The Owl jolted awake at precisely 6:30, joy humming through their veins like caffeine. They couldn't hold it in. Not today. Not after _exactly_ what they'd hoped for had landed neatly in their hands. They hadn't won the millions—yet—but they had gotten something far more valuable in stage one: a clue. A delicious, gleaming hint pointing toward the poor, unfortunate soul sorted as the millionaire. The one destined to be hunted down.
Grinning like a devil in the dark, they stared up at the ceiling, then to the walls, smiling as if they'd painted them with triumph. Their body couldn't sit still with that much satisfaction buzzing through it. So, humming under their breath, the Owl stripped down and strolled into the cavernous marble bathroom, treating themselves to a steaming hot shower—and yes, singing the whole damn time. How could they not?
Once clean and warm, they followed their usual ritual with surgical precision. They shaved. Applied skincare. Nurtured every strand of hair, blow-drying it into place. Their reflection beamed back at them, polished and flawless. They padded barefoot into their walk-in closet, fingers brushing over rows of designer casualwear.
But then—out of the corner of their eye—they caught movement through the massive window. Curious, they turned. And froze.
Thalia.
Wearing a skin-tight, maroon-red one-piece unitard with a cropped bolero shrug to match. White ankle socks. Red running shoes. Her impossibly long hair braided to one side in an elegant fishtail that swayed behind her as she moved. Sculpted. Focused. Powerful.
And next to her?
That smug bastard Alessandro of the Eagles, jogging in step with her.
Shirtless.
The Owl's blood instantly boiled.
They stared, seething, as the Eagle matched Thalia's pace like he belonged there—like he was entitled to her mornings. That was unacceptable. Absolutely not.
If they'd known the Greek goddess incarnate was a morning runner, they'd have hauled their ass out of bed at five.
Impulse won. It always did.
Clothes flew. Boxer briefs. Dark green sport shorts. Black socks, black runners. A quick mist of deodorant. Two sprays of their signature cologne, because appearance and presence were everything. Hair? Adjusted to perfection in three practiced strokes. They snatched the room key from the hook, looped it around their neck on its chain, locked the door, and bolted out of the room like a man possessed.
"Good morning, Lord Rourke. Energetic, I see?" came the steward's composed voice.
Elijah didn't slow. "Morning, Mr. Vogel. I'm energetic and pissed that the damn Eagle beat me to it."
Mr. Vogel let out a small chuckle. "So you'll be joining them on the morning circuit?"
"I'll be joining Thalia, not that Italian fucker," Elijah snapped, already bounding down the hallway like a predator on the scent. "Later, Mr. Vogel. Have a thrilling morning."
"You as well, Lord Rourke," the steward called behind him, though Elijah was already halfway across the castle grounds.
Long legs slicing through the cool morning air, he spotted them—Thalia and Alessandro—rounding a curve in perfect sync.
He adjusted his pace, closing in on Thalia's right side, syncing with her instantly. Not a breath wasted.
"Good morning, love," he purred, letting his Australian accent curl around the word like a ribbon.
Then he cut a sideways glance at Alessandro, his voice low and razor-sharp. "Eagle."
The Italian's eyes slid to him with matching disdain. "Serpent."
Thalia only laughed, her voice light and cutting through the tension like a breeze. "Good morning, Snakebite. Can we not break into primal combat this early? I swear, the testosterone in the air is choking me."
She twirled around smoothly, now running backward in front of them with fluid grace. Her eyes scanned Elijah's body from head to toe—and he felt it. The heat. The attention. The satisfaction.
Let her look.
At six foot three, he was the tallest among all competitors, rivaled only by Alessandro, and carried his size with command. Wide back, broad shoulders, trim waist, thick frame. Muscular legs, thighs that could crush egos, calves carved like sculpture. Every inch of him was a testament to his obsessive discipline.
And then there were the tattoos.
Two intertwining serpents ran the length of his spine, coiling in opposite directions. A snake wrapped around his right arm from shoulder to wrist, the head resting just above his pulse. His left bicep carried a full spread of moon phases, stars inked like stardust around them. Down the center of his chest stretched a sword from neck to sternum, flanked by skeletal wings—symmetrical, ominous, beautiful.
His left oblique carried an elvish script—an entire passage resembling a torn page from a book—snaking downward past his waist and vanishing into his shorts. His right calf bore a spider web stretching around the muscle, dark and elegant. And down his left leg, a ladder of celestial symbols climbed from ankle to mid-thigh, a constellation's story written on skin.
He gave a small spin mid-run, just enough for her to get the full view. A show? Absolutely. And judging by the look in her eyes—darkened, focused, and hungry—she was watching.
Thalia's gaze didn't break even once. She absorbed every detail without missing a beat, still jogging in perfect rhythm, backward. No stumble. No hesitation.
When she'd had her fill, she bit down on her bottom lip and met his eyes squarely.
"Endiaféron," she muttered under her breath.
Then she spun forward again, running between them like a queen with her hounds flanking both sides.
And Elijah?
He couldn't stop the smirk curling his lips.
Round one: engaged.
"What does that mean?" they both asked at the same time—though their tones couldn't have been more different. Elijah's was light, laced with amusement, while Alessandro's came out clipped, clearly annoyed but trying to rein it in.
Thalia gave a careless shrug, her grin wicked and unbothered. "Who knows?"
"Oh, come on," they groaned in stereo again, the sound perfectly synchronized.
"That's not fair, love," Elijah complained, exaggerating a pout so theatrical it nearly deserved applause.
Thalia's grin only widened, flashing teeth. "Fair?" she repeated, her voice lilting with mock offense. "You two are out here strutting like roosters, puffing up your chests, showing off those muscles like you're auditioning for some gladiator calendar. I'd bet actual gold you're both fighting the urge to sneak off and compare sizes behind a tree."
Elijah's eyes narrowed. Alessandro's jaw ticked.
She let out a genuine cackle that rang bright through the morning air. "And I'm the one being unfair?" she continued, utterly delighted. "Please. I'm not the one running around in glorified bikinis trying to stir up some ancient mating ritual."