corners. A low hum of a radio filled the air, a constant reminder of the world outside this small, rundown establishment.

Feo’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, taking in the familiar sight of the worn leather booths, the long bar counter with its chipped wood, and the shelves behind it stocked with bottles of liquor, some half-empty, others gathering dust. He slid onto one of the stools, the worn vinyl squeaking beneath him, and nodded at the bartender, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and a perpetual scowl.

"Give me anything,” Feo muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. The bartender grunted in response, reaching for a bottle with practiced ease. He poured a generous amount into a glass and slid it over to Feo.

“Careful about that,” the bartender replied, the tone gruff. “We ain’t off the hook yet. Gov’s still got a stranglehold on me.”

Feo nodded. In all reality, he didn’t particularly care. He was the son of lies. If anything, he could simply lie his way out of punishment.

He focused his attention to the radio as he sipped, its old voice crackling like it had been through too many years of use, but it carried an unmistakable authority.

"…and with the situation in Europe growing ever more dire, President Roosevelt has pledged further support to our Allies as the war continues to escalate. Reports have surfaced today of increased military activity on the European front, and it is clear that the United States may be drawn deeper into the conflict in the months to come. Locally, here in Kansas, the draft remains a concern for many young men, and with the heightened tension, we're seeing more of our boys preparing to leave for basic training…"

The bartender caught his eye, lifting his chin toward the radio. "Ain’t no escaping it, son. You know that, right? War’s coming for us all, one way or another."

Feo’s gaze flicked to the man, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he took another swig of his drink, the whiskey burning its way down and momentarily drowning out the buzzing of the radio. The bartender wasn’t wrong. In a place like Kansas, there were few options for a young man, especially with the strict alcohol laws that kept the local bars in check. In this dry county, they were serving only 3.2 percent beer by law, which was just enough to make it feel like you had a drink in hand but never enough to get properly drunk. Whiskey, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. The bartender made sure that no one was paying attention when they poured the stronger stuff, keeping the authorities out of the loop with his usual kind of discretion.

Feo wasn’t in the mood to think about the law or the bartender’s little game. His fingers drummed against the counter, the rhythm a low echo of his earlier frustration. The radio continued in the background, narrating the ongoing events as if the war were happening in another world, a place that seemed impossibly far away. But it wasn’t.

"…and in Kansas City today, hundreds of young men lined up to answer the call, their futures uncertain but their resolve unshaken. We can only hope that our country remains strong as the tide of war continues to rise. For now, we turn to weather updates as the storm system moves through the Midwest…" The voice on the radio shifted, but the weight of what had been said lingered.

Feo’s eyes wandered back to his glass, the amber liquid swirling slowly as if it could somehow offer him an answer, a reprieve from the uncertainty gnawing at him. But it wouldn’t. None of it would. He wasn’t ready to face what came next, whether it was the war or his own demons, or the battle with Lucius that still echoed in the back of his mind.

He drained his glass in one go, the burn fierce but familiar, reminding him of Asgard, and days similar to these, putting the empty glass down with a clink. Without looking up, he muttered, "Another."

The bartender gave him a long look before reaching for the bottle again, pouring without asking, and Feo took it up once more, staring at the patterns of the wood below his hands.

He really hoped Lucius wasn’t doing anything stupid.