“Charon’s obol,” I mutter, picking up the gold medallion necklace on his chest. “It’s the way to pay the ferryman across the Styx so you—” “So I can find my way home if I ever get lost,” he finishes, bumping his nose against mine. “To me,” I correct, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, “You buy your way back to me, Loner.” “To you, Geeks.”
