The presidential suite had finally fallen silent.
The curtains were still partially open, allowing Venice's nighttime lights and the distant reflections of the Grand Canal to spill into the room, but neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to the city anymore.
Hela was lying on top of Vergil, her head resting on his chest and one leg draped across his body, apparently with no intention of moving away anytime soon.
Her hair was completely disheveled, spread across him and the sheets, while she idly traced small lines over Vergil's chest with the tips of her fingers.
"That was very good," Hela murmured, lifting her face slightly to look at him.
Vergil stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before lowering his eyes toward her.
"Yes. It was."
Hela smiled in satisfaction and rested her chin on his chest again.
"That answer could use a little more enthusiasm."
"I'm tired."
"You?"
"Emotionally."
"Ah."
