Chapter 3: The Watcher's Warning

Prometheus had learned to watch from the edges of things.

The morning war council gathered around Metis's map. Zeus at the head, Poseidon and Hades flanking, Hera mediating. The usual chaos of desperate gods trying to win an unwinnable war.

Except.

Metis stood beside Zeus, showing supply routes. Their hands didn't touch, but moved in parallel. Synchronized. When Zeus leaned forward to study a junction, Metis shifted her weight to give him better angle. When she asked a question, he answered without the defensiveness he showed everyone else.

"Here," Zeus said, tracing a path. "If we position-"

"They'll be exposed," Metis finished. "Unless we stagger the timing."

Hera caught Prometheus's eye. Raised an eyebrow. Seeing it too.

But Zeus didn't see what his hand was doing: resting on the arm of his chair. Not gripping. Just... claiming. The unconscious gesture of ownership.