There was nothing anyone could ever do to make up for the time Andromache had lost when Hector was killed, let alone the things she had endured at the hands of a madman. Yes, it had been Troy's war and in her eyes Hector had been the true hero. If anyone had anything to apologize for it was Paris for his selfishness, and Andromache had zero interest in speaking to him. She had seen his conversations from far off and it confirmed one thing: Paris was still a spoiled little brat who needed a good throttling. As for Andromache, she considered herself above him and therefore had no time for him.
She watched as the students walked down the sidewalk, turning at the next corner. It was unlikely they were the last, but it wasn't her job to go around looking for stray students. It was when she looked ahead that she realized someone seemed to be watching her. She was well aware of the growing number of immortals in the city, and she had grown accustomed to feeling their presence. They each presented with a unique sensation, though the Greeks tended to make her reminiscent. This particular one made her stop in her tracks in the middle of the steps. She knew him, perhaps better than anyone else. The face of the man who had literally been ripped from her world much too soon, even it he had died a heroes death. Even though there were subtle differences in his appearance, Andromache had absolutely no doubt in her mind. "H-" she had found Helenus so easily, why had Hector been so difficult and long to track down? "Hector?"