Achilles broke the silence. The corner of his mouth curled up.

“Ody was right,” he said. “You’re not him. You don’t look a thing like him.”

Athena narrowed her eyes. Henry was the spitting image of Hector. Maybe Achilles was lying. Or maybe he was lying to himself. Either way, it seemed like a good thing.

“I don’t remember anything,” Henry said, and for a second Athena was ashamed of him. He sounded like a coward. But that wasn’t fair.

“I know,” Achilles said. “And that’s good.”

“I guess so.”

Hector and Achilles in her kitchen. Their fates had twined together so tightly. And now they maneuvered them face-to-face again. Why? To bury old hatchets? Maybe in each other’s backs.

The sliding door opened and closed around Andie. Her hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty black streaks.

“You’re back so soon,” she said. “We thought you were pizza. Who’s this guy?”

“Andie, Achilles. Achilles, Andie.” You remember her. You killed her husband once.

Andie stiffened and turned white. “What is he doing here?”

Cassandra and Hermes edged past Achilles, Hermes to linger near the wall, Cassandra to stand by her brother. Beads of sweat crept down the back of Athena’s neck. Had the kitchen always been so small? She wanted to blow out the walls, let the late winter wind rush in and distract them with shivering. Where was Odysseus? And Calypso? Hermes caught her eye and made a face. Tension in the mortal ranks, that look said. What are we going to do about it?

But she’d just gotten off of a plane. Couldn’t he think of something for once?

“Look.” Achilles put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think I’m here to help you.”

Andie stepped beside Henry. “We don’t want your help.”

“I’ve heard that before. But you need it.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Andie hissed.

Athena rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you give it a try? He can’t be killed. At least, not easily.”

“He can’t be killed?” Hermes snorted. “Great. Now even mortals are more immortal than we are.” He sighed. “Well, he’s pretty enough. What are we going to do with him?”

“He broke my arm,” Athena said. “He can do worse to Hera and Ares. I figure, we use him like a bulldozer. It’ll keep Cassandra a hell of a lot safer.” Athena shifted her weight and caught sight of Odysseus and Calypso still in the entryway. Their heads were bent together intimately.

“A bulldozer?” Achilles said, and shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Athena,” said Andie. “He can’t stay. He killed Henry.”

“You don’t remember that.”

“But I know it.”

“Hey,” said Achilles. “I didn’t kill any Henry. I killed Hector.” He bared his teeth. “And Hector killed my friend. I should’ve killed him twice.”

Hermes winced and raised skeptical eyebrows, but Athena waved him off. Yeah, yeah, it was a mess. Henry and Achilles would never be pals. But both weapons were there, in the same room. She had them both. Why couldn’t anyone else see how everything was going according to plan? Why couldn’t they see that it would be over soon? The war would be won.

She wished Odysseus were paying attention. He could defuse things when no one else could. But he was still lingering in the entryway with Calypso, her hand pressed to his chest.

“This might not work, big sister.”

“It has to, little brother. It’s meant to.” And if Odysseus didn’t get his ass into the kitchen soon, she’d be reduced to stomping her feet.

Achilles pulled his hands from his pockets.

“If you don’t want me, you’re welcome to die. Again. I’m an instrument of battle, but I don’t need it. I sat out half a war in Troy and would’ve sat out all of it, had Hector not murdered Patroclus.”

“That’s a lie,” Henry said.

“A lie on lots of counts.” Odysseus walked in with Calypso behind him and threw an arm around Achilles’ shoulders. “Your pride would’ve dragged you back sooner or later. And in war, there’s no such thing as murder.”

“We can’t trust him,” Andie said. “You know we can’t. We should put him in a block of cement or something.”

Achilles laughed. “You’re brutal, girl,” he said. “I like you. But I’d like to see you try.”