“I’m not going to die, Andie,” he whispered.

“I think you are,” she said.

Henry slipped his arms around her. He could feel her curves through her clothes, and all her hard muscle, from years of hockey as much as from bashing shields and swinging swords. Her black hair lay soft against his cheek and smelled like herbs. The dirt-smeared tomboy had grown into a pretty girl when he wasn’t looking. And she hadn’t been just his “kid sister’s friend” in a long time.

Henry’s heart pounded in his ears. It was weird to think that he could kiss her. Shove Lux off onto the floor and press her back on his bed. No time like the present to play the Last Night on Earth card. He cleared his throat.

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not psychic,” he croaked.

“Oh.” She pulled away. “It’s not a joke!” But she laughed a little and punched him in the liver, almost hard enough to make him buckle. The moment was over, and he tried to laugh with her, hugging his internal organs and kicking himself.

Henry Weaver, chickenshit of the ages.

*   *   *

Pack light, Athena had said. For the underworld. When Cassandra didn’t even know what she was packing for, or what the weather was like, or if there was even weather at all. The open mouth of her suitcase yawned. Most of her clothes had gone into it already, only to be taken out again. Pack light. She nixed the suitcase and reached for her schoolbag, then dumped her books and notebooks onto the floor to make room for a few shirts and a spare pair of jeans.

“This is an impossible trip to pack for,” she said to Odysseus. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you? How about some advice?”

He leaned over the bed and surveyed the choices.

“Here.” He grabbed a few t-shirts and a zip-up hoodie. “That should do it. Just don’t forget your goat’s blood and honey.”

“What?”

He waved his hand. “Hermes will take care of it.”

Cassandra peered down into her mostly empty backpack.

“So that’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. You won’t be gone long. She won’t let you be.” His voice turned bitter at the end, and his normally easygoing eyes sat hard as stones.

“You think we’re making a mistake, going into Olympus,” Cassandra said.

“I think she is.”

“Why?” Cassandra asked.

“Because she’s too bloody sure she’s going to win.” He exhaled sharply. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She won’t listen to me. Not when she gets like this. She didn’t listen to me when I said not to kill Achilles—”

“And that turned out okay.”

Odysseus shrugged. The outcome wasn’t the point, she supposed. He ran his hands through his unruly brown hair. He was tense and scared for Athena. Probably scared for all of them.

“I don’t think she likes you doubting her,” said Cassandra.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care. I care about keeping her alive. And telling her the truth.”

Cassandra frowned and thought of Calypso, how she must feel, knowing that Odysseus cared for Athena first.

“Ody, are you and Cally…?”

He shook his head. “No. And yes. And before you say anything, I know how shitty that is. What a bleeding mess I’ve made. It would have been better for us all if Athena had never showed a scrap of humanity. If she’d stayed a goddess, and I’d never been able to touch her.”

Cassandra rested her chin on her hand thoughtfully.

“I don’t know how to respond first. ‘What the hell scrap of humanity are you talking about?’ or ‘So, you’ve actually touched her?’”

“My gods, did I touch her. In the back of a truck on the way to Kincade.” He groaned and made fists. “The memory of it keeps me up nights.”

“You. Are. Really gross.” Cassandra zipped her bag. “And really unfair to Cally. She’s so sweet. And beautiful.”

“Cally’s wonderful,” Odysseus said. “Amazing. Lovely. She deserves better than me.” He sat down on Cassandra’s bed, wrinkling most of her wardrobe still spread out on it. He reached under his leg and pulled out a sweater, a blue one Aidan had bought for her. He folded it and held it out.

“What?” she asked. “In case I need something dressy?”

“Hades can be quite a particular bastard. He might want you formal. Listen. When you’re down there, Athena’s going to bait you. She doesn’t want to go, so she’s going to rush you along, piss you off. But you can’t touch her, do you hear me? You can’t touch her when you’re angry.”