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Chapter Four: Asgard

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"Settling in, are you?" Loki's voice asked, as he let himself in and swept his gaze over the balcony, where I was perched in a chair scribbling away.

"Guess you could say that," I responded, standing.

I hid the paper I was sketching on behind my back as he entered onto the balcony with slow steps, his green and black cape swishing at his black-booted feet which tapped against the flagstone flooring. I didn't often share my art with people. Mae and Gale, sure. My dad, sometimes. But I never showed many people beyond that. When I sold it, I did it without giving information of my identity. I was just some faceless artist barely scraping by.

"How goes the researching?" I asked softly as he paused before me, eyes trailing up and down my body. I felt my face twinge with heat.

"It isn't going," Loki answered, eyes meeting my own, "My father gave up for the evening. He'll return tomorrow with more people to assist him. Including myself."

"Right..." I sighed, turning to face the balcony, now clutching my paper to my stomach to conceal it from view.

"What have you got there?" he asked, trying to peer around me, but I turned away.

"It's nothing," I said.

He nodded skeptically, leaning his back against the railing to face me, folding his arms.

"I wondered if you might be able to get in contact with your father? Perhaps ask him of your heritage?" he asked.

"I guess I could try to send a letter," I responded, "My father—He was always so secretive. Of my powers, my mother, my past. It was why I left home so young. Don't get me wrong, I want to know about my past, but at the same time, I don't want to find out that my dad has known it this whole time. And kept it from me."

"Well, better he kept it from you and you find it out, than he continues to keep it from you and you never learn the truth," Loki said, and I nodded, sighing and letting my hands relax at my sides.

Loki took this opportunity to snatch up my unfinished sketch, unfurling the paper and examining it, holding it high above my head when I jumped and pulled at his arm to recollect it. Pain prodded at my ribcage, but already I was noticing the pain receed. Whatever the healers had done, it was working.

"You're talented," he remarked with a low whistle, "I'm impressed."

"Give that back," I ordered, jumping up and ripping it from his grasp.

His lips peeled into an amused grin.

"Was there anything else you wanted?" I asked coolly, as my face flushed and he chuckled.

"Nothing more than to inform you of our progress," he answered.

"From the sounds of it, you've made none," I folded my arms.

"Nonetheless," he continued, "Here I am. I heard from Sigrid you weren't shown about the place?"

"I barely have the energy to stay upright, let alone spend the evening wandering around a massive palace."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"At least try to hide your disappointment, not all of us are gods," I muttered, "And what did you expect? I was beaten and burned out, I'm running on fumes."

"Well, I'd be more than willing to show you about the place come morning," he offered, "So you don't get lost. I'll meet you here?"

"I guess, yeah," I shrugged, turning back into the room and aching at the sight of my bed, "Oh, and, by the way. I'm a New Yorker. We don't get lost."