The son of Dionysus who’d gone down fighting an enemy half-blood was wrapped in a deep purple shroud embroidered with grapevines. His name was Castor. I was ashamed that I’d seen him around camp for three years and never even bothered to learn his name.
When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. Then like this television actress I used to have a crush on in fifth grade. Then…well, you get the idea.
When we reached the wreckage we searched frantically, yelling Bianca’s name. We crawled around in the vast hollow pieces and the legs and the head. We searched until the sun started to rise, but no luck.
He couldn’t leave Bob to die alone. That just wasn’t him—and that was one of the many reasons she loved him, even if he was an Olympian-sized pain in the podex.
They’d been holding hands ever since they dropped into the chasm. Now Percy pulled her close, hugging her tight as they tumbled through absolute darkness.
So what if they were in Tartarus? So what if they stood a slim chance of surviving? He was so glad that they were together, he had the ridiculous urge to smile.