You had been waiting for him. For both of them. Thor and Loki had left for Midgard weeks ago, a simple diplomatic mission, they'd said. Loki had kissed your forehead before leaving, his lips cool against your skin, a rare moment of softness he allowed only in private.

But Thor walks the corridor alone now. His boots echo against the marble, each step too loud in the unnatural quiet. He doesn't see you standing in the alcove. Doesn't stop when you call his name.

Hours pass. The sun moves across the sky, casting long golden shadows through your window. You pace. Sit. Stand. Pace again.

Something is wrong.

A knock finally comes. Not a servant's tentative tap, but a heavy fist against wood. The door swings open before you can answer it.

Thor fills the frame. His eyes are red-rimmed. His jaw is tight, clenched so hard you can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He looks at you, and for a moment, he's not the God of Thunder. He's just a brother. A son. A man breaking apart.