“It'll be your own torture," he said, serious. "I hope to God it'll torture you to madness.”

“Torture is not torture when there’s any hope of relief.”

“Something was wrong with Luke," Annabeth muttered, poking at the fire with her knife. "Did you notice the way he was acting?""He looked pretty pleased to me," I said. "Like he'd spent a nice day torturing heroes.""That's not true! There was something wrong with him. He looked...nervous. He told his monsters to spare me. He wanted to tell me something.""Probably, 'Hi, Annabeth! Sit here with me and watch while I tear your friends apart. It'll be fun!”

“I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me. A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain. His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling. “Truth, truth.” Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face, as you wail and cry and scream.”

“I will not be tortured, I tear torture out of myself by torturing you!”

“Death will come if you wait long enough...Hopefully, it'll be a long wait!”