She screws her eyes shut when he punches the wall, out of what the strike represents in feelings above the motion itself. She opens them just in time to watch him slide down the wall, and she can't stand the way it looks on him. Percy is optimism. Percy is hope. He can beat back her cynicism by sheer point of existing, and she doesn't always know how to be the reverse when he needs some himself.

He finally cracks and it's everything she was expecting and then some. She heard it, too. Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices for the goddess, and it's just one of several hissing phrases Annabeth hears repeated over and over in her head.

She still doesn't know what Hera said, but she can assume. It's something Annabeth realized already; she's had time to stew on their fall, more time than either of them probably should have had. She knows her fatal flaw played a part. And she knows his did, too. But Percy didn't. He couldn't see it at first, which was exactly what made it his flaw in the first place.

She can't reply right away, nor can she bring herself to sit down, so she stays still and standing. It's one of the reasons her mother didn't want her to get as close to Percy as she has. Because jumping after her into Tartarus was more than just saving her life. It was putting the rest of the world at risk, too. She can't disagree with him, and the look in her face shows an awareness of this already. "I know you would," she says, finally, her voice quiet and cracking a little; she absolutely knows he'd do it again. "I know." That they've found it. He's been manipulated by it in the past, but never like this.

She's so unbelievably grateful but it's so unbelievably terrifying at the same time. The idea that Percy would throw the world over for her. That's what makes it so dangerous. She makes it dangerous. But there's no blame in her voice either, not for him.

She already blames herself for it, but it's her hubris most of all. Her pride. Percy's loyalty, to her. Fatal flaws dragged them both into Tartarus.