The days passed like slow thunder.
Lucifer made himself at home in Olympus in a way only he could—without permission, without shame, and without the faintest concern for the rules. By the third day, half the palace staff knew his face. By the fifth, they knew the smirk that came before he said something that would either make you blush or throw a plate at him.
He wandered the gardens, lingered in the libraries he wasn't supposed to enter, and spent far too much time in the training grounds—never to fight, but to lean against the fence and watch. The women noticed. So did the men.
Zeus noticed most of all.
He didn't trust Lucifer. Not yet. Not enough. Which was why Hermes had been given the job of keeping eyes on him at all times. The messenger god didn't like the assignment, but Zeus knew Hermes was the only one fast enough to keep up.
Zeus made it clear—if Lucifer even looked like he was about to start trouble, Hermes was to tell him before the first spark hit the air.
