Every passing day, every passing hour, they were failing her.
It shouldn't have been like this. The Olympians were powerful. They never stopped talking about how fucking powerful they were. And when it came time to curse a girl with cancer or hunt a boy to the ends of the earth, they had power to spare, but when one of their own was being raped and tortured, three of them didn't have enough juice to find her.
Athena had pulled every college record Martin had so much as touched and every police report that even slightly alluded to a man of Martin's description. Thousands of pages of stuff. She'd been forwarding new leads to him several times a day. None of them had panned out. Artemis, lacking any trail to follow, had resorted to pounding the pavement with the rest of them. And Apollo? Will hadn't heard a word from him since that first night, when he'd stormed off declaring he'd find Clio on his own. So much for his all-seeing fucking eyes.
Not that Will was doing any better. For all they'd dug into Martin's history and usual haunts, for all they'd wrestled with the meaning of the empty hallway from Hecate's scrying bowl, they'd still yet to grasp anything they could work with. Which left driving around and hoping. And failing.
They'd trawling the darkened streets for hours when Patrick seized his arm with an urgency that made Will slam on the breaks.
"It's her?!" The last time he'd heard that urgency in Patrick's voice—
He pulled into a no standing zone, fumbling for his phone before he'd even put the car into park. He hit the call button and put it onto speaker.