“Percy,” Annabeth said quietly. “You were right about Luke.” It was the first time she’d spoken since Silena Beauregard’s death. She kept her eyes fixed on the elevator numbers as they blinked into the magical numbers: 400, 450, 500. Grover and I exchanged glances. “Annabeth,” I said. “I’m sorry—” “You tried to tell me.” Her voice was shaky. “Luke is no good. I didn’t believe you until…until I heard how he’d used Silena. Now I know. I hope you’re happy.” “That doesn’t make me happy.”
