Saving one lost soul and risking losing countless other lives … it’s not worth it. “I’m not worth fighting for,” I whisper. “That’s what you think,” Zeus says. He doesn’t kiss me again, but he does hold me. He lets me bury my head on his wide chest, and he’s so tender and caring with me that seed of hope for more blooms in my gut. Because I’m nothing if not a lonely, pathetic loser. Just like Stephen used to tell me.
