As Athan searched the waters for Dahlia, all he could think was Xan didn’t know how to swim. How could he not know how to swim? Why hadn’t he learned?

Athan kicked off his shoes and pulled out his daggers. With a silent plea to his father, he jumped over the edge of the boat.

Icy fingers clawed at him, terrifyingly cold like that of a Skia blade, and Athan lashed out with his blades instinctively. He opened his eyes and saw human bodies in various stages of decay surrounding him, leering at him. One reached out again, but withdrew as soon as Athan pulled his blades in front of him.

A frenzy of activity indicated Dahlia’s most likely position, and Athan kicked through the sludgy river. He slashed forward with his immortal blades and then back, the silver knives seeming to glow in the murky depths.

Skeletal bodies emaciated with hunger opened their mouths in silent screams, exposing their rotten insides. Stringy hair floated around him, and he cut through the strands and continued to push forward to the thrashing movement ahead.

Time seemed nonexistent. Seconds felt like hours. Hours of cutting through bodies. The mangled limbs floated by, only to be grabbed by one of the water demons, hunger flashing across its face. Athan kicked upward and gulped a mouthful of air, and an earful of Xan’s profanity, before something pulled him under. Again he lashed out with his knives.

And then Dahlia was in front of him, eyes wide with terror, and her hair writhing in the darkness as if it were alive. Her clothes were torn, her skin scratched and scraped.

The dead man was nowhere to be seen.

Athan pointed her toward the surface, and she shook her head.

What could that even mean? Keeping his blade locked under his thumb, he grabbed her arm and pulled. As soon as the immortal blade touched her skin, anger replaced the fear in her expression, and she reached to her waistband, withdrawing her own divine blades.

As they rose through the Acheron, something hard smacked Athan on the head, making his eyes water. They broke the surface, and Xan was at the bow of the boat holding Charon’s pole.

“Bloody Hell!”

Both Athan and Dahlia reached for the pole, and Xan dragged them back to the boat. Xan reached over the side and pulled Dahlia up over the lip of the skiff.

Athan kicked at the sludge, and then sharp pain stabbed him in the calf. Darkness exploded across his vision, and his mind emptied of everything except pain. Gods, the pain. He . . . couldn’t . . .

He was sinking. And even though he knew that was bad, so bad, he couldn’t stop it from happening. Weightlessness cradled him for a moment, and then air whooshed by and he landed with a thud on his back.

“If you die, I will be so pissed.” Xan’s voice scratched through the blackness.

All the motion made Athan’s stomach churn, and he rolled onto his side and threw up. Sludge from the Acheron gushed from his mouth, tasting of blood and beef. He retched again, and when he saw a partially decomposed stump of a human digit, he vomited until his throat was raw and nothing more would come out.

The words surrounding him made no sense, and Athan stared up at the blackness above. The faint phosphorus lights almost looked like stars, but the smudges of light refused to come into focus. A dull throbbing in his left leg reminded him of his near death.

The noise snapped into clarity.

“If you’d told me Skia had come for him, I would’ve warned you. He was to be damned, and nothing was going to stop it.” Charon’s pale features were contorted in rage. “Foolish demigods.”

“How were we supposed to know—?”

“There are no secrets in the Underworld. None. There is no need for lies or deception.” Charon’s bony finger prodded Xan in the chest. “Consider this your lesson. You are lucky they are both alive . . . still.”

Athan wasn’t sure it was luck.

The boat stopped, and Athan lifted his head. A familiar sensation tugged at his mind, and he recognized the dock he and his father had used when the Fates told him about the Sphinx.

As they disembarked, Charon held Athan back.

“Make sure you thwart Thanatos, Son of Hermes. That was our agreement.”

Athan nodded. If Thanatos was trying to harm Hope in anyway, Athan would thwart all he could. He stepped off the boat and onto the solid dock, his clothes in tatters.

“And do not confuse your despair with reality,” Charon called as he pushed the boat away from shore. Before Athan could form a reply, Charon and his ferry disappeared.

Athan let out a breath, pushing away his worry and concern. They had crossed the river Acheron, and now they had to make it through the Underworld and get Hope.

Failure was not an option.