The sun had barely climbed above the New York skyline when the basement doors slid open and fresh air drifted into the war-worn room. It felt surreal — as if the world above them had kept moving while they’d been buried in darkness, tearing apart an empire piece by piece.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Everyone stood there, suspended in the quiet aftermath.

Ares sat on the edge of a steel table, shoulders heavy, breathing slow and controlled. Atlas braced both hands on the back ...