The door slammed open.

  "WHO." Damon's voice was pure murder. "Give me a name, Penthesilea. Someone's funding this..."

  Eye contact.

  Cassandra was looking at him. Actually looking. Alive.

  The rage just... left. Like someone had cut his strings. His knees went.

  He caught himself on the bed frame, then her face was in his hands. Warm. Real. Pulse against his thumb.

  "You're..." Nothing else would come. His voice cracked. "Fuck. You're breathing."

  She tried to say something. Pink instead of words.

  "Don't." His forehead touched hers. "Just... don't."

  Anaktoria's hand found his shoulder. He was shaking.

  "How?"

  "Barely." Anaktoria's throat clenched. "One lung. The seal won't hold much longer."

  He pulled back enough to see the bandage. Resin and honey already dark with blood. He sighed.

  Cassandra's eye twitched. Trying to smile. He knew that look.

  "Don't you dare speak right now."

  She wheezed. More pink foam.

  "Stubborn." His voice broke again. "So fucking stubborn."

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  "Reminds me of someone." Penthesilea stood in the doorway with a pot of pine resin, knife already glowing from the coals.

  She moved past them, no ceremony. Set down her supplies and started cutting away the old seal. The wound wheezed like a broken flute.

  "Also thought she was too important to die properly." She packed fresh resin with practiced brutality. "Took thirty men with her. Always was competitive."

  The resin sizzled against flesh. Cassandra's body tried to arch. Damon and Anaktoria held her down.

  "There." Penthesilea sat back. "That'll hold till it doesn't."

  They arranged themselves around the bed. Anaktoria behind Cassandra, keeping her upright. Damon on the floor beside them, one hand on her ankle like she might float away. Penthesilea in her chair, watching for signs.

  The afternoon crawled.

  "Remember when we first met?" Anaktoria said eventually. "You fell off the ladder." Long pause. "Into my lap, basically."

  Cassandra agreed.

  "Smooth," Damon said. "Criminal, even."

  "Shut up."

  Penthesilea poured tea.

  It cooled as the sun dropped lower. The seal darkened despite the fresh resin.

  "She's drowning." Penthesilea checked the wound again. "In her own blood. Lung's closing shut."

  "So fix it."

  "With what? This isn't some..." She stopped. Stood. "I need more supplies."

  She left. Came back. Made Cassandra comfortable. The light was going golden through the window.

  They kept their vigil. Cassandra's breathing got worse. Wet crackling with each inhale.

  "Stay awake," Damon said urgently. Her eyelid was dropping. "Look at me. Stay..."

  The door opened.

  No knock. No stumble.

  Democritus stood in the doorway. Athena beside him. The room's temperature dropped ten degrees.

  "I was wrong." His voice harmonized with itself. Like bronze bells underwater.

  Penthesilea stopped breathing. She knew that sound. Imminent death.

  "Oh shit," she whispered. Then louder: "Everyone out!"

  "Stay." Democritus hadn't moved. "Witnesses prevent... revision."

  He crossed the room.

  Inevitable forward motion.

  Damon moved to block him.

  "Don't." Anaktoria caught his arm. "Not this time."

  The air had gone thick. Like before lightning.

  "Cassandra." Democritus looked down at her. "You've suffered enough this week."

  His hand settled over the wound. There.

  The seal cracked. Fell away like old paint. Beneath, unmarked skin. Cassandra's next breath came deep and full.

  Then the sun rose.

  Through the window. Backward. From sunset to blazing noon in three heartbeats.

  Golden light flooded the room. Too bright. Too warm. Too much like home.

  Footsteps in the garden. Arriving between heartbeats.

  Apollo.