Reaching deep down, I scrabbled up his side and rolled him onto his back. His eyes were closed, dark lashes fanning his golden cheeks. With a shaking hand, I felt his neck for a pulse and then swallowed a cry of relief as I felt it steady under my fingers.

I had no idea what the Pegasus blood would do to him. It could kill mortals. Immobilize Titans and demigods, but the Apollyon? No one had really said what it would do to him.

He was alive.

Out cold, but alive.

Pushing myself up, I sat down and scanned the room. My gaze landed on the blade first. You will need the toxin, but not for whom you expect. Medusa’s words haunted me. She had known. That woman had known.

And I’d seen the Titan Atlas before.

He’d been in my nightmares. Over and over, he’d been there. That had been him. How? I didn’t understand, but he had.

Numb, I lifted my gaze. Deacon was struggling to his feet, along with Luke. Both looked like they’d been blown through a wall. A fine trickle of blood leaked out of Deacon’s nose, but he appeared otherwise uninjured. The bruises on Luke’s jaw were from fighting Atlas. Hercules was sitting up, his expression absolutely dumbfounded.

“How did he do that?” Alex stumbled to her feet with Aiden’s aid, swaying to one side. Both looked okay. “How did he do that?”

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know how Seth had tapped into all of us without even touching us.

My gaze finally fell on Solos. “Oh gods,” I whispered, quickly averting my gaze. What Atlas had whispered in my dream the night before had also been right. Dig a grave.

He was . . . I closed my eyes, biting down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. Pain opened in my chest, overshadowing the physical aches that bit and chewed at me.

Solos was gone.

Him falling had tipped Seth over an edge, a very precarious edge I hadn’t even realized he’d been teetering on this . . . this entire time.

I was numb, sitting between where Seth had fallen and where Solos lay. This scent of death was different than what followed the shades. This . . . this was heavier, more real.

“Solos,” Deacon spoke softly. He’d dropped to his knees beside him. “Oh man. Oh gods, this is . . .” He reached out, but drew his hands back. “This isn’t right.”

It was never right.

Alex shuffled over to Deacon and her face crumpled a second before she smacked her hands over her cheeks. She turned slightly, her shoulders tensing, and then, after a handful of moments, she appeared to pull it together. When she turned back around, her expression was devoid of emotion.

“We need to bury him with coins,” she whispered. “We need to give him that so he can cross over on the ferry at Styx. Now.”