Athena, before she leaves, inclines her head. Her mouth doesn't move, but the corners of her eyes soften, and there's sincerity in her eyes when she says, "The pleasure is mine, Achilles. Take care of my little brother."

And then she's gone. She has work to do, after all. And whether her parting words were a command for a guard or a plea to her brother's lover to her? She hasn't made it clear.

But when Achilles finally knocks on the door, Hermes doesn't answer verbally. Instead, he just opens the door himself. His eyes are tired, his wings drooping more than usual, but he leans against the threshold with his usual confidence nonetheless.

"What do you think?" he says softly. He waits for Achilles to step inside before closing the door, sighing and leaning his back against it like he'd just had a fistfight with Kronos.

"I know it's important for appearances, but I don't like it when you call me Lord," Hermes says, rubbing his face.