“What do you think you’re doing?” Winona’s voice was sharp, laced with anger she could barely contain. Her hand gripped Ares’s wrist, refusing to let go.

Ares glanced down at her hand, then deliberately pulled his arm free. “I’m taking my son to play,” he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Winona gave a short, bitter laugh, the kind that carried no humor. To her, it sounded like a cruel joke coming from Ares’s lips. Her gaze shifted to Jackson, who was ...