The rain fell in solid sheets, washing the modern grime from Athens's ancient stones. Zeus walked through the downpour, and not a single drop touched him. They parted around him like a respectful crowd, leaving a dry circle of air in his wake. People huddled under awnings, staring at the man in the impossibly dark suit who walked through the storm untouched.
He didn't look at them. His eyes were fixed on a spire that stabbed into the low, angry clouds. A cross stood at its peak.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.
The air was still and smelled of old incense and wax. A handful of people sat in the pews, heads bowed. Their murmuring prayers were a faint, rhythmic hum. Stained-glass saints looked down with pitying eyes.
All movement stopped when he entered.
