"WHAT WERE YOU thinking?" Clarisse cradled Silena's head in her lap.

Silena tried to swallow, but her lips were dry and cracked. "Wouldn't . . . listen. Cabin would . . . only follow you."

"So you stole my armor," Clarisse said in disbelief. "You waited until Chris and I went out on patrol; you stole my armor and pretended to be me." She glared at her siblings. "And NONE of you noticed?"

The Ares campers developed a sudden interest in their combat boots.

"Don't blame them," Silena said. "They wanted to . . . to believe I was you."

"You stupid Aphrodite girl," Clarisse sobbed. "You charged a drakon? Why?"

"All my fault," Silena said, a tear streaking the side of her face. "The drakon, Charlie's death . . . camp endangered—"

"Stop it!" Clarisse said. "That's not true."

Silena opened her hand. In her palm was a silver bracelet with a scythe charm, the mark of Kronos.

"You were the spy." Percy's voice wasn't angry — it was just sad.

Silena tried to nod. "Before . . . before I liked Charlie, Luke was nice to me. He was so . . . charming. Handsome. Later, I wanted to stop helping him, but he threatened to tell. He promised . . . he promised I was saving lives. Fewer people would get hurt. He told me he wouldn't hurt . . . Charlie. He lied to me."

Behind them, the battle raged.

Clarisse scowled at her cabinmates. "Go, help the centaurs. Protect the doors. GO!"

They scrambled off to join the fight.

Silena took a heavy, painful breath. "Forgive me."

"You're not dying," Clarisse insisted.

"Charlie . . ." Silena's eyes were a million miles away. "See Charlie . . ."

She didn't speak again.

Clarisse held her and wept. Chris put a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, Brooklyn made herself reach out and close Silena's eyes.

"We have to fight." She put on her daughter of Zeus facade, in order to suppress the sadness and anger she felt. "She gave her life to help us. We have to honor her."

Clarisse sniffled and wiped her nose. "She was a hero, understand? A hero."

Percy nodded. "Come on, Clarisse."

She picked up a sword from one of her fallen siblings. "Kronos is going to pay."

She lived up to her promise. Even without her armor or spear, she was a demon. She rode her chariot straight into the Titan's army and crushed everything in her path.

She was so inspiring, even the panicked centaurs started to rally. The Hunters scrounged arrows from the fallen and launched volley after volley into the enemy. The Ares cabin slashed and hacked, which was their favorite thing. The monsters retreated toward 35th Street.

Clarisse drove to the drakon's carcass and looped a grappling line through its eye sockets. She lashed her horses and took off, dragging the drakon behind the chariot like a Chinese New Year dragon. She charged after the enemy, yelling insults and daring them to cross her. As she rode, Brooklyn realized she was literally glowing. An aura of red fire flickered around her.

"The blessing of Ares," Thalia said. "I've never seen it in person before."

For the moment, Clarisse was as invincible as Percy was. The enemy threw spears and arrows, but nothing hit her.

"I AM CLARISSE, DRAKON-SLAYER!" she yelled. "I will kill you ALL! Where is Kronos? Bring him out! Is he a coward?"

"Clarisse!" Percy yelled. "Stop it. Withdraw!"

"What's the matter, Titan lord?" she yelled. "BRING IT ON!"

There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. The two-hundred-foot-long drakon carcass made a hollow scraping noise against the pavement, like a thousand knives.

Meanwhile, they tended to their wounded, bringing them inside the lobby. Long after the enemy had retreated from sight, Clarisse kept riding up and down the avenue with her horrible trophy, demanding that Kronos meet her battle.

Chris said, "I'll watch her. She'll get tired eventually. I'll make sure she comes inside."

"What about the camp?" Percy asked. "Is anybody left there?"

Chris shook his head. "Only Argus and the nature spirits. Peleus the dragon is still guarding the tree."

"They won't last long," Percy said. "But I'm glad you came."

Chris nodded sadly. "I'm sorry it took so long. I tried to reason with Clarisse. I said there's no point in defending camp if you guys die. All our friends are here. I'm sorry it took Silena . . ."

"My Hunters will help you stand guard," Thalia said. "Brooks, Annabeth, and Percy, you should go to Olympus. I have a feeling they'll need you up there — to set up the final defense."

The doorman had disappeared from the lobby. His book was facedown on the desk and his chair was empty. The rest of the lobby, however, was jam-packed with wounded campers, Hunters, and satyrs.

Connor and Travis Stoll met them by the elevators.

"Is it true?" Connor asked. "About Silena?"

Percy nodded. "She died a hero."

Travis shifted uncomfortably. "Um, I also heard—"

"That's it," Brooklyn insisted. "End of story."

"Right," Travis mumbled. "Listen, we figure the Titan's army will have trouble getting up the elevator. They'll have to go up a few at a time. And the giants won't be able to fit at all."

"That's our biggest advantage," Percy said. "Any way to disable the elevator?"

"It's magic," Travis said. "Usually you need a key card, but the doorman vanished. That means the defenses are crumbling. Anyone can walk into the elevator now and head straight up."

"Then we have to keep them away from the doors," Percy ordered. "We'll bottle them up in the lobby."

"We need reinforcements," Travis said. "They'll just keep coming. Eventually they'll overwhelm us."

"There are no reinforcements," Connor complained.

Percy looked outside at Mrs. O'Leary, who was breathing against the glass doors and smearing them with hellhound drool.

"Maybe that's not true," he said.

He went outside, and Brooklyn and Annabeth were left standing there. They didn't do much talking, considering Annabeth hadn't spoken for hours, and Brooklyn couldn't see her for most of that time, staring at the stark red mortality lines in a dark, empty dimension.

The next time she came back, Percy was there again, and they headed to the elevator. On the way, they spotted Grover kneeling over a fat wounded satyr.

"Leneus!" Percy said.

The old satyr looked terrible. His lips were blue. There was a broken spear in his belly, and his furry goat legs were twisted at a painful angle. Half of his mortality ties were broken, and the other half were rapidly turning gray.

He tried to focus on them, but Brooklyn didn't think that he saw them.

"Grover?" he murmured.

"I'm here, Leneus." Grover was blinking back tears.

"Did . . . did we win?"

"Um . . . yes," Grover lied. "Thanks to you, Leneus. We drove the enemy away."

"Told you," the old satyr mumbled. "True leader. True . . ."

He closed his eyes for the last time.

Grover gulped. He put his hand on Leneus's forehead and spoke an ancient blessing. The old satyr's body melted, until all that was left was a tiny sapling in a pile of fresh soil.

"A laurel," Grover said in awe. "Oh, that lucky old goat."

He gathered up the sapling in his hands. "I . . . I should plant him. In Olympus, in the gardens."

"We're going that way," Percy said. "Come on."

Easy-listening music played as the elevator rose. Brooklyn took off her cap, which she'd kept on during the battle because she was attached to it, and attempted to brush off the monster remains and shit on it, but it definitely needed a wash.

"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 floors as they blinked into the magical numbers: 400, 450, 500.

Grover and Percy exchanged glances. Brooklyn hasn't been friends with Grover and Annabeth long enough to be included in this.

"Annabeth," Percy 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."

She put her head against the elevator wall and wouldn't look at them.

Grover cradled his laurel sapling in his hands. "Well . . . sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look. It's our floor."

The doors dinged and they stepped onto the aerial walkway.

Depressing is not a word that was usually used to describe Mount Olympus, but it looked that way now. No fires lit the braziers. The windows were dark. The streets were deserted and the doors were barred. The only movement was in the parks, which had been set up as field hospitals. Will Solace and the other Apollo campers scrambled around, caring for the wounded. Naiads and dryads tried to help, using nature magic songs to heal burns and poison.

As Grover planted the laurel sapling, Annabeth and Percy went around trying to cheer up the wounded. Brooklyn let them walk, leaning against the front door of an apartment as she felt her body sink into the desolate world, opening her eyes to see less mortality ties than usual. A lot were moving — probably the Apollo cabin — and a lot were either broken or turning gray, which meant that people were dying.

Ugh. She hated this. Her feet dragged her along, walking away from the pile of mortality ties. She noticed a new red, faded line that came from her shoulder, and she grabbed it, tugging at it angrily.

Why can't you just get better? she thought, because she couldn't speak here.

Suddenly, a smoky hand grabbed the one that was tugging at her mortality line, and Brooklyn let out a sigh as she saw that that hand was connected to her other hand by their pinkies. She fiddled with the tie between their pinkies until she felt herself come back to her own body, Percy's hand in hers and him standing in front of her.

"I thought you mastered this," he whispered to her.

"I mastered getting used to it and using it to my advantage in battle," she let go of his hand to rub her eyes. "Not when I go in it and when I don't." She adjusted her Yankees cap and led him over to where Grover and Annabeth were waiting. "Don't worry about it," Brooklyn told Percy over her shoulder.

They kept walking toward the palace. That's where Kronos would head. As soon as he made it up the elevator, he would destroy the throne room, the center of the gods' power.

The bronze doors creaked open. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The constellations twinkled coldly on the ceiling of the great hall. The hearth was down to a dull red glow. Hestia, in the form of a little girl in brown robes, hunched at its edge, shivering. The cow thing swam sadly in his sphere of water. He let out a half-hearted moo when he saw Percy.

In the firelight, the thrones cast evil-looking shadows, like grasping hands.

Standing at the foot of Zeus's throne, looking up at the stars, was Rachel Dare. She was holding a Greek ceramic vase.

"Rachel?" Percy said. "Um, what are you doing with that?"

She focused on him as if she were coming out of a dream. "I found it. It's Pandora's jar, isn't it?"

"Please put down the jar," he pleaded.

"I can see Hope inside it." Rachel ran her fingers over the ceramic designs. "So fragile."

"Rachel."

His voice seemed to bring her back to reality. She held out the jar, and he took it.

"Grover, Brooks," Annabeth mumbled. "Let's scout around the palace. Maybe we can find some extra Greek fire or Hephaestus traps."

"But—" Grover protested.

Annabeth elbowed him. Brooklyn snickered.

"Right!" he yelped. "I love traps!"

They dragged him out of the throne room.

"What's going on with you?" Annabeth asked Brooklyn as they walked around Mount Olympus. "When you were spaced out, and Percy had to run over and get you out of it."

"Oh. That." Brooklyn grimaced, watching as Grover went to abandon them to talk to some of his nature spirits instead. "I can . . . uh, see another world."

"Another world," Annabeth repeated.

Brooklyn, although reluctantly, explained about her ability, and how it had affected her until this point.

Annabeth's forehead wrinkled as she thought about it. "I think I've read about this before," she said. "The Realm of Mortality."

"That sounds . . . sinister," Brooklyn commented.

Annabeth smiled ruefully. "It sounds like it. I don't envy you. I see why you didn't like it earlier."

"I still don't."

Annabeth let out a laugh. "It runs in your family, so there isn't much written about it. You'd be better off asking your mom about it."

"How about no," Brooklyn amended. "She just gives me more questions when I ask. And anger."

"Yeah, I get it," Annabeth nodded. "Thanks for telling me."

"Did I have a choice?" Brooklyn glanced toward the throne room. "Should we go back now?"

"I think it's been enough time," Annabeth agreed.

They grabbed Grover and came back into the throne room. They stopped at the scene in front of them, with Percy with a wistful expression staring at Rachel and Hestia.

"Percy?" Brooklyn glanced at the door. "Should we, um, leave again?"

He looked at Rachel. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? I mean . . . you talked to Chiron, right?"

She managed a faint smile. "You're worried about me doing something stupid?"

"But I mean . . . will you be okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "That kind of depends on whether you save the world, hero."

Percy picked up Pandora's jar.

"Hestia," he said, "I give this to you as an offering."

The goddess tilted her head. "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?"

"You're the last Olympian," he said. "And the most important."

"And why is that, Percy Jackson?"

"Because Hope survives best at the hearth. Guard it for me, and I won't be tempted to give up again."

The goddess smiled. She took the jar in her hands and it began to glow. The hearth fire burned a little brighter.

"Well done, Percy Jackson," she said. "May the gods bless you."

"We're about to find out." Percy looked at Brooklyn, Annabeth, and Grover. "Come on, guys."

He marched toward his father's throne.

Despite this, Brooklyn was staring at her father's. It was about twenty feet tall, though it was probably taller because her father's an obnoxiously grand god. It was made out of white marble and it was probably uncomfortable. She personally would've chosen a more comfortable throne. If she had one. Maybe she should get one.

"Help me up," Percy told her, Annabeth, and Grover.

"Are you crazy?" Annabeth asked.

"Of course he is, have you seen him?" Brooklyn scoffed.

"Percy," Grover said, "the gods really don't appreciate people sitting in their thrones. I mean like turn-you-into-a-pile-of-ashes don't appreciate it."

"I need to get his attention," Percy said. "It's the only way."

Annabeth and Grover exchanged uneasy looks.

"You're learning, my apprentice," Brooklyn smirked as she flicked her wrist and the winds boosted him on the throne. "I'm so proud."

"You can make him fly?" Annabeth stared uneasily at Percy as he had a conversation with his father. He was steadily losing his tan complexion.

"Controlling the winds is hard," Brooklyn admitted. "I've tried to fly, but I can't. But I can control the air. Even though it takes up so much of my energy. Probably because of . . . you know, my other ability."

"Is that why you do the lightning?" Grover shuddered. "That's scary."

"Sorry, but it's the only thing I'm confident in," she shrugged, staring warily at Percy, who was steaming. "Well, that and leaping headfirst into danger whenever it appears."

Then, Percy slipped down from the throne.

Grover studied him nervously. "Are you okay? You turned pale and . . . you started smoking."

"I did not!" Then he looked at his arms. Steam was curling off his shirtsleeves. The hair on his arms was singed.

Brooklyn snickered. "Nice one."

"If you'd sat there any longer," Annabeth said, ignoring Brooklyn, "you would've spontaneously combusted. I hope the conversation was worth it?"

Moo, said the cow thing in his sphere of water.

"We'll find out soon," Percy said.

Just then the doors of the throne room swung open. Thalia marched in. Her bow was snapped in half and her quiver was empty.

"You've got to get down there," she told them. "The enemy is advancing. And Kronos is leading them."