WHEN FLINT said she knew exactly who she needed to pick, I never would have thought it would be the man with the twisted nose and bloodied jaw that we saw weeks ago at the warrior wing. He was the one who opened the door for us when he hurried over to the wing, to tell Sawyer about Knox’s escape. I watched Flint eye him, and I could not help but to feel like I had just created more chaos unknowingly.
“Why him?” I asked while I was busy feeding a hangry Zeus on my lap. Poseidon was blissfully drowning in his own world, contently full after I fed him a lot. Hades on Flint’s lap just gurgled with baby language, feeling great in her arms.
“I don’t know. Something just tells me I have to pick him. Why?”
“I don’t know. He seems like a brute.”
Flint gave me a look. “You do know what Sawyer lo
