The hospital door opened before I could process what was happening.
"Adrian!"
A woman rushed toward me, mid-forties, elegant in the way that came from wealth and careful grooming. Her black hair was pulled back in a perfect bun, but worry had cracked her composed facade. Behind her, a man in an expensive suit moved with measured steps, though his eyes held the same desperate relief.
My parents?
The memories slotted into place like puzzle pieces.
Victoria Blackthorne, a former model turned philanthropist. Marcus Blackthorne—CEO of Blackthorne Consortium, one of the world's largest conglomerates, and the type of father who actually gave hugs.
Strange, I thought Gods don't have parents who cared.
"We were so worried," Victoria whispered, reaching out to touch my face. Her fingers were warm, gentle, nothing like the cold marble statues that had bowed before my divine throne.
"When you collapsed during the meeting, we thought..."
"I'm fine," I said automatically, though my voice came out rougher than intended. The meeting. Right. Adrian had been attending one of his father's board presentations when the memories hit. When I fully awakened in this body.
Marcus stepped forward, his hand settling on my shoulder. "The doctors said it was exhaustion. You've been pushing yourself too hard with your studies again, haven't you?"
Before I could answer, another voice cut through the emotional moment.
"Typical Adrian. Even unconscious, you manage to make everything dramatic."
I turned toward the doorway and felt something unexpected, genuine warmth blooming in my.
A girl leaned against the frame, arms crossed, trying to look annoyed. But her purple eyes were rimmed with red, and there were crumpled tissues in her free hand. Sixteen, same as this body, with the same black hair as our parents, but none of their careful composure.
Lydia. My twin sister.
She looked me over with the critical eye of someone who'd spent years learning to read my moods. "You look like death. Which, considering you've been unconscious for two days, is probably accurate."
Two days. I'd been unconscious for two days while my divine and mortal memories sorted themselves out.
"Lydia," Victoria scolded gently. "Your brother just woke up."
"And he's fine," Lydia said, but she moved closer anyway. "Aren't you, you antisocial hermit?"
Was there affection in the insult? Real, uncomplicated love that had nothing to do with power or fear or divine authority. When had anyone ever called me names with such... fondness?
"I'm fine," I repeated, testing the words. They felt strange but good in my mouth.
Marcus pulled out his phone. "I'll call Dr. Harrison. He'll want to run a few more tests before..."
"No." The word came out sharper than intended, carrying a hint of the authority I'd once wielded over life and death. All three of them froze.
I softened my tone. "I mean... I just want to go home. Please."
Victoria's expression melted. "Of course. We'll get you discharged immediately."
As they bustled around me, Victoria speaking to nurses, Marcus handling paperwork, Lydia hovering nearby with barely concealed worry, I felt something shift in my chest. Not the artifact, though that too pulsed steadily like a second heart. Something else.
Attachment.But the good kind.
These people cared about Adrian Blackthorne. They loved him without expecting anything in return. No worship, no offerings, no fear tinged respect. Just... love.
It was terrifying in the best possible way..