The theater was mostly empty. Midnight screening, obscure foreign war film—Cassandra's pick. The title was in Greek, some long-ass thing Parker wasn't about to pronounce, but the visuals were clear: Troy was burning.
A scene unfolded in flickering gold and red. Soldiers hacking through flesh, gods playing their divine chess game above, all while Cassandra of Troy screamed herself hoarse. Don't bring the horse inside. Don't trust them. You'll all die.
No one listened.
Cassandra, the real one—his Cassandra—leaned back in her seat, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Y'know, for a movie about one of my past lives, this shit's kinda dull."
Parker smirked, arms crossed, stretching his legs out. "Yeah? What'd you expect? Hollywood to finally give your tragic ass a happy ending?"
Cassandra snorted. "Please. That'd ruin the whole aesthetic."
