He runs.

He runs because it isn't true.

He runs because it can't be true.

And he runs because he knows it is true.

He knows this, in that deep down way that he can feel it when a soul passes from life to death. And yet his mind rebels against it. Because a week ago, she was complaining about her math homework while he cleaned his mythomagic figurines. A week ago, they were at school. A week ago, there were no such things as monsters.

And it was a week ago that she decided to leave him.

"Forget the Hunt!" he screams. "Forget them!" he collapses, hands over his face.

Because it is their fault. They sucked her into going on this quest. This hunt for Artemis. Who cared about Artemis? He wanted his sister back. He wanted his sister back!

The cold dirt felt as if it was mocking him as he collapsed onto it, screaming. "No! No! No!"

Because Bianca was his mother. His sister. His best friend. The one constant in his confusing life.

She was his everything.

And now… she is gone.

He doesn't even know who he is without her.

"No!" He screams again. It is a cry of pure pain, of agony. "NOO! NOOOOOOO!" The last part is just a scream, not a word. He imagined everyone, all over the world, being able to hear it. He imagined Bianca in the underworld, listening to his grief.

Nico doesn't know how long he was lying there. Minutes, hours. Crying isn't the right word for what he is doing now—he is twitching, convulsing, from the force of the sobs that tear through him. Tear him in two.

"Why did you have to go save them?" He demands. "Who cares about Percy Jackson? Who cares about Artemis? You had me… You had me."

But she had been so good. So kind, and caring, and loving. And Nico had not been good enough for her. She had wanted out.

He stands up again, because he doesn't know what else to do. The cold night air raises lumps on his arms, but he doesn't feel them. He can't. And so he keeps running.

The branches slap at his face, the night air absorbing his scream. "Bianca! Bianca!"

Maybe she is not dead at all. They didn't find a body. Maybe she is still out there, looking for him. Maybe if he yells loud enough she will find him. "Bianca! Bianca!" He never before appreciated how beautiful the word was. Before, it had been casual.

Bianca, can I have a candy bar?

Bianca, why is the vice principal trying to kill us?

And now her name was precious. So precious that he couldn't let anyone but him say it.

He runs.

He runs because he doesn't have anywhere to go.

He runs because he doesn't know where to stop.

He runs because maybe, if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the truth. The truth that is chasing him like a hellhound, planning on tearing him limb from limb. The truth that is about to eat him whole, swallow him, digest him, until there is nothing left of Nico di Angelo.

He doesn't want to do it anymore. This whole Greek Myth thing. It's too dangerous. Maybe, if he backtracks now, then they will go back to Westover and Bianca will be alive.

"The gods don't exist," he whispers to himself. "they're just figurines…"

Figurines!

The figurines that Bianca died for.

Oh, why had he started playing that stupid game? Why did it matter so much to him, so much she thought she had to risk her life for one stupid figure?

He imagines her pain at the end. All the electronic sparks, the fires, the power lines. He imagines how scared she must have been, how much it must have hurt to be burned alive.

"Gods damn you, Perseus Jackson!" Nico screams. "Gods… damn you."

And he is using that word again. Gods. But the gods don't exist. They don't! He closes his eyes, as if that will take him back to a world where there are no monsters, no giant robots, no meddling deities. A world with him, Bianca, and…

…and who? A parent? There has never been a parent for them.

It was only ever her. As Bianca had so rightly said, they only had each other. Their names had always been said in a string. "Bianca and Nico di Angelo."

So what did he do when one half of his life was missing?