CHAPTER 243: CHAPTER 243: POSSESSIVE

Connor stared at him for a long moment, carrying thought, judgment, and something almost fragile beneath. The sunlight pooled behind Uno, outlining him in that soft, unreal glow that always made Connor’s chest ache in ways he refused to name.

Then, finally, he nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice quiet but certain. "I’m giving you a chance."

Uno blinked, like he hadn’t quite expected to hear it spoken aloud.

Connor’s expression didn’t change much, but the tension around his eyes relaxed, not from forgiveness, but from the first breath of it. "Don’t mistake it for absolution. This isn’t me forgetting what happened or pretending that you didn’t play god with my life. It’s me saying you get one chance to do something different."

Uno leaned forward slightly, the air between them growing heavier, charged. "Different how?"

"Don’t make this about your curiosity again," Connor said simply. "You don’t get to study me, analyze me, or measure what you broke. You fix it. You stay if things get strange. You make sure I don’t slip out of the world again, because if I do..." he paused, meeting Uno’s gaze dead-on, "it’s your fault."

Uno’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but the words died before they formed. He just nodded, a slow, deliberate motion that carried the weight of eternity in it. "I can do that."

Connor tilted his head slightly. "Good. Because that’s the last one you’re getting from me."

Uno frowned. "Last what?"

"Chance." Connor’s voice was calm, almost too calm. "You already had one miracle. I don’t hand out sequels."

Something in Uno’s expression cracked, the faint, unguarded flicker of pain that no god should have been capable of showing. "You really think I’d waste it?"

"I think you’re capable of it," Connor said honestly. "But I also think you’re tired enough of being alone to try not to."

The words landed between them like a quiet truth neither had wanted to name. For the first time since his appearance, Uno appeared less like a god and more like a man, tall, still, and completely unsure of what to do with the small grace he’d just received.

Connor sighed, straightening his jacket. "So here’s how this works: you stay close enough to keep the universe from deleting me again, but not so close that I start throwing things at you. And if you ever start acting like the Creator again, I’ll remind you that I prefer my mornings without divine crises."

Uno’s mouth curved, barely, the smallest smile breaking through the solemnity. "And if I don’t start acting like one?"

"Then maybe," Connor said, turning toward the door, "you’ll remember what being human felt like."

He took a few steps, then paused at the edge of the terrace. The wind caught at his jacket, the morning light breaking across the glass walls of the city below. Without looking back, he added, "You wanted to understand love, didn’t you? Start with responsibility. Everything else comes later."

And with that, he walked away calmly, composed, every step measured like a man who understood how much of his control depended on not looking back.

Uno stayed where he was, his reflection rippling faintly in the mirrored glass of the table, blue eyes dimmed with fragile wonder. He exhaled slowly, as if learning the weight of his own lungs for the first time in centuries.

A chance.

The last one.

And for the first time since creating the world, Uno didn’t want to be infinite; instead, he wanted to be enough for it.

—

The morning light bled slowly over the horizon, soft and salt-bright, turning the surface of the ocean into molten silver. The balcony doors of their hotel suite stood open, letting the cool wind roll in crisp, clean, and heavy with the scent of the sea.

Elias stood barefoot at the railing, the hem of his ivory robe brushing his ankles, one hand resting absently over his abdomen. The air was cold enough to bite, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze stayed on the endless stretch of water, calm but thoughtful, as though watching for something only he could feel moving beneath the waves.

Behind him, the soft rhythm of pacing broke the quiet.

Victor.

The sound was methodical: step, turn, step, every motion a quiet storm restrained by discipline. The faint hum of his ether lingered in the air, restless and sharp, brushing against Elias’s senses like static before a storm.

"You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet," Elias said without turning.

Victor stopped mid-stride, jaw tight. "You’re not taking this seriously enough."

Elias smiled faintly at the horizon. "You’re taking it too seriously. Between you and Poseidon, I’ll be more protected than any mortal has ever been. He’ll monitor the oceanic field, you’ll manage isolation, and I’ll do my part."

Victor’s voice dropped low, that dangerous quiet that usually made gods hesitate. "Your part involves baiting an unstable remnant with the scent of your ether and hoping it behaves long enough for us to kill it."

Elias finally turned, leaning back against the railing. "It’s not hoping," he said calmly. "It’s calculation."

Victor’s crimson eyes caught the morning light, burning faintly like embers under glass. "And if your calculation is wrong?"

"Then," Elias said softly, "you’ll fix it."

That answer didn’t soothe him. If anything, Victor’s shoulders tensed more. He crossed the room toward Elias in long strides, the ocean wind tugging at his dark shirt. When he stopped, it was close enough that the sunlight spilled over both of them, gold over pale and shadow.

"You’re pregnant, Elias," he said, every word weighted with anger and something deeper, unspoken. "You are not risking yourself like this again."

Elias’ expression softened as he realized what was going on. He looked up at Victor, his hand still resting gently over the curve of his abdomen. "You think I don’t know the risk?" he asked quietly. "I ran the numbers, Victor. There is none. Poseidon and you are enough to control the variables. I’m the only one Jonathan will respond to, and I trust you to stop him when he does."

Victor’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "You trust me," he repeated.

Elias smiled faintly. "I married your temper long before your name. Trust was part of the package."

For a second, something in Victor’s composure cracked, a flash of frustration, of helpless affection that he couldn’t quite turn into anger. He turned away, running a hand through his hair, the gesture sharp. "You make it sound so rational," he muttered. "Like this is just another experiment, not you standing on a metaphysical cliff edge."

"I like cliff edges," Elias said dryly. "They have good views."

Victor turned back to him, eyes dark, the morning light haloing his outline like something celestial. "No more stunts like this," he said finally, the edge gone but the command still there. "Not until you give birth. Not until after spring, when we’re married. Then we can talk about you playing bait for dead gods again."

Elias arched an eyebrow. "So, after spring, I can go back to being reckless?"

"After spring," Victor said evenly, "you’ll be mine officially, which means if you do anything like this again, I’ll make sure Poseidon’s waves don’t reach you before I do."

Elias’s smile deepened, quiet and knowing. "That sounds possessive."

"It’s practical," Victor replied, stepping closer until his hand rested over Elias’s on the railing. "And yes, possessive."