Perseus Achilles Jackson did not cry.
He didn't cry, or scream, or even get that hollow look in his eyes that some people get when someone close to them is gone.
He didn't cry when an unknown doctor called to inform him that his mother and stepfather died in a car wreck, killed on impact.
He didn't cry when the Moon Goddess told him that a chimera had stabbed the daughter of Zeus in the back, murdering her lieutenant, his cousin; though he did comfort her as she shed a few of her own tears.
He didn't cry when the Lord of the Dead came to him with the news that his only son had been shot while wandering a lonely street in New Orleans.
He didn't cry when he held the hand of the love of his life as she looked into his eyes, her own stormy grey gaze glossy with pain, and whispered that she would wait for him on the other side, as she died, mauled only moments earlier by a hellhound that had caught them by surprise while they were walking home from a date.
He didn't cry when New Rome was destroyed, betrayed from the inside and battered until the entire city collapsed, killing all occupants.
He didn't cry when Camp Half-Blood was eliminated in a similar manner.
He didn't cry when the remaining gods made him an immortal without his consent, desperate to save at least one demigod.
And, one day, many years later, after the demigods had been restored and he had been assigned as the director for New Camp Half-Blood, one of his students asked him why he hadn't cried after the death of three campers from a mission gone wrong.
Perseus Achilles Jackson didn't reply.
And Perseus Achilles Jackson did not cry because he knew they were in a better place, even if he could never see them again due to the simple truth that gods didn't have an afterlife.
But he never really was one for self-pity.
So, Perseus saw no reason to cry.