Achilles smiles at Stab’s assessment. “I take no offense; you join a great many others in your dislike.”

There’s a nearly imperceptible tug at the knot on his wrist and Hermes’ scarf stirs of its own accord. … come back safe. The words are a murmur, as if traveling through water. Achilles runs the end of the fabric through his hands, comforted by its sunny warmth.

“My task is not to win your favor. I only seek Lamb’s freedom to return home and live out the rest of his mortal years, should he choose.” He emphasizes that last part after what Gavroche said about bossing children around. “His shade may return to this land someday, or he may join his sons and mother in the Underworld. I suppose the gods will decide.”