Page 129 of Zeus

"And you think I'm going to start using drugs?" I ask, more than a little irritation in my voice.

He pulls in a breath before speaking, and it makes me wonder if he's going to demand I attend meetings for addicts as a condition to continue to work with Cerberus.

"I don't think that at all. I just want you to know that there are resources available if you feel the need for them," he says.

"And if I don't need them?" I counter.

"Then you don't," he says, his response sounding a little less sure than I'd like.

"I hear a but in your voice."

"We have to take precautions."

"And that includes?"

He shifts his body, pointing it directly at mine.

"You'll need to undergo random drug tests for the next six months," he says. "As a precaution."

If I were on the outside looking in on this situation, I'd be fully on board with his requirements. I'm all too aware of how easily that first hit of an illicit drug can change who a person is. I know how quickly they can become a shadow of their former self.

My mind tries to pull me back to Dakota's arraignment hearing. I hadn't seen her in weeks, and even that short period had turned her into someone I barely recognized. Her cheeks were sunken in, her under eyes painted with dark shadows that couldn't be explained away with an excuse of a few sleepless nights.

My sister went to jail as an addict, and knowing that she was so easily plucked from her life of privilege and opportunities and sank so quickly into one of drugs and crime broke a part of me that has never healed.

"Sounds fair," I answer, knowing his concern is built on his own experiences and knowledge about just how potent the drugs I was injected with can be.

"Meeting in five," he says as he stands. "Need help getting up?"

I shake my head, giving the informational material in my hands one last look before getting to my feet.

The walk to the conference room is slow, but thankfully, Kincaid doesn't hover like a mother hen, worried her chick is in danger and needs assistance.

Before I can make it to the room, I spot Zeus walking back, that fucking bowl of soup steaming in his hands.

"I guess you're not going to eat?" he mutters, looking down at the thing as if he spent hours in the kitchen preparing it for me.

The biggest part of me wishes I had a little more time. I'd gladly eat the soup he made, even though I wasn't hungry. That part doesn't want to disappoint him. That part would walk over broken glass with the hope that he felt anything more for me right now than misplaced guilt of what happened to me.

I know that part doesn't exist in him, and there's no reason to feed those hopes. It only leads to an ever greater letdown in the end.

The smallest of whispers in the back of my mind constantly reminds me that I don't need help, that his attention is only to feed his own shame. That bowl of soup isn't being offered because he cares that I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours. It's his attempt at redemption, and I don't refuse the soup as a way to deny the absolution. I refuse it because he doesn't need that from me. The man owes me nothing.

"I appreciate the offer, though," I tell him, keeping my slow pace as I enter the conference room.

Kincaid, Shadow, and Hemlock stand at the front of the room, their discussion in whispers so low that I don't have a chance of overhearing, given how bad my headache rages right now.

As I make my way to the same seat I occupied at the last meeting I attended in this room, others filter into the room and take their seats.

When Zeus returns, his hands void of the bowl of soup, he takes a seat across the table from me.

I recognize Lark, Echo, Jersey, Ace, and Jericho from the last meeting. Casper is behind the desk in the far corner, eyes downcast as his fingers work feverishly over his keyboard.

Nyx, of course, isn't in attendance, but after the conversation we overheard, I didn’t expect him to be here.

"Sorry, I'm late," an unfamiliar voice says.

I look in the direction to see a man I don't recognize. I don't know how to feel about him when he glances in my direction, a wince of sympathy on his face as he notices me.