The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)

by Rick Riordan

Her misery was like the cold gravity of a mountain. You could stand next to that mountain and close your eyes, and even if you couldn’t see it or hear it, you knew it was there—unspeakably heavy and powerful, a geological force so ancient it made even immortal gods feel like gnats.

These places were homes. Whether I deserved to be part of them or not—that was a different question.

Now, here we were, at the wrong end of forever, neither of us in the right form to choose the other.

Have you completely made up for all the bad things you’ve done? No. But you keep adding to the ‘good things’ column. That’s all any of us can do.”

“If I’m going to burn,” he said, “I might as well burn bright. This is for Jason.”

But, oh, the cost. Frank. Beautiful, awkward, lumbering, brave, strong, sweet, noble Frank.

I let loose a guttural roar—a song with only one note: pure rage, and only one volume: maximum.

“Yeah. ‘Life is only precious because it ends, kid.’”