“I am sorry we argued,” Zoë said. “We could have been sisters.” “It’s my fault,” Thalia said, blinking hard. “You were right about Luke, about heroes, men—everything.” “Perhaps not all men,” Zoë murmured. She smiled weakly at me. “Do you still have the sword, Percy?” I couldn’t speak, but I brought out Riptide and put the pen in her hand. She grasped it contentedly. “You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson. You are nothing like…like Hercules. I am honored that you carry this sword.” A shudder ran through her body. “Zoë—” I said. “Stars,” she whispered. “I can see the stars again, my lady.” A tear
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