“Nico,” he called, “what does this guy want from you?” Tell him, Nico di Angelo, Cupid said. Tell him you are a coward, afraid of yourself and your feelings. Tell him the real reason you ran from Camp Half-Blood, and why you are always alone. Nico let loose a guttural scream. The ground at his feet split open and skeletons crawled forth—dead Romans with missing hands and caved-in skulls, cracked ribs, and jaws unhinged. Some were dressed in the remnants of togas. Others had glinting pieces of armor hanging off their chests. Will you hide among the dead, as you always do? Cupid taunted. Waves
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