“Ah, sibling trouble. I know it well.” He nods to the bench a few feet away. “Want to sit down and tell me all about it?”
“Not really.”
“Fair enough.” He grins. “Want to sit down and talk about something totally unrelated? I’m not feeling so great and could use a little rest.”
“What’s wrong?” I step back and look him over from head to toe. “Are you sick?”
“Nah, just tired.” He moves to the bench, and for the first time, I realize he’s favoring his right side.
“Did you pull a muscle?” I ask as I sit down next to him.
He puts a hand to his side. “Something like that.”
“Do you want me to get Dr. Henning? I saw her in the Stoa—”
“This isn’t anything she can help me with,” he answers, and it occurs to me that he looks a lot more tired than he usually does. And also, his bun has slid halfway down the side of his head. “Now, why don’t you tell me what your brother did to get you so upset?”
“I’d rather you tell me how you hurt your side,” I counter. “It seems a lot more serious than what my brother did to me.”
“I don’t know about that. This is just an old injury. I’ve had it for centuries.”
“Oh, I’m—” I freeze. Wait, did he just say “centuries”?
“Mine’s not important,” he continues. He holds up the hand he was just resting on his side, and fire dances along his fingertips. “It seems to me that yours is brand new.”
For a second, I’m too transfixed by the flames just hanging out there on his skin to register anything else. But then I notice there’s blood on his fingertips, just beneath the flames.
And just like that, it all comes together for me.
PT.
The fire in the cauldron he keeps trying to relight.
The blood.
The pain in his right side, right where his liver is.
The injury he’s had for centuries.
Suddenly his kind, tired eyes and thatCOEXISTnecklace of his make a lot more sense.
Because PT isn’t just a donut salesman and a terrible cauldron-repair guy. He’s a Titan. In fact, as far as humanity is concerned, he’s probably the mostimportantTitan.
He’s the person who created us. The person who gave us fire. The person who has spent an eternity of nights chained to a rock as a giant bird ate his liver as punishment for his gift to humankind.
And he’s also the person Pandora and her box were created to punish.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Prometheus?” I whisper.
54.Flaming Out
AS SOON AS I SAYhis name, his blue eyes grow watchful and the fire dies out on his fingertips. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Um…” I gesture to the blood spot seeping through his shirt. “You kind of gave me a lot of clues.”
“I guess I did do that.” He grins.
“So what are you doing here?” I ask. “And don’t tell me trying to fix that ridiculous cauldron!”
