17: Blood on the Ground

She was completely unprepared.

Granted, there wasn't anything that could have prepared her for a breakfast of emotional turmoil and threatened slaughter, but that was no excuse. She should have powered through the fatigue. She should have stayed up all night. She should have pinched herself a thousand times over when her eyes started to close. Then, at least, she could have been spared the terror of waking up to a murderous Quinn Fabray.

Rachel sat bolt upright, drawing back and flattening herself against cold stone. She'd expected a confrontation, of course, but somehow her projected scenarios had all managed to fit in the prep time and lead-up that the real world could not. As it was, she'd been tossed into the middle of a death match, and her brain wasn't prepared to do anything but make her painfully aware of the fact.

Emphasis on "painfully." Every edge in the rock seemed determined to stamp itself into her back. Her bow clattered to the ground as tension seized control of her fingers. Heartbeats chased each other in her ears, so fast and deafening it was almost like her heart wanted to run itself to failure.

Not that Quinn would ever make her death that easy. She towered over Rachel, mouth set in a grim line, her silver sickle-sword clutched tight in her hand. Ozone flooded the cavern. There were no sparks, not yet - but the air burned with the promise of lightning, and as Rachel met Quinn's gaze, she knew that was one promise Quinn wasn't inclined to break.

"Where's Santana?"

Clearly she didn't have the same reservations about silence. Rachel stared up at her, completely disarmed as the question fell, level and measured, from Quinn's mouth. It wasn't a shout; it wasn't a demand. It was barely even audible. But it split the air like thunder, undoing the knots that Rachel had tied so carefully around her guilt and setting her betrayal out in front of her, stark and inescapable. Already she could hear the whisper of reproach in her ears, creeping in and stealing all her words away.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rachel wondered if losing those to Quinn had always been so easy.

She didn't have an answer for that either.

"Where - is - Santana?" Quinn repeated through gritted teeth, the calm in her voice straining with every syllable. She gripped her sickle-sword tighter. "Answer me, Rachel."

The ice in Quinn's gaze broke almost imperceptibly, and frustration slipped through the cracks, worming its way out as she spoke. Her hands shook. Answer me. It almost sounded like a plea.

No, Rachel told herself fiercely, the thought of it bringing all of her words back in an instant; Quinn Fabray didn't plead. Instead she asked for honesty where she herself had given none, and Rachel steeled herself, recalling all the answers Quinn had denied her, all the lies she'd told her.

She surged to her feet, her veins filled with liquid fire.

"She left," she said, ignoring the ache in her chest as Quinn froze. "I let her take Laelaps and go."

The air hissed with static. Rachel clenched her fists, bracing herself for the impending electrocution — but there was no lightning coming.

"I knew it," Quinn said numbly. She stared at Rachel with distant eyes, as if she were watching a thousand puzzle pieces crash into place before her. "I knew it would be you - the minute I heard that prophecy - "

If there was one thing Rachel was quickly learning, it was that Quinn was brilliant at catching her off guard. She blinked, her jaw dropping as the statement sank in. "What?"

"Don't," Quinn snapped, narrowing her eyes, all pretense of composure gone. "Don't play stupid with me. Enceladus, and joining this quest - gods, even that stunt you pulled at Matt's pyre - "

"What are you talking - "

"Beware the voice of vengeance traitors raise," Quinn cut in, the temperature in the cavern plummeting as she spoke. "What seeks is lost in the endless maze."

The last lines of the prophecy. They had to be. The frost seemed to have found its way into Rachel's veins, wrapping itself around her heart. She stared at Quinn, searching for confirmation, trying desperately to make sense of it all. "That was the last of the quest prophecy, wasn't it?"

"I don't know." The storm in Quinn's eyes left no room for concession. "You tell me, traitor."

Traitor. How many times did she call Quinn that, at least in her head? Rachel scrabbled for an explanation, something to tell her where everything went in the picture of Quinn she'd been piecing together for so long. Traitor. Was it possible that the name was meant for her the whole time?

No. She dug her nails into her palms. That was Quinn, not her, and as Quinn thrust the name upon her, all past transgressions seemingly forgotten, Rachel could have sworn she felt herself catch fire.

"Traitor?" she spat, the retort blossoming like flames on the tip of her tongue. Her heart beat out a furious rhythm against her ribs, hammering through the ice and sending blood roaring in her ears. "Just because I let someone go and save a life? Well at least I'm doingsomething, Quinn, instead of traipsing around this maze in an effort to distract us from the impending apocalypse!"

"And just so we're clear?" She stepped forward, her voice dropping low, confining itself to the meager space between them. "You'rethe real traitor here."

Surprise and indignation flashed across Quinn's face, but she held her ground. "Excuse me?"

"Don't even try to deny it," Rachel pressed, casting the question aside as easily as if it had never been asked. It was more trickery, that was all — more ways for Quinn to talk her way out of it, and Rachel had heard enough. "This whole thing – Thanatos, and the war in Olympus – I know it was you, and I will not let you sabotage this quest any further."

She shouldn't have been surprised to discover that Quinn didn't think she'd ever be caught. Hazel eyes widened in disbelief, and long seconds passed as Quinn struggled to answer, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"What?" she finally spluttered out, gaping at Rachel as if she were only just beginning to see her clearly. "You think – gods, Rachel, why would I –"

Of course. Another ploy. Outrage surged through her with renewed force, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Rachel wondered if some small part of her had really expected anything else. Anger, frustration, shock – all of it rose in an uncontrollable wave within her, names and faces flashing in her mind even as Quinn tried to pretend as though none of them — Brittany, Santana, Matt, Jesse, Sandy — had been lost for the sake of one burdened girl's grand and bitter plan.

"You tell me, Quinn," Rachel answered, plowing through Quinn's indignant protest as she searched her face for some fraction of the truth. "Is it all because you think the gods don't care? Is that it? Are you running this plan of yours on lonely Christmases and gift-less birthdays? Is the world supposed to end because Quinn Fabray thinks she should have had a real father?"

The blow knocked all the wind from her lungs. Rachel slammed hard against the rock, and all of a sudden, as guilt flared like a fresh wound within her, she found herself caught in a half-remembered dream. Quinn's arm pressed across her collarbone, pinning her against the stone as forcefully as it had in her vision from so very long ago — but something was different.

Rachel froze, waiting, but there was no sword digging into her skin, no blood trickling down her neck: just guilt again, stabbing her deep in the chest as she found herself face to face with Quinn, staring past a mask that had been shattered by words she desperately wished she could take back.

"Maybe it should," Quinn hissed, stormy hazel eyes boring into Rachel's. "Maybe the world should end, and maybe I'm not the only one who'd want it to."

Her glare faltered, and the last question Rachel had ever expected to hear slipped in a broken whisper from Quinn's lips. "Did you ever think about that?"

For long, excruciating seconds, Rachel grappled for an answer. Then Quinn started retreating, stepping back once, twice, like she was trying to piece her restraint back together with every step. When she spoke again, her voice was sharper than it had ever been. "Because if neglect is your only basis, there's a country full of half-bloods out there betraying you too."

So that was it. Rachel gaped at her in disbelief. Yet another act, designed to prove a point. Her cheeks burned at the thought; tricks again, all of it, crafted into intricate little traps that she'd been more than ready to fall for. The ache of guilt in her chest wavered, and anger rushed to fill its place.

"They're not the ones being pursued by Hades," she retorted, her own voice shrill to her ears, "and they're not the ones on this quest."

"The same quest that's my one chance to make everything good for once!" Quinn yelled, the words so torn and ragged it was almost as though she'd had to rip them from her throat. She clenched her fist, but her hands only shook harder, and her face twisted into a mess of rage and anguish as she locked eyes with Rachel. "So youtell me — why the hell would I sabotage that?"

And there it was, finally — the truth. It echoed in the silence around them and it resonated in Rachel's bones, over and over again, drilling the guilt far into her heart where she couldn't retrieve it. She stared blankly at Quinn, the question hanging between them, blunt and devastating: Why the hell would I sabotage that? Why, indeed? Why, when all of Rachel's senses now confirmed that Quinn had never planned to, and when the name of "traitor" suddenly fit the wrong suspect all too well?

The rocks shuddered. The glare of a single, blinding headlight pierced through the shadows, and a motorcycle roared into the cavern, crashing through the walls with all the delicacy of a stampeding herd of rhinos. It rumbled to a stop beside them, and hot wind slapped Rachel as the biker straightened up from his seat.

"That's right, punk," he said, pulling off his helmet. White-hot flames licked out from the sockets where his eyes should have been. "Actually, why stop at my little sister here? You ruined it for pretty much everyone."

.

.

He leapt off the motorcycle, landing with a thump as his combat boots drove deep into the ground. The light of his bike splashed red across his black leather jacket, streaking his white muscle shirt the color of blood. From the way he sneered at them, his lips a twisted line along his scarred and brutal face, the idea of bloodstained clothes seemed almost fitting. But there was a haughty sort of grace there too, and as Rachel took in the slick black crew cut and looked past the scars, it struck her: she knew whose father this was.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn demanded, glaring.

"Didn't think I'd miss your little fight, did you?" Ares said. He flashed her a cruel grin. "What with no one dying and all. Mortal wars get old quick without some corpses."

Quinn scowled, and Rachel winced as the god cracked his knuckles.

"Besides, I heard I needed to beat some sense into my kid. Thought I'd drop by; you were on the way. Or in the way, if we're talking about the midget here." He turned to look at her, and all of a sudden Rachel felt her gut wrench with the familiar stir of anger. "Sent off some more handy little tracking dogs today, sweetheart?"

Rachel expected shame, or regret, or more guilt than her heart could possibly handle. It was her fault, after all, that Ares was out to give Santana hell, and it was her fault that they were lost in the Labyrinth with no means of navigation. Instead, she felt nothing but rage. She wanted to tear Ares apart, or beat him senseless, or at the very least kick him where it hurt. There was bone to be broken and blood to be spilled and –

Rachel shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

She frowned at Ares; he radiated power, and fury, and somehow he was using that aura to make them want to snap every bone in his body. Beside her, stray sparks crackled, fizzing out as Quinn's grip tightened around her sickle-sword. Rachel dug her nails deeper into her palms. What their chances were against a god, she didn't know — and despite the rage building within her, she didn't want to find out.

"You know you can't interfere with this quest," Quinn said, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger.

Ares shrugged and tugged a hunting knife from his belt. He started picking at his fingernails. "Says who?"

"Says the Ancient Laws," Quinn spat. "Or can't you fit them in that cramped skull of yours?"

It was a miracle that neither of them snapped when Ares yawned. "Old news, sis. Zeus is gearing up for war full-time; did you really think he'd still go and monitor our lunch breaks? Tornadoes take time, kiddo." He gave her a wicked smile. "More time than you'll ever get."

Rachel could have sworn her nails were drawing blood. The hiss of lightning filled the cavern.

"Shut up."

"Oh, but I think you'll love what I'm about to tell you," Ares replied, reaching over and tapping Quinn's nose. She turned away, glowering, but he simply laughed in her face. "See, now that your meddling gorgon's let my kid wreck your quest, thus mucking up my rep, I figured it's time to throw my favorite mutt a little bone."

He snapped his fingers. "Which means, I've got a proposition for you."

"I'm not interested in your brainless schemes," Quinn said through gritted teeth. She made to turn away, moving with such obvious effort that Rachel felt her heart clench; whatever was left of Quinn's calm, she wasn't going to piece it back together anytime soon.

"Unless you two screw-ups have another way to track down Thanatos, you better be," Ares shot back. "Mouth off all you want, kid, but I'm the god of war. I know a little something about leading people to death."

He had them, of course; after a statement like that, how could he not? Quinn stiffened, and Rachel's insides burned with shame and anger as a sneer crept across the god's face. It was her fault Laelaps was gone, and now, it was her fault that they were at Ares' mercy. The flames in his eye sockets danced higher, taunting her; he knew full well whose fault it was, too.

"Listening now, are we?"

For a moment, as an impish glee flickered across his face, he almost reminded her of Puck. He beckoned them closer, grinning at the glare Quinn sent his way. The sharp taste of copper flooded Rachel's mouth as she bit back her words.

"It's pretty simple. Whatever form it takes, life is drawn to death. Usually, with Thanatos doing rounds, projecting his essence everywhere, it doesn't need to go far. Hell, it calls and he comes. But not now — not when he's stuck in wherever the hell he is. Now all that life force has to crawl for miles."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Please, if this is all leading up to tying a leash on a corpse — "

"Stylish, but no," Ares scoffed. "Are you talking to Corpse Breath here? I said, life in any form. What I want is the bestform."

"Blood." He held out his hand. His palm glowed red in the darkness. "A little tweaking and I can give you a trail straight to Thanatos."

Rachel glanced at Quinn, fully expecting her to refuse. Potentially striking a deal with Ares was shady enough; now that blood had entered the picture, they might as well be negotiating a deal to start trafficking people's souls with the devil. It wasn't even that he could have been lying; Rachel knew that Ares was telling them the truth, at least so far, but just looking at the smirk on his face made her feel evil by association.

Apparently, Quinn was immune to secondhand malice. A flicker of something akin to hope had flared to life in her eyes. She studied the lines of Ares' hand, and before the dread could even settle in Rachel's stomach, Quinn's head snapped up.

"What's the catch?"

Ares laughed.

"You'll owe me one tiny favor," he said smoothly. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Simple as that."

Rachel's blood ran cold. The smile alone was enough to convince her that it would be anything but simple. Panic seized her when Quinn stepped forward; despite herself, she reached out and grabbed hold of Quinn's arm. "Quinn, this is –"

A bad decision stemming from desperation? Madness? Sparta? No; it was their only way forward, and the rest of her objection died the minute she saw the resolve in Quinn's eyes.

"At least let me do it," she said instead, the ache in her chest deepening as she spoke. It was only right, after all; it was her mistake that got them there, and it was up to her to fix it.

"No dice, traitor," Ares cut in, prying Quinn free from Rachel's hold. He winked at her, and Rachel lost all feeling in her fingers as she clenched her fists, trying to keep from clawing the smugness clean off his face. "You want to be useful, go ahead and cough up all those answers you've got stowed in your head. In the meantime – "

He offered Quinn his hand again, the light from his palm casting a bloodred glow across her face. "What do you say, kiddo? Fancy doing something right, for once?"

Quinn looked downright murderous. Sparks arced through the air around her, but she took Ares' hand, grimacing. For a second, nothing happened.

Then red light exploded from their joined hands, illuminating the cavern with all the intensity of a nuclear explosion. Quinn tried to move away, but Ares held her in place; Rachel shut her eyes tight and ducked her head as the light washed over them all, searing split-second images of blood and battle on the inside of her eyelids, leaving the sting of loss and ruin etched along her skin.

"Very good, Quinnie," Ares said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Rachel opened her eyes. Quinn staggered to her feet, one hand still clasped in Ares', her eyes stormier than ever.

"Don't call me that," she spat, yanking her hand away. A single black symbol was branded on her palm. Rachel squinted at it: a spear, the mark of the war god, extended across Quinn's skin like a dotted line.

"Bad memories, sweetie? Tsk. If I were you, I'd lap up the praise while I could." Ares shrugged and walked back to his motorcycle. "Don't have much time left to grovel at daddy's feet, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" Rachel blurted out, casting a worried glance at Quinn. Her knuckles were stark white against the leather grip of her sickle-sword, and the hiss of building lightning grew steadily louder.

"Weather," Ares answered nonchalantly, swinging a leg over his bike. "Some natural disasters. Or haven't you heard of them in here? Tornadoes in L.A., couple of earthquakes in New York. Thunderstorms all over SoCal. Heard old Corpse Breath's got a zombie apocalypse in mind for Manhattan."

The crackle of electricity died instantly. Rachel gaped at Ares in horror, even as the sinking feeling in her stomach told her that everything he'd said was true: the war, the Olympian war they'd set out to stop, was already underway.

She turned to Quinn, but the last traces of emotion seemed to have drained from her face. She stood motionless, looking steadily at Ares; the storm in her hazel eyes was all but dead. An almost physical ache seized Rachel at the sight. Some part of her had expected dismay, indignation, maybe the threat of an underground thunderstorm — but Quinn wore her loss too well, sidled into it too easily; it might as well have been a threadbare coat that she'd been slipping on for years.

"Of course, those are just the test runs," Ares added, revving the bike's engine. He waved a hand casually. "So, you know, find Thanatos and boost my rep, go ahead. It's still a win/win for me." He leaned closer to Quinn, his eyes burning hotter, his voice dropping menacingly low. "Because you know what, Quinnie? At this point, it doesn't matter what you do."

The smile that spread across his face was nothing short of brutal. "That war's gonna happen — and I want to see a death toll when it does."

.

.

It glowed an accusatory red.

A soft hiss echoed through the room as Quinn squeezed her left hand, coaxing a few more drops of blood out of the cut she'd carved along the spear mark. Faint light cut through the shadows as the drops fell to join the growing stain on the ground, and Rachel's stomach turned as the blood started congealing, pressing itself into a thin, red line that stretched and snaked its way through the rocks.

It seemed to be mocking them. Rachel watched as the trail slithered into a low opening in the cave wall, the line's far end quickly disappearing from view. They'd missed their chance — worse still, Rachel had sent Santana off with a vital part of it — and yet here the trail was, leading off into the rest of the Labyrinth like some kind of promise that they could undo the war, or at least, that Rachel could undo the missteps that had ruined things for herself, for the quest, for Brittany and Santana — and for Quinn.

Quinn, who seemed to have retreated into herself, almost swallowed up by the darkness of the cavern. She stood staring at the ground, strands of hair falling into her face, her left hand hanging limp by her side. Rachel could just make out the blood trickling from her palm down to her fingers. Guilt sliced a sharp, familiar pain into her then; determination was an important trait for a star, but she couldn't help but wonder if too much of it had cost her the one chance she'd had to be a star in the first place. It had certainly cost Quinn blood.

No. Rachel stepped closer, her heart lodging in her throat. She knew her stubbornness had cost Quinn a lot more than that.

"I'm so sorry."

It wasn't enough, of course. The way her voice broke, she figured it hardly even counted. A litany of increasingly elaborate apologies sprang to mind, but she pushed it aside; remorse wouldn't make up for anything, especially not when it was encased in words that were as inadequate as they were fleeting, and when Quinn seemed to have locked herself behind a multitude of walls that Rachel felt she had no right to breach. Even her one substandard apology had felt like trespassing, and she paused, waiting for a scathing — and much-deserved — dismissal.

Quinn didn't say a word.

"If you'd like to finish this quest on your own, I understand," Rachel went on, willing her voice to stay steady. "I'd – I'd ask you to send a search party for me whenever you deemed it acceptable, but after everything that's happened, I understand if you'd rather not."

She took a steadying breath. It was the closest thing to a sufficient apology that she could offer, and she was not about to insult either of them by saddling it with some kind of binding concession. The last thing she wanted to do was to compel Quinn to forgive her. It was an offer to get even, the only thing she could give in exchange for the disasters she had caused, and she owed Quinn enough to ensure that it was nothing more — or less — than that.

Not that it seemed to matter either way. Silence stretched between them, immense and forbidding, and Rachel waited, doubt pooling in her heart with every passing second. She wondered if that was Quinn's way of accepting her offer — if the silence was, in fact, the dismissal Rachel had been waiting for, and Quinn simply loathed her too much to even speak to her and say so.

She bit her lip. Insults would have been easier to handle.

"I'm not going to leave you," Quinn said tonelessly. She was still looking at the blood-trail, her breaths coming in slow, drawn-out streams. When she spoke again, her voice was brittle. "Losing two people's more than enough, don't you think?"

Rachel stared at her, at a loss for words. The collective weight of their many mistaken decisions parked itself firmly on their shoulders, and she wondered if there was a way to take it all back: Quinn's mistakes, and hers, because it was clear now that both crushed Quinn in equal measure. Neither of them were blameless, but at the moment Rachel would have jumped at a deal to give up her blood, if it meant that they could redo the quest and have it end with something that didn't leave Quinn so broken.

She plucked at the frayed edges of her shirt, winding loose thread around her fingers. Quinn turned to look at her. The cavern must have grown in size, Rachel decided. Or maybe both of them had gotten smaller, stripped of the many roles they'd cast each other in—"traitor," "heroine," perhaps even "demigod." Standing there as nothing but themselves, she could only see exhaustion.

"Thank you for letting Santana go," Quinn said softly.

"I — " Rachel paused, watching as a tear slid down Quinn's cheek. It was strange how much easier the truth came to her now, when Quinn wasn't some kind of sinister puzzle she was racing to solve. Guilt, at least, was something they had in common. "You would have done the same thing."

Quinn gave her a small, humorless smile.

"You're lying," she said, with so much conviction it was almost like she was stating some kind of irrefutable fact. She shook her head once, pressing her lips together as if that might keep her from crying.

"I know you think I am," Rachel said quietly, a lump forming in her throat as Quinn nodded and closed her eyes in resignation, "but I also know that you really would have, given time."

It struck her, all of a sudden, how close they were. She could have traced the path Quinn's tears took as they fell, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if that really was the only way they could ever stand within two feet of each other without any threat of bodily harm — if the world had to be crumbling, with all semblance of hope seemingly lost, before they gave each other a chance to engage in a civil conversation. Rachel's heart turned leaden at the thought, and every second they spent in silence only seemed to make it heavier.

"So I hear you have answers," Quinn said at last, wiping her cheeks dry. She straightened up and opened her eyes; once again, they were inscrutable.

Rachel studied her for a long moment. She couldn't quite figure out where they stood now, or what Quinn's plan was, and she had a feeling that the only answer she could give wouldn't help matters at all.

"I don't know what Ares was talking about," she muttered.

Quinn frowned at her, and she sighed. There hadn't been time to reassess all of their previous notions about the quest, what with Ares busting in to pummel their self-esteem; it was entirely possible that she possessed answers that she simply didn't recognize as such yet.

The idea of it lit her nerves with the prickling energy of frustration. What kind of answers did Ares mean, and what was she missing? She wrung her hands, pacing back and forth in front of Quinn and wishing for all the world that she had her brainstorming pens with her.

"I don't recall ever getting any information you could classify as a concrete answer," she said absently, ignoring the eyebrow threatening to disappear past Quinn's hairline. "I mean, the only answers I ever thought I had turned out to be misleading drea — "

She stopped, the answer hitting her like a barrage of slushies to the face. "The earth-woman."

"What?"

"Ever since the attack in the auditorium, I've been plagued with troubling dreams," Rachel explained, trying to string the rush of memories into something coherent. Judging by the look on Quinn's face, it was a spectacular failure.

"Please don't look at me like I'm deranged," she huffed, folding her arms. Of course, considering what she was about to say, Quinn had every right to look at her like that, but it was the principle of the thing; she'd much rather earn that look than receive it preemptively.

Quinn pursed her lips. It wasn't exactly the warm, open expression Rachel was hoping for, but something told her it was the most she was going to get.

"In the dreams, there's always been a woman made of earth, speaking to me," she said, resuming her pacing. "I mean, she wasn't alwaysthere,I think I've only seen her twice — but in every dream, she spoke to me. She was always menacing, but I never sensed any lies from her, and people have always had a tendency to be menacing when they talk to me, so I never thought — "

She hesitated, turning to look at Quinn. "She was the one who told me that you were the traitor."

The sheer amount of disbelief etched on Quinn's face was remarkable. It was also humiliating.

"You went after me because of a talking mud bath." She pressed her fingertips to her temple. "Gods, you really are delusional."

"Well, your constant lying certainly didn't help," Rachel shot back, stung. "As far as I was concerned, my suspicions were fully supported by your dubious behavior."

Quinn scowled. "What did you expect, some nice personalized commentary for the merry band of turncoats?"

"Possible turncoats, and that's no excuse for — Okay, look," Rachel amended, holding her hands up as she swallowed the rest of her admittedly pointless retort. "I think we've established the fact that we both had our reasons for suspecting each other. But now that we might actually have something more definite to go on than prophecies and mud-women, can't we focus on figuring out what to do next?"

The question hung in the air. Rachel bit her lip, waiting anxiously for an answer that didn't seem likely to come. Had she jumped the gun? There was, after all, a difference between the willingness to reply and the willingness to cooperate; given her previous experiences involving either conversational or cooperative people (which, barring recent exceptions, tallied up to something along the lines of "virtually none"), she figured it wasn't a difference she might have learned to spot.

Then again, when it came to Quinn, she'd learned that it wasn't so much about spotting the difference as it was figuring out what lay beyond the obvious options.

"Next?" Quinn asked, her voice hollow. Her lips quirked into a bitter smile. "Have you forgotten, Rachel? There is no 'next.'"

Suffice it to say that Rachel did not look far enough past the obvious options. She hadforgotten. She'd forgotten the defeat that had settled over Quinn in the aftermath of Ares' visit, and between her ADHD and her recent encounter with what felt like the beginnings of an epiphany, she'd forgotten the lack of a "next" precisely because it seemed that she had found a solution. It was clear now, though, that Quinn thought differently.

"Then why did you go and ask for answers?" Rachel said, frowning. Apparently she should have been more worried about misinterpreting Quinn's unreadable gaze as a sign of resolve.

Quinn shook her head. When she spoke, it was almost as if she were trying to offer an explanation to herself instead. "I had to know. If you really did have the answer, then I had to know, even if — "

"Even if you were giving up?" Rachel interrupted. Her frown deepened. A strange mix of outrage, hope, and frantic desperation was pumping through her veins now, sending words clattering into place in her mind. She motioned wildly at the blood-trail. "Don't you see, Quinn? If the earth-woman is behind this, then we finally know who the real culprit is, and we have the means to foil her — "

"We don't even know what she is," Quinn countered, pointing with her sickle-sword as if they had a replica of the earth-woman there to be skewered. "And even if we find her, she has the power to kidnap a god and invade people's dreams. Do you really think we can do anything against that?"

"Yes," Rachel said. Whether or not their efforts would succeed was a different matter altogether, of course, but trying certainly wouldn't hurt. Not as much as Quinn seemed to think it would, at least. "And as long as we follow this trail, we still have a chance — "

"To what, exactly?" Quinn said quietly. Rachel fell silent; she had forgotten how much weariness that voice could hold, too. "Free Thanatos in time to let millions of people die?"

The patter of trickling water was deafening, the drops ticking off seconds they apparently didn't have with a steadiness that bordered on insulting. Quinn looked down at her cut hand, glaring at it as if it were diseased. "Time's up, Rachel. This quest is over."

Rachel shook her head. Spelled out so plainly, she only found it that much harder to believe. It couldn't be that simple, not when they finally knew what they were up against, and when they had a means of navigation that they weren't likely to lose anytime soon. It was Ares' word against their newfound answers — and she was not about to let Ares talk them into giving those up, too.

Especially when he wasn't even there to do it.

"No, it isn't," Rachel said, raising her voice as if sheer volume could chase Ares' news away. She held out her hand, tamping down the unease that threatened to pull her arm back; she wasn't talking to a traitor anymore. "The world's still here, right?"

Part of her waited for an eyeroll, or some kind of cutting remark and a reference to classic Disney dialogue — but a bigger part of her knew that she and Quinn had one thing they could agree on, and it was that losing two people really was more than enough. A buzz like static traveled through Rachel's fingers as Quinn's hand slipped into hers, moving with all the speed of reluctance, leaving blood smeared warm and slick across Rachel's skin.

"Then we can still save it."

It was relief, Rachel decided; it was relief and the disconcerting sort of connection that came with someone else's blood sneaking into the lines on her palm. That was what sent her insides churning, what sent her head spinning with a force that left the world decidedly off-kilter. They were doing something right, now, claiming the quest together; she could feel it, and she held Quinn's hand with a certainty that was both new and exhilarating.

Quinn studied her for a long moment.

"Just so you know, this doesn't make you any less delusional," she said flatly.

There was no misinterpreting the caution in her eyes this time, or the fear, or even the tiniest hint of bite that crept into her voice. But there was no missing the hand that inexplicably stayed in Rachel's grasp either — and for all of Quinn's valiant efforts to complain about the horrors of being stuck with Rachel, or Rachel's equally determined attempts to discuss the torment that was travel with Quinn, Rachel figured it wasn't really delusional of her to think that, this time, all their gripes rang with a little less truth than usual.