With blinding clarity, Cassandra's epiphany from last night returned to the forefront of her mind. It had been painful, physically painful, to realize the reason she had been so angry at Apollo. She was looking for some sort of nobility in him, some spark of courage. She had been looking for traces of everything that Othryoneus had been. But Apollo was not Othryoneus. He could never be Othryoneus.

"It seems to me," she said, evening her voice, "that the only power you're looking for right now is power over me. After...what has it been for you? One hundred and twelve years? Something like that?"

Cassandra dared to look him in the eyes. That was always the hardest part for her. Apollo had entrancingly beautiful eyes. They were what she remembered most about the night they met and something about them always brought out that fourteen year old girl who just wanted to know things. "I would think, after all that time, you would know how I respond to being cornered."