Apollo stood up in a smooth and slow motion, stepping across the room toward her. He didn't get close, though, he just leaned his shoulder up against the glass and looked out across the city with her. "Someone I loved died in my arms," he told her, remembering the bright life of Hyacinth cut short in front of him. An accident, or a jealous interference from the West Wind. Either way, Hyacinth had died, and the mark it had left on Apollo remained. "Some people you can't save, no matter what."