After Zeus left.
The camp watched him leave.
No one tried to stop him. Ares opened his mouth once, then closed it. Athena turned away, back to the map table, back to the silver lines that kept shifting. Hermes shifted his weight like he wanted to follow, but Zeus had given no orders.
Zeus didn't look back.
He walked past the tents, past the healers, past the broken pillars that marked the edge of the camp. The grey light settled over his shoulders like a cloak. The fractures pulsed in the distance, thin and patient.
He had no map. No direction. Just a name and a purpose.
Azrael had been attacking supply lines. Had been killing healers, runners, guards. Had been carving words into dead angels. He wasn't hiding. He was waiting.
Zeus would find him.
---
The broken sectors stretched for miles.
