“I don’t see why death matters,” he’d told her. “You come to the Underworld every day. You would have seen Lexa again.” “Because it’s not the same,” she’d said, and at the time, he hadn’t understood, but suddenly he did. It didn’t matter that he could see her here—in another life. It was the simple fact that she had died out there. It was that she had been alone when Cronos had come for her. That he had killed her prized lions before he’d slammed his spear into her chest. It was that all she’d wanted was to see the sun rise a final time. It was that he would never forget looking upon her face
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