NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

one hundred and five: the surface.

BROOKLYN STARED AT the Athena Parthenos, praying that it wouldn't crush her.

Leo's new mechanical hoist system had lowered the statue onto the hillside with surprising ease. Now the forty-foot-tall goddess gazed serenely over the River Acheron, her gold dress like molten metal in the sun.

"Incredible," Reyna admitted.

She was still red-eyed from crying. Soon after she'd landed on the Argo II, her pegasus Scipio had collapsed, overwhelmed by poisoned claw marks from a gryphon attack the night before. Reyna had put the horse out of his misery with her golden knife, turning the pegasus into dust that scattered in the sweet-smelling Greek air. Maybe not a bad end for a flying horse, but Reyna had lost a loyal friend. Brooklyn figured that she'd given up too much in her life already.

The praetor circled the Athena Parthenos warily. "It looks newly made."

"Yeah," Leo said. "We brushed off the cobwebs, used a little Windex. It wasn't hard."

The Argo II hovered just overhead. With Festus keeping watch for threats on the radar, the entire crew had decided to eat lunch on the hillside while they discussed what to do. After the last few weeks, Brooklyn figured they'd earned a good meal together — really anything that wasn't fire water or drakon meat soup.

"Hey, Reyna," Annabeth called. "Have some food. Join us."

The praetor glanced over, her dark eyebrows furrowed, as if join us didn't quite compute. Brooklyn had never seen Reyna without her armor before. It was on board the ship, being repaired by Buford the Wonder Table. She wore a pair of jeans and a purple Camp Jupiter T-shirt and looked almost like a normal teenager — except for the knife at her belt and that guarded expression, like she was ready for an attack from any direction.

"All right," she said finally.

They scooted over to make room for her in the circle. She sat cross-legged next to Annabeth, picked up a cheese sandwich, and nibbled at the edge.

"So," Reyna said. "Frank Zhang . . . praetor."

Frank shifted, wiping crumbs from his chin. "Well, yeah. Field promotion."

"To lead a different legion," Reyna noted. "A legion of ghosts."

Hazel put her arm protectively through Frank's. After an hour in sick bay, they both looked a lot better; but Brooklyn could tell they weren't sure what to think about their old boss from Camp Jupiter dropping in for lunch.

"Reyna," Jason said, "you should've seen him."

"He was amazing," Piper agreed.

"Frank is a leader," insisted Hazel. "He makes a great praetor."

Reyna's eyes stayed on Frank, like she was trying to guess his weight. "I believe you," she said. "I approve."

Frank blinked. "You do?"

Reyna smiled dryly. "A son of Mars, the hero who helped to bring back the eagle of the legion . . . I can work with a demigod like that. I'm just wondering how to convince the Twelfth Fulminata."

Frank scowled. "Yeah. I've been wondering the same thing."

Brooklyn still couldn't get over how much Frank had changed. A "growth spurt" was putting it mildly. He was at least three inches taller, less pudgy, and more bulky, like a linebacker. His face looked sturdier, his jawline more rugged. It was as if Frank had turned into a bull and then back to human, but he'd kept some of the bullishness.

"The legion will listen to you, Reyna," said Frank. "You made it here alone, across the ancient lands."

Reyna chewed her sandwich as if it were cardboard. "In doing so, I broke the laws of the legion."