New Roots

Marcus Langford sat in his study, a cigar burning slowly between his fingers, the smoke curling in lazy patterns toward the ceiling.

On his desk lay a newspaper from the day before, its front page featuring a blurred photo of Ares leaving a gala with Lila. Marcus didn’t bother reading the headline again.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling smoke, his expression tight. “He’s not called once,” Marcus muttered to himself. “Not a single damn time.”

His assistant, ...