---
Seraphiel's gaze cooled. "Bad enough that he asked for help and bad enough that he hates needing it."
That actually did pull the ghost of a smile from Elena. "That sounds like him."
Seraphiel's own expression softened by a fraction. "Yes. It does."
Elena was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. "He should have told the boy more."
"He probably wanted to," Seraphiel said. "But wanting is not the same as being able."
Elena stared at her for a second, then gave a slow nod. There were too many old wounds in that small motion for the hall to count.
"And you?" Elena asked. "How long have you been watching?"
"Long enough to know his son inherited both the family talent and also his father's talent for trouble."
That nearly made Elena laugh. Nearly.
"He killed a half-god," Elena said.
Seraphiel's gaze shifted to Sekhmet again. "Yes."
"He is still growing."
"Yes."
"He should not have survived that."
"No."
