"I'm asking you to be honest," Aphrodite said. "For once. Completely. With the people you claim to care about."
Apollo's presence shifted, warm and amused. "She's right, you know. The Audience wants the drama of truth. The risk. The potential for it to blow up in your face so spectacularly that we'll be talking about it for decades."
"I'm not doing this for your ratings."
"You're doing it because you're addicted to the knife's edge," Apollo said. "And because part of you, a part you won't admit to even in your own internal monologue, wants to know if they'd stay."
Bartholomew completed another lap. I picked him up and returned him to his terrarium before he could start a fifth. He settled onto his lettuce like a king surveying conquered territory.
The interface pulsed.
