His brother wore a dark gray chiton and blue cloak—something that would have Acheron beaten if seen. All prostitutes were required to wear a specific red chiton whenever they were in public. But Styxx would never tell. He was glad Acheron looked a good deal healthier than he’d appeared the last time they’d met. And the irony that both of them were here this day, pretending to be someone they weren’t while doing the same exact thing, wasn’t lost on him. They were twins, after all. For a moment, he thought Acheron would speak to him. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled his cowl down lower over his face and made his way out of the amphitheater. A part of Styxx wanted to chase after him, but what was the use? Really? Time and bitterness divided them. They had both said and done things to each other that were unforgivable. And yet … He missed his brother. Dearly. Those stolen moments of friendship when they’d played together and laughed. He would give anything if he could go back to that time when the world hadn’t been quite so cold and harsh.
