THE SANDMAN ☞ TRAVIS STOLL

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

"DO GODS HAVE TO PRAY? Or offer a part of their meal to the other gods?"

Valerie Greenwood's eyes slide sideways towards Travis, and she fights back the urge to gag. "I don't know, Beaumont. I'll make sure to ask the next time I'm on Olympus." She pauses, eyebrows furrowing. "Oh, wait. I'm not allowed on Olympus."

An elbow digs into her side. 

Be nice.

You can't make me.

The frown on her face is quickly overtaken by a sly half-smile.

The past year has been...strange, to say the least. It had taken time for everyone, both campers and Valerie herself, to get used to the transition of leadership. She'd started leading patrols on the hill at night, and whether it was the presence of a goddess or the roiling shadows that began to dance upon the hill each evening, no monster dared to approach.

She'd managed to convince Chiron to make an exception for the no-two-campers-alone-in-a-cabin rule for her and Travis, since she was no longer a camper. And even if she was still a camper, one ichor-gold glare from her would have had him making the exception either way.

They'd celebrated her twenty-first birthday in Manhattan with her family, Alyssa, and Katie; and Josslyn had joined them for a night out on the town.

Melissa Greenwood had to be called down to the police station at three in the morning because Travis had attempted—and succeeded—to break into a used record store. They took a town car back to the penthouse in an unashamed, nearly-laughing silence, stumbling into their beds as the sun rose over the city.

Each of the Greenwood girls bore an invisible mark above their brows after that night. An invisible mark shaped like a star, imperceptible to the naked mortal eye. Each of the Greenwood girls, and Travis and Alyssa.

It was a trick she'd learned from Dionysus, or rather his handiwork on Althea Knight's forehead.

She'd noticed, during dinner her first night back at camp, a bit of scar tissue above Althea's right eye, as well as a nearly-transparent aura around Althea. She'd researched it immediately and found her answer—death did not touch Althea Knight. It could come so close that she could taste it, smell it, nearly feel it, but it would not take her.

It was a blessing of protection while she searched for true immortality, or a way to make her age and die like a mortal. 

She'd worked her own twist onto the blessing before she'd pressed it onto her sisters, onto Travis, onto Alyssa.

It gives her peace when she was away from them.

But while she is with them, she soaks up every minute of it. Even if it means having breakfast with Connor Stoll and his girlfriend, Matilda Beaumont, who have broken up twice already this morning.

It feels so much easier this way, fitting in as something genuinely otherworldly. The others had already seen her that way for her entire life. It's almost as if she's slipping into a role she's had for years.

It's better this way. She's happier this way.

Valerie Greenwood being happy is something that's taken some getting used to, as well.

There's no longer a crackling, roaring pain within her chest. She doesn't wake in the middle of the day with a nightmare so bad she can't help but scream bloody murder. Even when she's in the Underworld for four months out of the year, she's content, surrounded by Hypnos's hellhounds and shadows that feel like the weight of a heavy, warm blanket.

She still blasts her rock music at too loud of a volume, still craves violence in a way that will never leave her.

But with Travis by her side most days and only an Iris-Message away at times, each breath is easier. Each sunrise is brighter, each color is more vibrant.

He's made this strange second life bearable. For that, and for a million other reasons, she loves him.

He squeezes her hand four times, as if he can hear her thoughts.

Travis loves her, too.