Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky wasn’t burning. 

But it was wrong. 

Clouds hung in unnatural stillness, thick as bruises across a pale, dim sun. The city below— his city— was half-submerged, crumbling into still water that stretched for miles. Time didn’t seem to move here. The winds didn’t blow. The streets were silent, soaked, and cracked, like the earth had split open and given up. 

Glass crunched underfoot. Buildings leaned inward, like they were ashamed to be standing. Everything was washed in gray light, as if the color had drained out of the world. 

Percy walked through the flooded ruins, knee-deep in black water that didn’t ripple. He passed a toppled street sign, half-buried in the water. He remembered this place. Or at least what it once was.

A sound echoed behind him. He turned. 

Nothing.

But something was coming. He felt it— like a pressure building behind his eyes. He waded further, past shattered windows, through a sunken plaza littered with debris and statues of gods with their faces broken off. 

The wind returned for a moment and carried a whisper across the water. 

“You made your choice.”  

Percy’s mouth was dry. His heart pounded deep and slow. Dreadful like the steady beat of a war drum. A flicker of movement caught his eye in the distance. At the far end of the plaza, coils of something ancient breached the water. Each movement stirred a deep, gurgling rumble beneath his feet. 

Curved across the city like a living mountain, Python’s body wound through the broken buildings, looping around towers, resting lazily through alleys and courtyards like a sleeping god. Finally, the serpent’s head rose from behind a half-collapsed courthouse. Its eyes were lidless— two vast, amber lanterns glowing in the dusk. They fixed on him. 

Percy’s hand found his sword, but didn’t lift it. His throat tightened. “Is this real?”

Python didn’t answer. Instead, his massive body shifted, and the city groaned beneath him. A building collapsed in the distance under his weight. “This is what’s left,” Python said. “Of them. Of you.” 

Something twisted inside Percy. His grip on his sword tightened. Python’s golden eyes seemed to burn hotter. “ You came to me, Percy Jackson,” Python continued, “to rewrite your pain. You wanted to hold the threads of fate in your own hands.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Percy growled, though his voice lacked conviction.

“You didn’t stop it, either.”

Around him, echoes flickered into view—memories, or maybe projections. Ghostlike figures of people he knew, frozen mid-moment. Annabeth shouting. Nico bleeding. Jason falling. Grover looking at him like he was a stranger. He spun to face them, reaching out. “What—” But they dissolved into mist.

Percy now stood alone. His reflection stared back at him from the still water. His face was older. Hardened. Tired. His sword was in his hand. But it looked wrong. Longer. Darker. Alive. Its surface pulsed with veins of black light, like it was feeding off him. He dropped it with a splash.

Like a distant waterfall, a low roar echoed. Then a sudden rush, deafening and all-encompassing. He spun around and saw it. A wall of water surged down the avenues, ripping through debris, swallowing buildings, shattering whatever remained. It was unnatural— faster than any flood, heavier than any tide he’d ever felt. It wasn’t water. It was him, and he felt it: the grief, the guilt, the rage.

He tried to run, but his feet wouldn’t move. It was as if chains bound his ankles to the cracks in the stone. He was going to drown in his own storm. 

The water reached the plaza in seconds. It slammed into him, covering him and dragging him under. His lungs screamed, and the pressure crushed him. Still, he saw those inescapable golden eyes as the surface disappeared above and everything turned black. 

“Let the world drown with you.” 

He woke, gasping. The air in his lungs felt thick. His chest heaved. Sweat clung to his skin, freezing against the cold air. For a moment, he didn’t recognize where he was. 

A dim red light bled from the torches flanking the tall obsidian door across the room. The flames didn’t flicker. Just pulsed, like heartbeats— quiet, constant, and somehow angry. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, clinging to the walls like they were waiting for something.

The bed beneath him was too large. The velvet sheets too soft. The room—ornate, cold, silent— was one Hades had given him. A room fit for a prince, yet undeserving. 

His hand throbbed. He looked down and saw his sword drawn and tight in his grip. The blade, forged of Stygian iron, gleamed faintly in the red torchlight, its surface slick and dark like a still pool. He didn’t remember reaching for it. Maybe it had happened during the dream. Maybe before. 

Its edge shimmered, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of himself in the reflection—distorted, unfamiliar. His muscles were locked, every tendon pulled taut like he’d been bracing for a fight even in sleep. He let the sword fall, thudding against the obsidian floor, leaving his hand trembling.

He leaned forward, burying his face in his palms, fingers digging into his scalp as he tried to breathe. He didn’t know how long he had sat like that. Thoughts crashed through his mind—ice and fire, memory and fear, too fast to grasp. Something cold had settled in his gut. Something he didn’t have a name for yet.

The silence of the Underworld pressed down on him.

Not even the dead stirred.

Only the torches burned.

And Percy Jackson stayed very still, wondering what kind of monster he was becoming.

Chapter Text

It had been five months since Percy Jackson walked out of Olympus and left the world behind.

Five months since he turned his back on gods, heroes, and prophecies. Since he’d stood before the Olympian Council, blood on his hands, and offered them nothing but silence and a middle finger.

Percy walked down the corridor outside his room, his steps silent against polished obsidian. His new sword hung against his back. Its black metal had never felt warm, not even once. Even now, it pulsed faintly, as if echoing something inside him, although he always ignored it.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. Hades Palace had a way of warping time. Every hall looked the same—dark stone veined with silver, torchlights that didn’t flicker. He passed shadowy alcoves and statues of forgotten kings. Sometimes he swore their eyes followed his every move. 

The Underworld soon became his home during this time. Oddly amused by Percy’s meltdown, the god of the dead had offered him sanctuary. A place to belong. A place of black stone, eternal firelight, and echoing footsteps that never seemed to belong to anyone. Percy hadn’t laughed in return, but he’d accepted. There was nowhere else left to go. 

His room was across the hall from Nico’s. That had been Hades’ idea. Nico didn’t ask questions. He never did. They shared a kind of mutual grief that needed no explanation. After everything that happened, what was there to say?

So when Hades began sending them on odd quests, they went. No complaints. No refusals. Percy, once the poster child of reluctant heroism, now completed his missions in grim silence. It was easier than thinking. Easier than dreaming. And lately, the dreams were worse than usual.

Eventually, he reached the throne room. Two skeletal guards stepped aside without a word. The iron doors creaked open, revealing the shadow-drenched chamber beyond. At the far end, seated on a throne of twisted bone and black marble, was Hades.

He sat like a statue carved from the night, one leg crossed, his chin resting against one knuckle. He didn’t speak at first. He simply watched Percy approach with fathomless eyes. “You look pale,” Hades said.

Percy didn’t answer. He stopped ten feet from the throne and stood with his arms crossed.

The silence stretched.

Hades raised an eyebrow. “Still not talking?”

“Didn’t think this was a social visit.”

A dry smirk tugged at the corner of the god’s mouth. “It never is with you, is it?”

Percy waited, arms still crossed, gaze leveled. He’d learned that if you stared long enough at the Lord of the Dead, he usually blinked first—metaphorically speaking. Though honestly, it was hard to tell with those eyes.

Finally, Hades sighed. He waved one hand, and a scroll appeared midair in a flicker of green flame. It hovered between them like it wasn’t sure which of them was more dangerous. 

“I have a task for you,” Hades said simply.

Percy exhaled. “Of course you do.”

Hades arched a brow. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been paid well.”

Percy didn’t argue with that. Hades was many things—cryptic, cold, inconvenient—but he wasn’t cheap. Along with access to parts of the Underworld he wouldn’t have been allowed in otherwise. Weapons forged by shades who remembered the old ways. And freedom—strangely enough—to come and go as he pleased.

Still, it didn’t mean he enjoyed running errands.

“What is it this time?” Percy asked, finally uncrossing his arms. 

“I need you to go to the mortal realm,” Hades said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo off the stone walls. “I have a task that needs to be handled.”

Percy’s brows furrowed. “Again?” He wasn’t sure why he felt the immediate irritation, but the idea of being sent on some low-level errand—yet again—was grinding against his nerves.

Hades studied him for a moment, fingers tapping against the armrest. “This task isn’t what you think it is, Perseus. It's simple, but it needs someone... reliable. The gods are busy with their petty squabbles, and you’ve proven yourself well in handling matters the rest of them can’t be bothered with.”

“Great,” Percy muttered, eyes narrowing. “So, what’s the catch?” He shifted his weight. “I thought the Underworld had better things to do than waste my time with these small-time quests.”

A flicker of something like amusement passed over Hades' expression, but it quickly vanished. “Nothing too trivial. You’ll be retrieving an item from a mortal auction house. A rare artifact—nothing cursed or dangerous, just...something that belongs in my vault.”

Percy blinked. "That's it?"

"Yes," Hades said, his voice never rising above its usual calm.

“Alright,” Percy said, exhaling sharply, though the irritation in his voice remained. “What’s the item?”

Hades leaned forward. "An amulet from ancient Greece. It’s being sold at an auction in the city tomorrow. I need you to retrieve it—quietly. No gods, no monsters. Just you, your sword, and whatever else you’ve been keeping under your sleeve. You’ll know the moment you lay eyes on it. Don’t let anyone else take it."

Percy felt a pang in his gut, but pushed it aside. “Anything else?”

Hades dismissed the scroll between them with a flick of his hand. “Bring it back. Contained, at the very least. It’s causing unrest, and I don’t like unrest.”

Percy stared at him. “You’re the god of the dead. Isn’t unrest kind of your whole aesthetic?”

Hades narrowed his eyes. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m just saying, this feels a little beneath my pay grade.”

“Consider it a palate cleanser,” Hades said dryly. “Not every quest needs to end in divine betrayal or a bloodbath. Or have you grown so fond of tragedy that anything else bores you?”

Percy clenched his jaw. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll find your amulet.” He turned to leave.

“Oh—and bring Nico, will you?” Hades called after him. “I need to speak with my son before you go.”

Percy didn’t look back. “He’s probably in the gardens. Brooding. As usual.”

“As are you.”

Percy paused at the door. “Yeah,” he said without turning. “Difference is—I’ve earned it.”

It had been five months since Annabeth Chase last saw Percy Jackson.

Five months since he vanished like smoke, slipping through her fingers like a half-formed dream. Now she stood in her room in New Rome, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a silence that felt louder than anything she'd known.

The air smelled like old parchment and lemon polish. Her belongings sat in tidy stacks—books in labeled crates, clothes folded military-neat. It wasn’t Camp Half-Blood, and it sure as hell wasn’t home, but it was something— a place to start over. Or at least pretend to. 

She didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, staring out the window where Roman architecture bathed in golden light felt too peaceful to be real. Everything here was clean, controlled, crisp. Just like the version of herself she was trying to become.

But no matter how far she came, part of her still tilted east—still waited for a shadow to reappear on the skyline.

In the past five months, she’d chased every whisper, every rumor. Every strange disturbance on the mortal news cycle. A museum artifact gone missing in Santa Fe. A security breach at a library in Vancouver. A subway tunnel in Queens that flooded without explanation. In each case, Percy’s name wasn’t spoken—but it didn’t have to be.

She knew him. She recognized his brand of chaos. And she always arrived too late. To Camp Half-Blood, his appearances were like the sightings of a ghost. A flash of black clothing. A streak of sea green. Then gone. No tracks, no signs. Just missing artifacts and half-stunned mortals left in his wake.

When she wasn't chasing shadows, she spent time with Sally. The guest room had slowly morphed into a second bedroom—hers. Her blueprints and notebooks lined the shelves. Her pillow smelled like Sally’s detergent. Her mug lived in the kitchen cabinet beside the others. Sally never said anything when she cried—never asked questions when Annabeth came back empty-handed. She just made tea and waited until the silence broke.

It was Sally who finally said what no one else dared to. “You have to start your life, too, sweetheart. Percy made his choice. It doesn’t mean you stop living yours.”

At first, Annabeth had wanted to scream. But something in her had cracked open instead. Quietly. Slowly. She notified New Rome University of her attendance, packed her bags, and got on the plane west. 

And now, she was here. 

A knock came at the door, sharp and clean. Annabeth blinked and turned. Her hand hovered near the pocketknife on her desk out of reflex. She stepped over to the door and opened it. 

Reyna stood on the other side, hands on her hips. She wore her praetor's cape slung over one shoulder, as if she'd just come from patrol.

"Thought I’d check in," Reyna said. “You settling in okay?”

Annabeth exhaled and nodded once. “Yeah. Just…getting used to it.”

Reyna’s eyes flicked over the room, landing on the neat boxes, the carefully arranged books, the untouched bedspread. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Annabeth’s lips tightened. “Still unpacking.”

Reyna nodded once. “Heard you’re starting classes Monday. Architecture major?”

“Planning and design,” Annabeth corrected automatically.

“Of course.” Reyna stepped inside without asking, her boots silent against the stone. She moved with the same poised confidence she always had—calculated, calm, a presence that didn’t need to be loud to be noticed. “I bet Camp Half-Blood’s been quieter without you.”

Annabeth said nothing. The silence thickened. Finally, Reyna turned back to her. “I also heard you’ve been… tracking him.” 

There it was. Not Percy. Him. Annabeth folded her arms. “Is that gossip, or an interrogation?”

“Neither,” Reyna said evenly. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

Annabeth looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Annabeth laughed—just once, humorless. “No offense, Reyna, but we don’t exactly have a history of heart-to-hearts.”

“No,” Reyna admitted. “But we both know what it’s like to lose someone. And keep losing them over and over.”

That hit harder than it should have. Annabeth didn’t respond. “I meant what I said,” Reyna added after a pause. “If you need anything, I’m here.”

Annabeth’s throat tightened. “Thanks.”

Reyna gave her a final nod and turned toward the door.

“Reyna,” Annabeth said as she reached for the handle. She hesitated. “If there’s ever… anything. Any whisper. I need to know.”

“I figured as much,” Reyna said. “If he shows up, we’ll hear about it. And I’ll make sure you do too.” With that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Annabeth stood in the quiet for a long time after. Then, finally, she crossed the room and opened one of the boxes. She pulled out an old, folded map of the U.S.—creased and torn, inked with markings only she understood. Pins, circles, locations she’d visited, and failed to find him.

She smoothed it over her desk. He was still out there. She could feel it. And no matter how far he ran, she wasn’t finished. Not yet.

A week passed. 

Annabeth went to her classes. She attended lectures on advanced architecture and divine engineering. Sat through strategy seminars with professors who studied ancient wars as if they were puzzles, not tragedies. She answered questions when necessary, took notes with precision, and turned in every assignment on time. 

She was, on the surface, the model student. Smart. Dedicated. Focused. And yet. She hadn’t made an effort with anyone. Not really. A few students had tried to be friendly, inviting her to study groups, offering her a spot at lunch, but Annabeth always kept her answers short and polite. They knew her name already. Knew her story. Not because of anything she’d said, but because everyone seemed to know about Percy Jackson’s girlfriend. The architect of Olympus. The war strategist. The one who survived Tartarus.

She told herself they didn’t really want to know her. Just the myth. So she kept her distance.

That afternoon, she sat at a small cafe near the edge of campus, a half-melted gelato resting in her hand. New Rome was glowing beneath the early evening sun, but she barely noticed it. Her spoon dug absently through the pale pink scoop.

She wasn’t sure what dragged her out there. Maybe it was the guilt of skipping another study session. Maybe it was the quiet pressure of Reyna’s words echoing in her head. Or perhaps it was the soft breeze that smelled faintly of stone and lavender that reminded her of Rome— the real one. 

Her thoughts drifted to that day. Rome. Just before she’d left for the quest to retrieve Athena Parthenos. They’d found a brief window—barely half a day—to escape the pressure of war, gods, and fate. Wandering narrow alleys. Sharing gelato from a tiny shop as they talked about anything but the future.

It had felt like a pocket in time. Safe. Almost normal. She missed that version of him. The one who smiled without guilt weighing down his shoulders. The one who would’ve taken her hand right now, stolen her gelato, and made her laugh without trying.

Her spoon scraped the side of the cup. She didn’t look up as a group of younger students passed by, laughing. She opened her notebook, flipping through scribbled diagrams, architectural sketches, and half-baked ideas for her urban planning course. 

Across the table, a couple sat close together, one of them laughing into the other’s shoulder. She didn’t look at them for long. She returned to her notebook, flipped to a blank page, and started sketching again. Not buildings or maps. Just lines and shapes. She pressed her pencil harder into the page. Then stopped. 

Her phone buzzed against the table, startling her. A message lit up her screen.

Piper 🌈
Hey! How’s New Rome? Week one down! Surviving?

Annabeth stared at the message for a long time. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she turned it face down, deciding to respond later. She took another bite of her gelato. It was too sweet now. 

Gods, only one week? 

She reached for her phone again, hesitating. What could she say? I’m fine ? Everything’s great? It would just be a lie. And if there were one thing she’d come to hate more than anything over the last year, it was lying. 

Her fingers hovered over the screen again. She tapped the message open and stared at it. Piper had made a group chat. 

Finally, she typed: 

It’s been weird. Still trying to figure it out. 

She hit send before she could second-guess it. That was all they were getting today. It was honest, at least. The reply came almost instantly. 

Piper 🌈
Call later? If you don’t, I’ll annoy you until you do. 

Annabeth smiled faintly despite herself. Another message popped up: 

Hazel 🌙

We miss you. Let us know if you want company. I’ll bring cards and bad jokes.

The ache in Annabeth’s chest was soft and sharp all at once. She tucked her phone away before she could get overwhelmed. She picked up her pencil and started again, letting the lines flow this time without thinking. Maybe tomorrow she’d say yes to someone. Perhaps she’d answer a call. But not today. 

Another week passed, and the sun had barely begun its descent, casting long shadows over the stone pathways. The marble arches glowed like honey, and students spilled from lecture halls in clusters, laughing, debating, slinging bags over their shoulders as they moved on to the next thing.

Annabeth stepped out into the open air, her backpack heavy with notes and the kind of textbooks only demigods could write. She blinked at the sun, dragging a hand through her curls, already calculating how much she had to study.

She almost missed Reyna standing just beyond the stone colonnade. The moment she saw her, everything inside her stopped. Reyna’s stance was stiff, composed, but her face gave it away. Not quite grim. Not quite urgent. But something in her expression made Annabeth’s stomach twist.

Annabeth didn’t wait as Reyna walked toward her. “What happened?”

Reyna didn’t waste time. “He was spotted last night.”

Annabeth froze. “Where?” 

“Los Angeles,” Reyna said. “A private auction was broken into just before midnight. No one was hurt. Just one thing taken.”

Annabeth’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag. “What was it?”

Reyna shook her head. “Don’t know; however, the item wasn’t catalogued publicly—too high profile, apparently. But it was valuable enough for someone to place a divine lock on the vault room.”

A breath escaped Annabeth’s lips, half-sharp, half-disbelieving. “And he got through it?”

“He left it in pieces.”

Annabeth stared at her.

Reyna held her gaze. “The footage is bad. Security cameras started glitching an hour before the break-in. By the time they caught anything, it was nearly all static.”

Annabeth was already shaking her head. “But they saw him.”

Reyna nodded once. “Just one frame. Blurry. Distorted. But it’s him alright.” 

Annabeth could already see it. A flicker of movement caught in the corner of the screen. A blur of black clothes, wind-tossed hair, a sword she didn’t recognize strapped across his back like a challenge. His face would be shadowed, of course—it always was. 

Reyna added, “The building had no celestial interference. No signs of divine manipulation. No monsters. No help.”

“Just him.”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched between them. “He’s getting careless,” Annabeth muttered, unsure if it was a relief or a warning.

“Or maybe he wants to be seen,” Reyna said.

Annabeth looked at her. “You think it was intentional?”

Reyna didn’t answer. But she didn’t have to.

Annabeth’s heart beat faster. She could feel the old instincts sliding back into place, her mind racing with timelines, maps, and possible travel routes. He couldn't be too far if he was in L.A. last night. If she left tonight, if she left immediately—

“I thought you were done chasing him,” Reyna said softly.

Annabeth didn’t even flinch. “I never said that.”

“You’ve got a life here.”

“I know.”

“Friends. Classes. You were starting to look like yourself again.”

Annabeth closed her eyes, just for a second.

Reyna didn’t push further. She just nodded once. “If you go... don’t go alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Reyna gave her a long look. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Annabeth said. 

The February air was a bit sharper than Annabeth had expected. The chill had a way of slipping past even the thickest jacket. She always hated something about this city every time she came back, whether it was the endless concrete, the stubborn smog hanging low, or the sterile buzz of neon signs struggling to compete with the fading daylight. She pulled her jacket tighter and glanced up at the low gray sky. The sun was already fading, leaving the streets draped in early twilight.

Annabeth’s footsteps carried her toward the heart of the city—the auction house. She knew the neighborhood from Reyna's descriptions: a quiet block of aging buildings, nestled between glimmering towers that belonged in a different world entirely.

When she reached the building, her breath caught. Yellow police tape wrapped around the entrance like a warning. Uniformed officers stood nearby, eyes sharp but bored, the kind of detachment that only came from long shifts with nothing new.

Annabeth didn’t try to get close. Instead, she stood on the sidewalk and studied the place. The heavy front doors, once ornate, were shuttered. Windows covered in reflective film blocked the inside from view.

A low hum vibrated beneath her feet. It was subtle, but it was there— something alive beneath the surface of the mortal world. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag as the cold bit harder. Annabeth moved through it all like a ghost, her hoodie drawn up and fingers wrapped tight around a folded photo in her pocket—a blurry still from the auction security footage.

The camera had caught only a fraction of him—just his side profile, a gleam of black hair. But it was enough. She would know him anywhere.

She'd touched down in Los Angeles only four hours ago. No backup. No plan beyond her instinct. Yet already, the city felt like a trap. She moved past the auction house, guarded by bored mortals who had no idea what they’d almost stumbled into. The wards around the building were still crumbling, disturbed by his touch. She could feel it like a loose wire humming under the sidewalk.

Whatever he took, it wasn’t ordinary. She'd checked alleyways. Talked to a mortal security guard who vaguely remembered the scent of sea salt and smoke. And now she was walking circles in a city she despised, retracing steps that might’ve never been his.

Percy moved through the streets of Koreatown like he belonged there. Black jeans, plain hoodie, hood down. His sword hung across his back, half-reflecting the lights above. Mortals didn’t notice it. They rarely noticed anything these days. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders loose, and his posture relaxed, like he didn’t have anywhere to be. He passed rows of shops and brightly lit restaurants still serving the late crowd. His shoes scuffed across cracked sidewalks, stepping over spilled sauce packets and faded chalk art. 

The job was done. The amulet sat quietly in his pocket, wrapped in a black cloth. Hades hadn't told him why it was important—just that it belonged in the vault and that Percy needed to be the one to get it. It hadn't put up a fight. Neither had the mortal guards, aside from the usual scrambling and shouting, the kind that got swallowed up by bad security footage and late-night news segments no one took seriously. He'd gotten out before the cops even showed up. Sloppy by old standards. Satisfying in its simplicity.

He passed two buskers on the corner playing an off-key guitar riff and a couple in a shouting match across the street. Percy didn’t look. This part of the city felt familiar—bustling, anonymous, cracked at the edges. A place where people didn’t ask questions if you walked like you belonged.

Percy slipped into a bodega on the corner like he’d done a hundred times before.  Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, glass door smudged with fingerprints. The cashier gave him a lazy nod without looking up from his phone. 

Percy didn’t say anything back. He moved through the narrow aisle, fingers brushing against candy bars and microwaveable burritos, pausing at the cooler before grabbing a Coke. It was muscle memory by now. 

He paid in exact change. The coins were ice-cold when he dropped them into the cashier’s hand.

The guy flinched, but didn’t ask questions.

Back outside, Percy twisted the cap off and took a long drink. It burned a little on the way down. Sweet yet bitter. Faint taste of nostalgia. 

There were moments when he wondered what it would’ve been like to disappear entirely. Not into the Underworld, not into the shadows Hades kept offering—but into something quieter. Something still. But he knew better. He was still a son of Poseidon, still marked, still known in ways he couldn’t erase. 

But walking helped. It reminded him he had a body, and that it still worked. He could move forward even if he didn’t know where he was going. The streets buzzed with life around him, and none of it touched him, but that was okay. Being alone wasn’t so bad when you chose it.

His fingers twitched toward the hilt of the sword on his back—just a reflex. The weapon didn’t speak to him like Riptide used to. No comforting warmth. No half-sentient hum in his bones. This one was different. Cold. Heavy. Hungry. 

But it obeyed, and so did he. 

Percy exhaled through his nose and kept walking.

He cut across a side street, then another, until the city noise thinned into the kind of quiet that only came after midnight, when even the people pretending to be invincible started heading home. His phone buzzed once in his pocket— a message from Nico, probably. He didn’t check it.

He took another swig of the Coke and tossed the empty bottle in a trash bin. The Underworld was quieter than this. Cleaner, in its own way. Less chaotic. Here, everything was too alive– too loud. And yet, here he was. Wandering.

Annabeth’s footsteps had no rhythm anymore. She’d stopped checking street signs half an hour ago, relying on instinct instead—some mix of gut feeling and demigod intuition that tugged her deeper into Koreatown. The city blurred around her. Neon signs flickering. Murmured conversations spilling out of open doorways. A car honked somewhere behind her, sharp and impatient, but she barely flinched.

Every block looked the same. She crossed a new street and slowed, eyes scanning everything: rooftops, doorways, shadows. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for anymore. A shimmer. A scent. 

She was crossing a narrow intersection when a pull hit her, like a tether suddenly yanking taut. She stopped cold on the sidewalk, breath stalling in her throat. Her eyes lifted, instinct guiding her gaze across the street. Her hood slipped back before she realized it, the motion slow, mechanical—like peeling it off would somehow sharpen her vision. The cool air caught her curls and swept them over her shoulders, loose and longer than she used to wear them. 

She blinked once. Twice. There he was.

He looked older. Tired in a way she didn’t understand. But it was him. He stood across the street, his sword catching the flickering red neon sign above him. Black hoodie, jean jacket layered over it, hair messy and windswept like he hadn’t touched a comb in days. Mortals walked past him, oblivious.

And then, he turned. Annabeth’s heart stopped. Her chest went tight. Her mind tried to move faster than her heart, but it was too late. Every part of her locked onto the image of him—real, alive, here.

 He hadn’t changed much. Not in the ways that mattered. Same sharp cheekbones, same sea green eyes. His posture was looser than it used to be, more fluid—like someone who didn’t expect a fight but would win one anyway. 

Percy’s eyes lifted, almost casually, like he’d just sensed a sudden change in wind. They met hers and locked, his body visibly tensing.

 After months of dead ends, false leads, and security footage so grainy she had to lie to herself just to believe it was him— he now stood across the street. Solid. Breathing. Staring back.

Percy.

She stepped off the curb without thinking. 

Percy took a step back, his jaw tight. The flicker of emotion on his face was gone too fast to read. He didn’t wait. And just like that, he turned and ran.

Annabeth surged forward into the street without thinking, nearly colliding with a car that screeched to a halt. The driver shouted something she didn’t hear. 

“Percy!” The name tore from her throat like it had been trapped there for months.

He didn’t stop. His figure moved like water down the sidewalk—fluid, practiced, like he’d done this before. He was fast. His hair whipped behind him, and his sword bounced against his back but didn’t slow him.

He ducked around a corner, and she followed.

“Stop!” she yelled, nearly on his heels now. 

She reached out. Fingers grazed the back of his jacket— her hand closing around his hood… and yanked.

He stumbled off balance for half a second, and she was on him, slamming into his back, gripping his arm hard enough to anchor him.

“Don’t you dare run from me again,” she hissed, breathless.

He turned sharply to face her. Too fast.

The contact broke something in her. His face was right there. Up close, the change in him was sharper. His skin was paler, and his eyes darker around the edges. But the green was still there. Still clear. Still hers.

He stared at her like she wasn’t real. Like she was the ghost. His eyes narrowed. And then, with a sharp twist, he pulled free—a flash of instinct she didn’t see coming. 

“No—wait!” She reached out again, but he was already vaulting over the chain-link fence beside the alley. His feet hit the pavement on the other side with barely a sound. 

Annabeth slammed into the fence, hands gripping the cold metal. “Coward!” she screamed after him. 

He didn’t look back.

Not at the sound of her voice cracking down the alley. Not at the word coward ringing in the night behind him like a curse. He just kept moving, heart pounding—not from exertion, but from something more familiar. Rage.

She shouldn’t be here.

Percy jumped over a rusted dumpster and hit the ground running, the sword on his back thudding lightly against his jacket. It should’ve felt like a victory. Another clean escape. But his hands were shaking.

Why was she here?

The question hammered through his skull with every step. Months. It had been months. He’d made it clear—he’d left . He vanished like he was meant to. He thought she’d move on, or at the very least, give up.

But no. Of course not. She was Annabeth.

And that was the part that made something twist behind his ribs. That she hadn’t given up. That she’d chased him across the country like he was still worth saving. She’d seen him tonight and still called his name like it meant something.

It made him furious.

He skidded into another alley, then stopped, pressing a hand to the cold brick wall, breath sharp in his throat. His fingers clenched around air, itching for the hilt of his sword. She had touched him. Grabbed his arm like she still had a right to.

The version of her that lived in his head was softer, warmer. A memory blurred around the edges, a face he sometimes summoned when things got quiet. But seeing her in person was like light through fog—too clear. Too sharp. It unsettled him.

Because for months, those feelings—whatever they used to be—had dulled and gone murky. At first, he thought it was time. Pain, buried deep. But it wasn’t just that. Something had shifted. Like the tide had turned, pulling the sand out from under his feet before he even noticed he was sinking.

He still remembered her favorite type of granola. The way she used to tuck a pencil behind her ear without thinking. He remembered how her fingers curled against his chest when she slept beside him. 

But now… the want was gone, faded.

Maybe if he tried, he could dig it up. Trace the outline of what they used to be. But lately, even that felt like a chore. He didn’t know why. He only knew that it disturbed him—how numb he was becoming. Like his emotions were leaking out through invisible cracks. Drained by something he couldn’t name.

Percy wiped his hand down his face, breath misting in the air.

He needed to leave. 

Now.

He had stayed too long topside. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath and turned away from the alley. Time to go. He needed the shadows. The cold. The quiet weight of the Underworld pressing in on all sides—something familiar. Something that didn’t look at him like she had.

Percy turned sharply down another alley, kicking through a loose grate behind a boarded-up convenience store. He ducked into the darkness without hesitation. The scent of sulfur hit him first, faint but familiar. One of the access points— one of Hades’.

The tunnels ran beneath Los Angeles like veins—ancient, hidden, and thoroughly mapped in Percy’s mind. He knew every one by heart. He pressed his palm to the cold, cracked symbol etched into the concrete wall. A breath later, the shadows parted, and he stepped through.

The air changed the second he emerged. Gone was the stink of car exhaust, the grime of alley walls. The noise of the city vanished, replaced by the still, grave hush of the Underworld as it welcomed him back like a loyal hound. 

No one stopped him as he stalked through the obsidian palace, jaw clenched tight. He moved fast until he reached the doors to the throne room. The two skeletal guards stepped aside. Percy pushed them open and entered without a word.

The cavernous chamber was dimly lit by blue-green flames that flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the throne at its center.

Hades was already there, seated like he’d been waiting. The god raised an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

Percy didn’t stop until he was halfway into the chamber, standing tall despite the trembling in his hands. “I’m here now,” he said flatly. “Let’s get on with it.”

Hades leaned forward, studying him. His black eyes glittered, catching the flicker of the green-blue flames. “You’re shaking,” he said.

Percy’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

Hades hummed, unconvinced. “I didn’t ask.” He stood, descending the steps of his throne like he had all the time in the world. His shadow stretched long and slow across the floor. “But it’s always fun to see what lies you choose to offer me first.”

Percy scoffed. “I brought the amulet. I did what you asked. If you want to talk about work, fine. Otherwise, save it.”

The silence stretched.

And then Hades gave a small, knowing smile, “Did you see her?”

Percy’s eyes snapped up, pupils flaring. “Don’t start with me,” he snarled. His jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. He turned to leave.

“I felt the spike,” Hades mused, voice casual. “An emotional disturbance. Something potent. And then her name echoed down here like an aftershock. I don’t need to spy on you, Perseus. I can feel you unraveling.”

Percy angrily spun around. “Stay out of my head!”

Hades laughed. “Please. You handed me the keys the moment you accepted the blade.”

“I didn’t ask for her to be there,” Percy snapped, stepping forward.

“No,” Hades said, voice suddenly rising. “You just wanted to run. And she—bless her stubborn mortal heart—refuses to let you.”

“Shut up!”

“Mm.” Hades’s eyes glittered, his demeanor now calm. “And yet here you are—storming in like a boy with something to prove.”

That did it. Percy turned, ready to leave. He wasn’t doing this. Not tonight. 

But before he could reach the doors, Hades lazily lifted his hand, and the massive obsidian doors slammed shut. 

Percy didn’t flinch—but he didn’t turn, either.

“Leaving so soon?” Hades’s voice was closer now. Percy heard the creak of bones and the soft thud of booted steps against marble as the god approached. “You have something of mine.”

Percy slowly turned, his glare dark.

Hades stood before him, one hand extended—not in kindness, but command. His fingers were adorned with rings of jet and iron. “Let’s not pretend you forgot.”

Percy’s hand twitched at his side. The weight of the amulet had been a constant presence in his pocket since. Heavy. Alive in a way that made his skin itch.

Then, with one sharp movement, he reached into his jacket and yanked out the amulet. “You’re welcome,” Percy muttered, his voice venomous. 

Hades didn’t even blink. He took it and turned it over in his hand like he was inspecting a family heirloom. “Careful, Perseus,” he said softly, not looking up. “This trinket is worth more than your pride.”

Percy didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, breath sharp through his nose. Without another glance at Hades, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the doors.

They didn’t open.

“Open them,” Percy said tightly, not bothering to turn around. Behind him, Hades made no move. The silence dragged, thick and deliberate.

“I said—”

“They will,” Hades cut in, “when I say so.”

Percy spun around. “I brought you what you wanted. I did my part.”

Hades chuckled. “Struck a nerve, have I?” He leaned in ever so slightly. “You may have returned the amulet, but you’ve brought something else with you.”

Percy’s jaw tightened further, but he didn’t speak. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was trying not to reach for his sword. He turned back toward the doors, breathing hard, every muscle coiled like a wave about to break.

This time, they opened. The obsidian slabs groaned as they parted, revealing the cold corridor beyond.

Percy didn’t spare Hades another glance. He walked out, shoulders tense, the firelight casting warped shadows in his wake. And Hades, still standing in the flickering dark, watched him go with the slightest tilt of his head.

The balcony outside Nico’s room was one of the few quiet places left. It sat on the far side of the palace—tucked above the banks of the River Lethe, where the mist curled like breath over water. The stone was cold beneath him as he sat cross-legged, sword balanced across his knees, a worn cloth in his hand. The blue glow from the Lethe bathed everything in pale, spectral light. It made the marble look like frozen smoke and turned his skin ghost-pale.

Nico paused in his polishing, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. It had already been cleaned twice over, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The repetition helped—something to keep his hands busy while his mind spun in circles.

The last five months had felt longer than the years he’d once spent hiding in the shadows of Camp Half-Blood. That’s how long it had been since Percy came down here. At first, Nico had been… glad. Maybe not openly, but he’d thought: finally. Someone who understood. Someone who didn’t flinch at death or shadows or the things they had to do for Hades’ sake. Percy had always been too golden aboveground, too good in ways Nico never pretended to be. But here? Here, Percy had arrived like a broken wave.

They were supposed to understand each other.

And for a little while, they did.

Until Percy started slipping.

On the field, they moved like parts of the same machine—silent understanding, back-to-back. But off the field? Percy barely spoke unless he had to. The way he trained until his knuckles bled, took missions without sleep, came back covered in Underworld ash, and didn’t speak a word. He watched the light in Percy’s eyes dim bit by bit. There were moments when Nico wondered if Percy even remembered why he came here in the first place. 

He thought about Will, as he often did at night, when the palace was too quiet. The way sunlight used to look on his hair. The way he used to reach for Nico’s hand like it was the easiest thing in the world.

That world felt so far away now.

He went on missions, too, of course. Alone or with Percy. He held the line at the borders of Lethe when souls tried to rise too far. He communed with ghosts who remembered him. He kept moving because if he stopped long enough, he might have to admit that the person he thought would never scare him—Percy Jackson—was becoming someone he didn’t recognize. 

The sword in his lap caught the blue light again. He stared at it, jaw tense.

Then, from behind, soft footsteps. Nico didn’t look up.

“You’re back,” he said flatly.

A pause. Then Percy stepped onto the balcony, arms crossed, leaning against the edge of the threshold, caught in the ghostlight of the Lethe-glow. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You walk like the dead now,” Nico said, not unkindly. “Kinda hard to miss.”

Percy didn’t answer right away. Nico finally glanced up.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying what they wanted to. Then Nico looked back down and resumed polishing.

“So,” he said, voice even, “what happened?”

Percy stepped forward. “Nothing.”

Nico’s cloth slowed across the blade. “Nothing,” he echoed, dry.

Percy exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t answer; he just moved to the edge of the balcony and gripped the stone railing with both hands. Below, the River Lethe wound like a glowing artery through the dark, its surface rippling with memories long since forgotten. Percy stared down at it like it might offer answers.

“I saw her,” Percy said suddenly, his voice low.

Nico’s hand stilled mid-polish. He didn’t look up. “Who?”

Percy’s grip on the railing tightened. “ Her, ” he emphasized. He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. 

Silence.

Nico slowly set the cloth down beside him. “When?” he asked, quietly.

“A few hours ago. In Koreatown.”

Nico absorbed that, the information slotting into place. “She tracked you.”

“Yeah.” Percy’s voice was distant now, rough. “Guess she got tired of waiting for me to come home.”

Nico stood, sword still in hand, though the edge of it now hung limp at his side. “Did she see you?”

Percy nodded once.

“And?”

“I ran.”

Another silence stretched thin between them.

“You ran ,” Nico repeated. Not angry. Not accusing— just trying to understand.

Percy’s jaw flexed, and his eyes stayed fixed on the Lethe. “What was I supposed to do?”

Nico finally stepped forward, folding his arms as he stood beside him. “You didn’t even try to talk to her?”

“What do you want me to say?” Percy snapped, turning toward him. “That I regret it? That I should’ve stayed and what—”

“You could’ve just told her the truth,” Nico said, matching his intensity now. “You could’ve faced her. Even if it went to hell, you could’ve let her see you.”

“She did see me,” Percy said bitterly. “And she didn’t look relieved, Nico. She looked afraid . ”

The words echoed, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Nico’s eyes flicked to Percy’s face. The fury there wasn’t hot—it was exhausted, like a forest fire that had burned everything down and was now smoldering in the ash.

“So, yeah, I ran.” Percy turned his gaze back onto the river. “I ran. Because the longer I stood there, the more I started to believe that she should be afraid of me.”

“You think you’ve cornered the market on guilt and bad choices?” Nico’s voice rose. “You think I haven’t looked at myself some days and wondered if the people I care about would even recognize me anymore?”

Percy didn’t respond.

Nico shook his head, stepping away from the railing like he couldn’t stand still anymore. “But you know what I did, Percy? I admitted it. I looked in the mirror and said, ‘This—this version of me—scares me.’ I said it out loud. I told Will. I told my father. I told you. ”

“I didn’t ask for a therapy session,” Percy scoffed.

“No, you never do!” Nico snapped. “Because you’d rather train until you bleed than say one honest thing about yourself. ”

Percy turned then, eyes cold. “Don’t act like you understand what I’ve lost.”

Nico laughed once. “Are you serious? You think I don’t understand loss? You think I don’t know what it feels like to be buried alive in your own damn mind?”

Percy’s hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t get it, Nico.”

“Then make me get it!” Nico shouted, stepping into his space now, eyes blazing. “Say it! Say something real! Say you’re angry, afraid, or broken—just stop pretending you’re in control when you’re not!”

Percy moved before he could think.

His fist collided with Nico’s jaw with a crack, a sound that echoed off the marble like a gunshot. Nico’s head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back, one hand flying to his face.

The silence that followed was brutal.

Percy froze, his arm still half-raised, breathing hard. His knuckles stung. The heat of the impact lingered in his bones like fire.

Nico slowly lowered his hand from his face. Blood touched his fingers—just a smear from where Percy’s fist had split the skin. His expression wasn’t angry. It was worse. 

He looked disappointed. 

“Wow,” Nico said quietly. “There it is.”

Percy’s mouth opened like he wanted to speak—maybe apologize, maybe explain—but nothing came out. His chest rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths. His jaw flexed, his hands curled into fists again. Instead, he stormed away from the balcony edge.

“You wanted something real?” he spat as he reached the doorway. “There. That was real.” And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him with enough force to rattle the stone.

Nico stood there for a long time, unmoving. He exhaled slowly, deliberately. 

His fingers brushed over his jaw, already bruising. The smear of blood on his hand felt surreal. He stared at it like he couldn’t quite believe it was his.

 “Yeah. No kidding,” he muttered bitterly to the empty balcony.

The bruise on his jaw bloomed dark and violet by the time the sun—or what passed for it in the Underworld—shifted again. He didn't sleep that night. Just laid in bed, sword within reach, blanket drawn tight around his shoulders, staring at the ceiling as if he could will answers to form in the cracks between the stone.

He didn't speak to anyone the next day. Not to the servant who knocked once, nervously, and left a plate of food he didn’t touch. Not to the ghost who appeared in his doorway mid-afternoon, sobbing about forgotten children and aching regrets.

And definitely not to Percy.

Because Percy didn’t show up.

Not at the training grounds. Not in the war room. Not in the throne hall when Hades called for a report. He was gone—buried somewhere in the lower levels of the palace or hiding deep in the catacombs where even spirits didn’t dare to follow. 

That night, Nico found himself in the old greenhouse, what used to be Persephone’s private space, now overgrown with pale, crumbling vines and strange mushrooms that pulsed faintly with their light. It was a peculiar place, humid with otherworldly heat and thick with silence.

He sat on a bench shaped from obsidian, fingers laced between his knees, still and tense. But gods, he wanted to scream. 

He’d trusted Percy. Not just in battle. He’d trusted him to still be human. To still be the person who’d once offered him a hand on Half-Blood Hill and made him believe that maybe they were all going to be okay. But that person had bled away. Quietly. Daily. Until all that was left was the edge of a sword and a silence that felt like drowning.

Nico touched his jaw, wincing slightly at the tenderness. The bruise had deepened. It looked like something that wouldn’t fade soon. 

The mushrooms near the entrance dimmed for a moment, like they’d held their breath. Nico didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. The temperature in the greenhouse shifted, dropped by degrees, until the otherworldly humidity felt like it had turned to fog in his lungs. 

Then came the voice.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Nico didn’t answer. He kept his gaze trained on his hands.

Hades never tried to sneak up on people—he didn’t need to. His power announced him like a storm cresting the horizon. There was always that faint scent of ash and myrrh, and the rustle of robes that didn’t quite touch the floor.

“I used to come here too,” Hades said after a moment, his voice low. “When Persephone was above. When I needed to think.”

Still, Nico didn’t respond.

The bench creaked faintly as Hades sat beside him, not close enough to touch, but not so far that it felt impersonal—a small gesture, by his standards.

For a long while, they sat in silence. Just the breath of the greenhouse around them, the low hum of the glowing fungi, and the faint, shivering rustle of dead vines twitching in unseen air currents.

Then Hades said, “That bruise is new.”

Nico’s lips pulled back into a scowl. “Thanks for the observation.”

Hades glanced at him sidelong, expression unreadable beneath the heavy shadows. “Do I need to ask who gave it to you?”

Nico turned away slightly. “No.”

“Do I need to ask why?”

Nico’s jaw flexed, and he winced slightly from the pain. “Would it matter?”

“I’m your father. I should think it would.”

Nico laughed bitterly. “Since when?”

That silence again, sharp this time. Hades didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned back slightly, resting one hand on his knee. “I have never pretended to be something I’m not, Nico. I am not warm. I am not nurturing. But I do care. In the way I know how.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nico snapped, suddenly turning his glare on him. “Then why does it feel like I’m always trying to prove something to you?”

Hades didn’t hesitate. “Because I know what you’re capable of.”

“Do you?” Nico’s voice was rising now, raw and edged. “Do you really ? Or do you just see what you want to see—another loyal shadow in your court, another son who won’t disappoint you by being soft or wrong or—gods forbid—hurting?”

Hades was quiet again, but there was something different in his gaze now. Not coldness. Not anger. Restraint.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to watch someone fall apart and feel powerless to stop it?” Hades said. “You think I didn’t see it with your mother? With your sister? With every soul who passes through my gates, begging for another chance to do it right?”

Nico looked away, but his expression cracked.

“He hit me,” he said, finally. Quiet.

Hades was silent, but something in the room shifted, a pressure that wasn’t there before.

“I pushed him too far,” Nico admitted.

“And you?” Hades asked. “What did you do?”

Nico blinked hard. “I let him go.” 

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Hades, in a voice softer than Nico had ever heard from him, said, “You’ve always been better at facing the truth than he has.”

Nico gave a humorless breath. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll get a trophy.”

Hades allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “No trophies in this realm. Only choices.” He turned his gaze toward the dome of the greenhouse. Above them, the faint glow of the Underworld sky seeped through the cracked glass like watered-down moonlight. The vines had stopped rustling. Even the strange mushrooms had dimmed to a soft pulse, as if listening.

“I didn’t come to lecture you,” Hades added after a moment. “You get enough of that from the living.”

Nico sighed. “I don’t really get much from them anymore.”

Hades glanced at him again. “Because you’ve outgrown them.”

Nico’s head snapped up, startled. “That’s not what this is.”

“No?” Hades tilted his head. “You carry death like it’s stitched into your skin. You see the lies beneath people’s words. You know how quickly love becomes grief, and still you keep hoping. You are mine , Nico. In more ways than you like to admit.”

“I don’t want to be you,” Nico muttered.

“You don’t have to be.” Hades slowly stood then. He lifted a hand, fingers hovering just above Nico’s bruised jaw, then pulled back, as if hesitant to touch. “But don’t pretend you aren’t becoming something greater than what they understand.” 

Nico frowned, uncertain if it was meant as a compliment or a warning.

Hades turned to leave, but paused at the archway. “He’ll return,” he said without looking back. “Not because he owes you. But because part of him still remembers what it means to be human. And you're the last person who can remind him of it.”

Then he was gone, leaving behind a stillness that pressed against Nico’s skin. He sat there for a long time, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands buried in his hair. The bruise on his face throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he let it.

Annabeth sat curled up on the window ledge of her dorm, one leg pulled up against her chest, the other dangling off the ledge as the early evening light filtered through the enchanted glass. Her notebook lay open beside her, half-filled with sketches and scattered notes on her architecture theory class, but she hadn’t touched her pen in nearly twenty minutes.

Her mind was elsewhere.

The memory of him across the street played over and over like a glitching film reel. That look he gave her: startled, almost haunted. And then he ran. Again. She’d vaulted over that fence seconds behind him, but he was already gone by the time she hit the alley. No trace. No footprints. No lingering presence. Just her, panting and furious in the dark.

He was getting better at vanishing. Too good. And it infuriated her. Not just because he kept slipping through her fingers like mist, but because she couldn’t figure out how . Percy was good, sure, but this good? No. He had help. He had to.

Her first guess had been Nico—dark magic, shadow travel, maybe even a cloaking spell—but she hadn’t seen Nico once. Not that night, not the time before. If he was involved, he was being just as careful. Maybe more careful.

Annabeth leaned her forehead against the cool glass. New Rome buzzed quietly below, students milling around the forum, the smell of bread and olive oil drifting in from the kitchens.

A sharp knock at the door broke through her thoughts. She stiffened, glancing at the clock. Almost dinner. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe Reyna? No– she would never come this late. She climbed down from the ledge, curiosity getting the best of her. Her steps were slow and cautious as she crossed the room. She hesitated. 

Another knock. Harder this time. Finally, she opened the door. 

“Grover?!”

The satyr stood in the hallway with a backpack slung over one shoulder, his curls a little longer than she remembered, and an unmistakable, wide grin on his face. His horns had grown a little more since she’d last seen him, curling back neatly against his head, but his eyes were the same. 

“Annabeth!” he said, his voice lighting up the quiet hall. “It’s so good to see you.”

Before she could respond, he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, strong and warm. He smelled faintly of moss and pine. 

For a moment, she stood there, caught off guard. Then, she smiled and hugged him back fiercely. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” she sighed.

“Pretty sure I do,” Grover said, pulling back to study her face. “You look like you've been pacing holes in your brain.” 

Annabeth huffed. “That’s putting it gently.”

He grinned and looked around the dorm with curiosity as he stepped inside. “You’ve really moved up in the world, huh? Dorm room. Personal desk. Fancy.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, well, don’t look too closely. That’s definitely a coffee stain from an all-nighter two days ago.” 

Grover made himself at home, tossing his bag into a chair and flopping onto the bed. “I was hoping you’d be here.” He hesitated. His fingers played with the strap of his satchel, ears twitching.

Annabeth sat down at her desk and faced him. “What’s up? You okay?” 

He thought about it for a moment before straightening his back and sitting at the edge of the bed. “Look,” he said, a little more serious now. “I wasn’t just coming to catch up. I needed to see you.” 

“Okay,” Annabeth drew out, sitting up. “What about?

He looked around again, this time more deliberately, before meeting her eyes. 

“Grover.” Annabeth pushed.

Grover sighed, “It’s about… Percy.” 

Annabeth’s stomach clenched. “Have you seen him?” 

Grover hesitated again, his hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Annabeth groaned, “Grover!” 

He raised his hands, “Okay, okay!” His posture slouched again, “Look, a few months back… he reached out to me. Just one iris-message, and he looked—” Grover’s voice faltered. “He looked bad. Not hurt, just… not like himself. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.” 

“What did he say?” Annabeth asked, her fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of her chair. 

“He didn’t say where he was. He asked me to help him with something, but didn’t say what. Said he needed me to trust him.” 

Annabeth’s jaw clenched. “And you did?”

“I mean, I didn’t believe everything was fine, if that’s what you’re thinking! I tried calling him back. Messaging. I even tried sending a dryad in his last known direction— nothing. He never got back to me. It’s like he vanished.” 

Grover continued, softer now. “I wanted to drop everything and go looking for him. But Pan’s sacred glade in the Rockies had just started blooming again. The council wouldn’t let me abandon it. Not even for him.” He swallowed hard. “But now a break finally opened up, and when I heard you were in New Rome, I figured maybe Percy was too.” 

Annabeth let out a dry laugh. “Not this time.” 

Grover sat quietly for a beat, fiddling with the corner of his sleeve. Then, gently, “Annabeth… what happened? While I was gone, I mean. I—I know bits. Rumors. But no one’s told me everything.”

Annabeth’s eyes flicked up to meet his. For a moment, she looked like she might brush it off. Tell him she was fine. Say something sarcastic or controlled. But then something in Grover’s face—his patience, presence—cracked the armor she’d been holding together with string.

She sat forward, fingers laced tightly in her lap, and decided to tell him everything.

She told him about Theseus— the stranger who arrived at camp with nothing but the shirt on his back. How he made Percy out to be the villain. How he turned the camp against him, causing destruction and blaming it on percy. How, eventually, he forced Percy out of camp. 

She told him about Percy and Nico’s adventures. How she chased him across states along with Jason and Theseus, desperate to find him before things spiraled further. Her voice faltered slightly when she recounted the moment Theseus stepped in—how he revealed he was Percy's brother, bent on killing Percy to claim his name and power.

She told Grover about the fight. How Poseidon himself had intervened, the god’s rage shaking the ground beneath them. And finally, how Percy had killed Theseus. 

She admitted she didn’t know what had happened afterward, only that Poseidon had taken Percy before the godly council—and from there, everything blurred.

She swallowed hard, voice low. “This last time… it was the closest I’ve ever gotten. We saw each other. I touched him… I thought maybe—.”

She fell silent, eyes locked on the floor as the moon climbed high outside her window.

Grover didn’t speak at first. The silence stretched between them. His expression had gone still, but not blank. His brow furrowed, eyes glassy, overwhelmed not just by the sheer amount of pain Annabeth had laid bare, but by the shape of the story itself—how twisted it had all become.

When he finally found his voice, it was quiet and hoarse.

“Annabeth…” he murmured. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words. His fingers curled into his pant leg. His expression shifted slowly. Shock, sadness… and then something Annabeth didn’t expect. Anger.

Not the explosive kind. Not yelling. But something quieter, tighter. The kind that came from deep, long-standing hurt.

“I can’t believe you let it get this bad,” he said, his voice raw. 

She blinked. “What?”

“You knew something was wrong. You had to know he wasn’t just… snapping. He wouldn’t hurt people for no reason. You know Percy better than anyone, and you, of all people, let everyone think he was a threat?!”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. For once, she didn’t have a ready defense. “I-I tried,” she finally said. “I didn’t want to believe it, but the things that kept happening—” 

“And you didn’t call me?” Grover interrupted, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think I should know my best friend was being hunted like a monster by his own camp? You didn’t think that maybe I could’ve helped before it got to… to this?” His voice cracked. 

Annabeth flinched, her gaze dropping. “I’m sorry. Theseus– he was always in my ear, twisting everything, making it seem like Percy was just… gone.” 

“And you believed him?” Grover asked. “Annabeth, you believed a stranger over Percy?” 

“I didn’t—” her voice caught. “Everything was falling apart, and I was trying to hold it all together! I made the wrong calls, okay? I fucked up! I know that.” She wiped at the hot tears trailing down her cheeks with her sleeves. 

Grover sat back, breathing hard, like he was trying to cool the heat under his skin. His eyes shimmered with grief. With disappointment. “I would’ve dropped everything if I’d known. But I thought you had him. I thought… if anyone would have his back, it’d be you.”

That hit harder than anything else. 

Annabeth stared at the floor, shoulders rigid. “I know,” she whispered. 

After a while, Grover’s hand drifted over, resting gently on hers. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. But you’ve gotta understand… Percy wasn’t just spiraling. He was isolated . And if we don’t find him now—if we don’t do this right —we might lose him for good.”

She nodded, slowly. The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the silence returned. Grover glanced toward the window, where the moonlight pooled across the floor like spilled milk. He exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly, the weight of everything they'd just said lingering between them. But then he nudged her knee gently with his hand.

“C’mon,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s get something to eat before everything closes. You probably haven’t eaten today.”

Annabeth wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, brushing away the remnants of tears before they could fully dry. She nodded, quiet at first. Then she looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “Yeah. Okay. Food sounds good.”

Grover smiled back, and this time, it was full of warmth. Familiar. The kind of smile that reminded her of years past—campfires and quests and someone always having their back, no matter what.

He stood, offering her a hand. “There’s a place down the lane with those weird enchilada things the Romans pretend are authentic. They’re not. But they’re warm. And they don’t ask questions.”

Annabeth huffed a quiet laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Perfect.” She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, the last of the storm inside her settling—for now.

Chapter Text

The palace gardens were quiet this time of morning, lit only by the flickering torches along the obsidian walls and the distant glow of the river. The air was cool and dry, but not unpleasant. Nico stood near the center of the garden, in the clearing he and Percy had half-claimed as a training space. The dead grass had been trampled flat, and the shattered remnants of old targets leaned against the side wall. A rusting suit of armor, once decorative, was now used for practice.

Nico gritted his teeth, raised his sword, and lunged forward. The blade slipped off the shoulder of the dummy with an awkward scrape. His footing was wrong again. He cursed under his breath, reset, and tried the move Percy had shown him weeks ago. 

Another miss.

“You’re overextending.”

Nico froze. He turned slightly, catching Percy’s voice before he saw him.

Percy stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching. The hood of his dark sweatshirt pulled up over messy waves. 

“You’re leaning with your shoulder,” Percy added, stepping into the space beside him. “That throws off your balance, and you lose all your momentum by the time the blade hits.”

Nico lowered his sword slightly. “I was just practicing.”

“I know,” Percy said. His gaze flicked to the dummy. “The swing’s not bad. Power’s there. You just need to shift your weight back here.” He nudged Nico’s back foot with his own.

Nico adjusted slightly, testing the new stance. His eyebrows furrowed.

Percy watched as Nico did it again, this time more slowly and with greater control. “Yeah,” Percy said, nodding once. “Just like that.”

Nico exhaled and lowered his sword.  “...Thanks,” he said, voice flat but sincere.

Percy stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something. His fingers rubbed at the edge of his sleeve. He shifted his weight, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Look,” he muttered. “About the other day...”

Nico’s expression shifted. He didn’t move, but something in his posture closed off.

Percy exhaled slowly through his nose. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Nico looked at him.

Percy’s jaw flexed. “I’m sorry.” The words came out rough. His shoulders dropped, tension finally bleeding out of him like a deflated balloon. He looked like he hadn’t let himself breathe in days.

Nico watched him for a beat longer. Then, slowly, he raised an eyebrow. “You still remember how to do that reverse pivot move? The one that knocks someone off balance if they get too close?”

Percy blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. Then he smiled faintly and nodded. “Yeah. You want me to show you again?”

Nico gave the faintest nod and reset his stance.

They didn’t talk much after that—just the clatter of swords and the occasional correction. Nico was still a little stiff, and Percy’s instructions were occasionally too sharp. But they moved together in sync, falling into an old rhythm.

The sunless sky above the Underworld never changed, but time still passed. Percy and Nico sat side by side on the cracked stone floor, swords laid carefully beside them. Percy leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, a water bottle balanced loosely between his hands. He discarded his hoodie when it got too hot, his shirt clinging to him.  

They’d practiced for what felt like hours. His shoulders ached. It had felt good, and had burned off just enough of the edge they hadn’t realized they’d been carrying.

Nico sat beside him with his legs stretched out. He tilted his head back against the stone wall, closing his eyes for a second, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. He was still skeptical. Forgiveness wasn’t easy, and the bruise on his jaw throbbed whenever he moved wrong, but he didn’t say anything about that now.

After a long moment, Nico’s voice cut through the quiet. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

Percy didn’t answer at once. He stared ahead at nothing, watching the slow curl of mist rising from the edge of the garden path. He took another slow sip of water, then another, as if buying time. Nico watched him. The way Percy’s jaw tightened, the faint twitch in his fingers as he clutched the bottle. 

Nico shifted forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I found a sleeping tonic from the palace stores. I think it’s meant for dreamless sleep.”

Percy let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Sounds nice.”

“It might work for you.”

There was another long pause. Percy reached up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back, but it fell right back into place. His arm dropped again. He looked tired in the way Nico had started recognizing more and more often. 

“Sure. Why not,” Percy muttered. “I’ll try it.”

Nico gave him a slight nod. “I’ll bring it over tonight.”

Percy glanced at Nico. “Thanks,” he said finally. “For not holding it against me.”

Nico shrugged, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

A knock echoed against the heavy wooden door later that night. Percy didn’t answer at first—just lay sprawled on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes—another knock, harder this time. With a groan, Percy dragged himself upright, pushing off the tangled sheets. He crossed the room and pulled the door open. He was already half-collapsed against his doorframe when he opened it.

Nico stood there, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. In his hand was a slender glass vial filled with a thick, silver-blue liquid. It shimmered faintly, even in the dark. He held it up like a peace offering. “Found one,” he said. “Stole it from the infirmary cabinet near the west wing. Pretty sure no one’s used that place in centuries.”

Percy’s lips twitched in relief. He took the vial without hesitation and uncorked it in one swift motion. The bitter liquid burned on his tongue as he downed it in one gulp, tasting like burnt mint and copper. “Ugh. Gods.” A cough rattled through his chest, and he tossed the empty bottle back to Nico. “That’s disgusting.”

Nico caught it easily and tucked it away into his jacket, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”

Percy leaned heavily against the door frame, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His skin felt clammy, his body already starting to buzz strangely. “You sure this stuff works?”

“Nope,” Nico replied, too easily.

Percy let out a sharp breath that might’ve been a laugh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “If this doesn’t knock me out, I swear to the gods, I’m just gonna start drinking until I black out every night.”

Nico gave him a look. “Yeah, well… if you do, don’t do it in the halls. The shades’ll start following you around like lost puppies.”

“Cute,” Percy muttered, closing his eyes. He already felt his limbs starting to go heavy, like his blood was slowly being replaced with wet sand. “Thanks, Nico.”

Nico hesitated by the door. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Percy cracked one eye open. “That’s comforting.” The dim torchlight from the hall cast deep shadows across Percy’s face. The way he swayed slightly, fingers still twitching where they gripped the edge of the door, made Nico frown.

“You okay?” Nico asked. 

Percy blinked slowly, as if it took him a second to process the words. “Yeah,” he said. Then, after a pause, “I think.” His brow twitched, and he gave a half-shrug that looked more like a slump. “Guess it’s just hitting me.”

Nico didn’t say anything for a second. His eyes flicked to Percy’s hands, how they clenched and unclenched like he wasn’t even aware of it. He sighed quietly. “Go to sleep, Percy. For real this time. Let the potion do its job.” Just before stepping away, he added, without looking back, “If something feels off, or if it hits too hard, yell.”

And, finally, Percy was alone again. He barely made it back to his bed, throwing himself onto his pillows, sinking fast into the dark.

The peace lasted for a couple of hours before Percy shot up in bed with a strangled breath, heart pounding in his chest. His fists were clenched. His skin burned. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched, and for a split second, he thought they were reaching for him. His breathing was shallow and frantic, like he’d just clawed his way out of the river Styx again.

The tonic Nico gave him was supposed to help. And it had. The sleep came fast, heavier than he expected, and for a while, he was grateful for the dark silence it brought. But the dreams still found him. Now he was awake, disoriented, the aftereffects of the potion dragging him down. The room spun slightly when he moved, and his eyes struggled to focus on anything. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. A sickly warmth sat in his gut like leftover poison.

He didn’t remember the details of the nightmare, only flashes. He sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. His shirt was soaked through, sticking to his back. He could taste metal in his mouth.

Why couldn’t it stop?

Why couldn’t the dreams just stop?

He let out a loud, furious breath through his teeth and slammed a fist into the nightstand. The lamp on top wobbled dangerously. "Fuck!" he snarled, grabbing the lamp with one hand and hurling it across the room. It exploded against the stone wall in a burst of glass and sparks, the broken pieces scattering across the floor like teeth. The torches along the walls flared in answer to his fury. For a moment, the whole room was bathed in harsh, flickering light.

He sat there, chest heaving, arms tense and trembling. He felt like he could tear the whole place apart with his bare hands and still not feel any lighter. The nightmares hadn’t eased in weeks. And no matter how exhausted he got, no matter how much he worked himself to the edge of collapse, sleep only ever dragged him back into the fire.

And now, even with help, even with borrowed magic, he couldn’t escape it. He buried his face in his hands, fingertips digging into his skull like he could claw the visions out.

Percy tore the shirt from his body and flung it to the ground. He crossed the room and shoved open the balcony doors. The stale Underworld air greeted him, thick and dry, but it was better than nothing. Better than suffocating in that room.

He stood there, staring into the distance where nothing moved, and let the silence settle over him. But still, his hands were shaking. 

Then, without thinking, he moved. He launched into the first set of push-ups on the cold stone floor—anything to drive the static from his bones. Again, and again. Sit-ups until his core ached, pull-ups on a metal bar he’d driven into the archway, push-ups until his arms screamed. Let it hurt. His hands were raw, fingers rubbed red against the metal, but he didn’t stop. This was the only thing that dulled it—his mind, his frustrations, the thoughts that never stopped circling.

His breath then grew ragged. His vision swam. He dropped from the bar and stumbled toward the balcony, chest heaving. The air out there was bone-dry and smelled faintly of ash and brimstone. A miserable excuse for wind moved past his sweat-soaked skin, but it cooled him enough to keep standing. His muscles ached. His body trembled. 

Percy gripped the railing with both hands and stared into the dark chasm beyond the palace walls. Just emptiness. He hated it— the stillness, the way it gave his thoughts room to echo.

The council, seated in judgment. Cold, divine eyes staring down at him like he was some rabid dog barely fit for mercy. The way they'd whispered among themselves while he stood bloodied and vulnerable before them, like deciding his fate was a tedious administrative task. Poseidon's silence had been worse.

His hands curled into fists against the balcony ledge. Percy let out a low, guttural growl. He slammed his palm against the railing hard enough to sting. It still wasn’t enough. Without thinking, he turned and marched back inside, back to the pull-up bar. If his body broke, at least it would quiet his mind. He jumped, gripped the bar again, and pulled. 

By the time he stopped, the world outside his balcony was bathed in the gray-gold light of Underworld morning—not that it meant anything down here. Percy only realized how much time had passed when there was a hesitant knock at the door.

He froze, chest heaving. A soft voice followed, muffled through the wood. “Breakfast.”

Percy let out a long, ragged breath as he dropped down from the bar. His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, his back sliding against the wall for support. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. His body ached in a thousand different places. His fingers burned and throbbed. 

Only now did he feel it. The bone-deep exhaustion. The tightness in his joints. The dull, persistent thud in his temples. He rubbed a hand down his face, smearing sweat down his jaw. The rage had ebbed.

Percy pushed himself to his feet with a groan, each muscle protesting the movement. He dragged himself into the bathroom, the tile cold against his feet. Without bothering to undress neatly, he stripped the rest of the way and stepped under the freezing stream of water.

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, letting the cold shock drive out the last dregs of anger still coiling in his chest. His hands braced against the walls, and he leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the icy tile.

The water streamed down his back, his neck, over his knotted shoulders and tense spine. It was cold. Fresh. Too fresh. It shouldn’t exist down here—not in the Underworld. But he let it pour over him anyway. 

He closed his eyes. The storm in his mind didn’t disappear, but it dulled, just enough to feel like static instead of screaming. A numb buzz that hovered at the edge of everything. He stood like that for minutes. Maybe longer. Nearly asleep on his feet, the effects of the tonic still present in his body. His knees buckled for a split second, and he caught himself just before they gave out completely. The jolt of movement snapped him out of it. 

With a sigh, he twisted the knob off and stepped out into the cooler air of the room. He grabbed a towel, ran it quickly through his hair, then stepped in front of the mirror. His hair had gotten longer, curling at the ends in soft, uneven waves that brushed just below his ears. The dark circles under his eyes were bruised into place. His jaw was sharper, his features older. More tired.

He rolled his left shoulder, testing it. A sharp pinch flared near the joint, and his breath caught. It still hadn’t healed properly since the fight with Theseus. When the bastard had dislocated it mid-battle, and Percy had been too stubborn to stop.

Just the memory sent a shiver down his spine. His fingers twitched at his sides. He stared at himself a moment longer. The silence buzzed in his ears. Then he turned away from the mirror, quickly toweling off, and got dressed in simple black clothes. 

The hall was colder than usual. Or maybe it was just Percy. His damp hair still clung to the back of his neck as he pushed open the grand blackwood doors to the dining hall.

Inside, the long obsidian table gleamed under flickering torchlight. Plates and platters stretched the length of it—dark bread, roasted meats, fresh fruits that shouldn’t have grown down here. The scent of cinnamon and citrus lingered in the air, warm and alluring.

Nico was already there, halfway through his breakfast. He sat with his usual quiet posture, methodically cutting into a slice of honeyed fig toast. At the head of the table sat Hades, silent and upright, no plate in front of him—just a tall, golden goblet filled with something that shimmered unnaturally. He and Nico had been speaking in low tones, their conversation fading the moment Percy entered.

Both sets of eyes turned toward him as the doors groaned open.

Percy didn’t meet their eyes. He muttered something that might’ve been “morning,” though it came out more like a grunt, and slid into the seat across from Nico.

Hades leaned back slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair. His chin rested on two fingers as his black eyes tracked Percy’s every movement.

Percy didn’t acknowledge it. He focused on the food in front of him, piling eggs and bread and whatever else looked edible onto his plate. The Underworld feasts were always unnaturally abundant. He didn’t care where it came from. He was starving.

He took a bite. Then another. Across from him, Nico didn’t look away. He glanced at Percy like he was trying to read the edges of his mood. Percy caught the look and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. 

But Percy’s jaw tensed again as he still felt Hades’ eyes on him. The silence was becoming suffocating. Finally, he slammed the fork down, the clang echoing in the room. “What?”

“Nothing,” the god said smoothly. “You just look tired.”

Percy’s fingers flexed against the table. “That’s because I am . Quit commenting on how I look.”

“Mm.” Hades tilted his head. 

“Whatever,” Percy muttered, returning to his meal. “Did you figure out what that stupid amulet of yours does?”

Rather than respond, Hades raised his free hand. With a wave of his fingers, a dark shimmer bloomed in the air beside him. From it, a velvet box emerged, floating gently to the table.

It clicked open on its own. Inside sat the amulet.

It looked unassuming enough. Small and old and made of tarnished gold, etched with markings too faded to decipher. At its center was a dark, polished obsidian that absorbed any light that hit it. The amulet pulsed faintly, as if it had a heartbeat. 

“A fascinating object, isn’t it?” Hades mused. “Centuries ago, this amulet was stolen from my vault by a demigod. An ambitious one. He thought he could wield the power sealed inside and use it to control the borders of Tartarus.” A pause. “He died screaming.”

“You made this thing?” Percy asked, frowning.

Hades offered a slight nod. “Forged it myself. Before there were names for the monsters buried in the Pit.” His gaze drifted to the amulet, almost reverent. 

“I thought you said it wasn’t cursed.” Percy narrowed his eyes. 

“It was meant to be a key.” Hades explained. “A link between the upper Underworld and the deepest levels of Tartarus. A means of control. Or, at the very least... a warning.”

Percy scowled. The stone glowed faintly, like it knew it was being discussed. “So it’s cursed.”

“No,” Hades sighed. “It’s truthful. It reacts to mortal touch. Especially demigods. The essence of Tartarus is sealed within. When you make contact—” his dark eyes lifted to Percy’s—“it reaches back.”

Something about the way he said it made Percy’s stomach tighten, his appetite gone. “You could’ve said all that the other day,” He said, his eyes fixed on the box. He didn’t want to look at it, but couldn’t stop himself. “What if I touched it while retrieving it,” he growled. 

Hades didn’t blink. “And yet you didn’t. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Percy’s fists clenched against the table. “That thing could’ve killed me.”

“Or worse,” Hades agreed with a smile. “But it didn’t. Perhaps the fates are in a generous mood.”

“You really think it’s smart to leave that thing just lying around?”

Hades arched a brow. “It’s in a box.”

Percy’s jaw tightened. The box sat innocently in the center of the table, but the air around it felt charged. The amulet pulsed once, barely perceptible, but enough that Percy’s eyes snapped back to it. The room felt colder. Percy could feel the weight of it now, not just the amulet, but the memory of Tartarus itself, slithering back into his thoughts. The stone seemed to know him, recognizing something in him.

“It wants something,” Percy muttered.

Hades’ smile barely shifted. “Very perceptive.”

“It knows me,” Percy said, his voice lower now.

“I suspect it does,” Hades said simply. “You’ve been further into Tartarus than most who still walk in the sunlight. You’ve left fingerprints on its walls. Don’t be surprised when it recognizes your touch.”

Percy’s grip tightened on the knife in his hand. “What would it want from me?” he asked.

Hades didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip from his goblet, his gaze never leaving Percy. “Your soul,” he said plainly. “It’s an eye-for-an-eye. You relinquish your soul for the power it offers. For access. To wield Tartarus itself is to give something of equal weight in return.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was his blood pounding in his ears or the hum of the amulet drawing him in. 

“Power is always expensive,” Hades said, taking another sip of his drink. “But the foolish believe they can bargain with it.” Hades reached toward the velvet box and, without a word, nudged it a few inches across the table, closer to Percy.

Percy scowled. “Don’t push it at me.”

“Relax,” Hades said smoothly. “I’m simply making it more convenient. You seemed interested.”

“I’m not,” Percy snapped, standing abruptly. His chair scraped backward, the legs screeching against the polished floor. “Whatever you think I want from that thing, you’re wrong.”

Hades shrugged. “Maybe.”

Percy turned to go—just to put distance between him and the cursed thing—but as he did, Hades’ voice came again. “You know, it reacts even through the box.”

Percy froze. “What?”

The words had barely left his mouth before Hades moved, faster than any god had a right to. His fingers brushed the edge of the box, and in a single gesture, he flipped it upward, tilting the amulet out. The amulet tumbled once, glinting darkly, then slid across the smooth surface of the table, threatening to fall over the edge.

Before Percy could stop himself, his hand shot out. His fingers barely grazed the surface. And the world around him shattered. A jolt went through his spine like a lightning strike. His knees buckled. Everything around him went black, and then too bright. He saw Tartarus again, but this time deeper. No landmarks. No form. Just chaos and suffering. Bodies melted into the earth. Limbs twisted in impossible angles. Screaming rose like steam from the ground, a chorus of endless agony, as monsters gnawed at the living and dead alike. The air itself was flayed open, bare and weeping, bleeding shadows that moved like predators. Some looked up when they sensed him, recognizing him.

And then— gone. The contact broke. The amulet snapped back into the box like invisible strings had yanked it. Percy stumbled backward and fell to the floor, his heart hammering. His breath came in panicked gasps as he tried to reorient himself. Cold sweat dripped from his temple. His pupils were blown wide, his hands shaking.

“What the hell was that?” he rasped. “You said—”

“I said it reacts,” Hades finished, settling back into his seat like nothing had happened. “I never promised it would be painless.”

Percy looked at him, horrified. “You made me touch it.”

“You made the choice,” Hades said, smiling faintly. “I simply provided... opportunity.” 

Percy looked down at his hand like it had betrayed him. His fingers still tingled with phantom cold, the scent of rot and iron still in his nostrils. The images still burned in his head like afterimages. Across the table, the amulet pulsed once more in its box, as if it were laughing.

“You’re sick.”

Hades leaned back. “Understanding pain is the first step toward mastering it.” 

Nico looked at his father, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Hades tilted his head slightly, regarding his son, his dark robes swirling as he rose from his seat. “Should I not have?” he asked, voice cool. “A god must test his instruments.” 

“You want control, both of you,” he said, eyes flicking between them. “But you still crave direction. Even rebellion needs structure to define it. Free will,” he added, stepping away from the table, “is a beautiful illusion. Choice… even more so.”

He offered a last calculating look, then vanished in a curl of thick black smoke. The moment he disappeared, Percy’s hand shot out. He grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it with all the strength he had. It crashed into the wall where Hades had stood seconds before, exploding into a hundred jagged pieces.

Percy turned away, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to scrub the images out of his head. They were branded there now, etched into the backs of his eyelids. No potion was going to keep that vision out tonight.

Annabeth sat outside one of New Rome University’s cafés, the sun warming her back and the soft chatter of other students drifting across the courtyard. Students milled about nearby, laughter and conversations filling the air. Her sandwich sat half-eaten on her plate, the fries slowly going cold. Grover was working through a generous plate of falafel and fries. He munched on it, occasionally stealing glances at Annabeth’s untouched food like he was building a mental case to ask for it.

Annabeth tapped her fingers on the table, brow furrowed. Her eyes were on the plaza, unfocused and distant. She didn’t seem to notice that she’d been chewing the inside of her cheek.

“It’s really nice here,” Grover said after a sip of his iced barley drink, “No hungry monsters in the walls. No fires. No end-of-the-world screaming.”

Annabeth arched a brow. “Setting the bar real high.”

Grover grinned. “Low expectations mean frequent pleasant surprises.”

She gave a dry chuckle, but it faded quickly.

“You’ve barely eaten,” Grover commented. 

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Annabeth shot him a look, but her heart wasn’t in it. Grover’s smile faltered slightly. He was about to say something when a voice interrupted them.

“Excuse me?”

A girl stood a few feet from their table, a notebook clutched to her chest. She looked about Annabeth’s age, maybe a little younger, with short dark curls. 

“Are you… Annabeth Chase?”

Annabeth blinked. She straightened slightly, taken aback. “Yeah,” she said slowly.

The girl beamed. “I thought so. I—I just wanted to say, I’m a huge admirer of your work. There are rumors that you used to carry Daedalus’s laptop. His real notes, his designs… That’s amazing. You’re kind of a legend in the architecture department.”

Annabeth’s expression froze. For a second too long, she didn’t respond.

Grover smiled and stepped in. “Yup, that’s her. She rebuilt Mount Olympus. Helped design the new Athena cabin. Basically redesigned Camp Half-Blood from scratch.”

The girl’s eyes widened even more. “That’s incredible. Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just had to say something.”

Annabeth nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”

The girl gave one last grateful smile before hurrying off down the path, already scribbling something in her notebook.

When she was gone, Grover looked back at Annabeth. He didn’t say anything right away. He just watched her.

She didn’t meet his eyes. “What?” she asked eventually.

Grover raised an eyebrow. “You could’ve said something.”

Annabeth gave a faint shrug. 

Grover sighed, then glanced at her plate. “You gonna eat that?”

She finally looked up and gave him a tired half-smile, sliding the plate toward him. “Knock yourself out.”

He grinned and immediately popped a few fries into his mouth. “I mean, technically, this is a sandwich of historical significance now.”

Annabeth leaned back in her chair, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She playfully rolled her eyes as she watched Grover devour her lunch.

A few days passed, the sun dipping low behind the hills of New Rome as Annabeth leaned against the stone railing that overlooked the grassy training fields. A breeze drifted through the olive trees near the campus library, carrying the faint scent of parchment and lavender. She didn’t say anything when Grover came up beside her, hooves soft against the stone, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

They stood there for a while, watching a few younger legionnaires sparring with wooden swords in the distance. Finally, Grover sighed. “I’ve gotta go.”

Annabeth didn’t look at him, but her expression flickered. “I figured.”

“The Wild’s been calling louder,” he said gently. “The dryads in Big Sur haven’t heard from a river spirit in weeks. And some of the satyrs in the Northwest are reporting whole groves going dark.”

Annabeth nodded faintly, her hands gripping the edge of the railing. “You’ll let me know if anything feels… off?”

Grover’s smile was small. “Of course.” He paused, then added, “And if you hear anything from him—”

“I’ll call,” she said immediately. “First thing.” They fell into silence again.

Grover reached into his bag and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. He untied the string and took something out—a charm, carved from a dark piece of wood, strung on braided vines. It looked old. He held it out to her. “This is for you.”

Annabeth finally turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?”

“Something old,” he said with a slight grin. “Satyr magic. Not the flashy kind. This one’s... temperamental. But it’s connected to me. If you ever need me—really need me—you break it in half, and I’ll know. It won’t send words, but I’ll feel the pull. No matter where I am.”

Annabeth stared at the charm in his hand for a moment, then took it. It was warm from Grover’s palm. “Thank you, Grover.”

He hesitated, then stepped closer. “You’re not alone in this. I know you’re trying to track him down—and I know it feels impossible right now. But if anyone’s going to find Percy...” He gave her a small, meaningful smile. “It’s you.”

Annabeth tried to return the smile. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

“Maybe. But people change their minds even when they’re angry. Even when they’re hurting.”

She looked down at her hands. 

“I’ll be just a call away,” he added. “And if you ever do find him... don’t wait. Call me immediately. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. I’ll come.”

She looked up at him. “You really think there’s a chance?”

He met her eyes. “I think you’re Annabeth Chase. That’s more than enough.”

She pulled him into a hug before he could escape it. “I’ll be back when I can,” Grover promised, stepping backward toward the path that led off campus. “Try not to burn the place down without me.”

“No promises,” she said, smiling faintly. Grover gave her a salute, then turned and disappeared into the trees.

Percy sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. The torches along the stone walls had long burned down to embers, casting flickering shadows across the room. But he didn’t relight them. 

His body was wrecked—muscles lead-heavy, shoulders aching, bones humming with the dull throb of overuse and unrest. He’d trained, fought, lifted, and run himself into the ground every day trying to get ahead of the nightmares. It hadn’t worked. Not tonight. Not last night. Or the night before. He didn’t want to sleep. Not after the amulet. Not after that .

He leaned back against the headboard. Every time he shut his eyes, it was there waiting for him. Flashes of Tartarus. Of bodies twisted into shapes that should never exist. Of screams that were still echoing inside his skull, of hands grabbing him, begging for release.

And worse than all of that was her . He couldn’t say her name anymore. He hadn’t in months. It was as if his brain had rewired itself, learning how to sidestep it every time it came close. If he so much as whispered it, it would all come crashing back: the fall, the weight of her hand in his, the way they held each other together when everything else wanted to tear them apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second, and his stomach lurched. That same cold, sinking feeling gripped him, dragging him toward the edge of the Pit all over again. He jolted upright, breathing sharply like he was under attack. But the room was still.

He scrubbed his face with both hands, groaning softly into his palms. “I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered. He’d dissected the dreams from every angle. Every pattern. Every fragmented second. Had tried to pick them apart like a battle strategy, but they didn’t make sense. They weren’t warnings. They weren’t prophecies. They weren’t even memories. They were something else, some other force. Some thing reaching out, but never getting close enough to tell him what it wanted. 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “What the fuck do you want from me?” he whispered into the dark, teeth gritted. 

He dropped his hands and stared out into the room. Maybe this was one of the gods, he thought bitterly. Maybe one of them was screwing with him. Wouldn’t be the first time. They never let anything go. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “If this is some divine punishment,” he muttered under his breath, “just fucking say it already.” 

But no one answered. And still that lingering feeling was in his bones— that pull , like something was waiting . ​​His eyes flicked to the nightstand. Two glass vials sat there, the pale-blue liquid inside catching what little light there was. Nico had left them after the last nightmare. Told him they were the most potent dreamless sleep draught the Underworld stores had. Please take it, he’d said—j ust one. 

Percy hadn’t. Not until now. He reached for one with a trembling hand, then stopped, stared at the other. His jaw clenched. He wondered what would happen if he took both.

For a moment, he hovered there, thinking. Then he muttered, “Fuck it,” under his breath. He pulled the corks out with his teeth and downed the first vial in one gulp. The bitterness hit instantly, coating the back of his tongue. He didn’t hesitate with the second. Threw it back, chased it down with a grimace. He coughed, his chest tightening at the sudden rush of heat. Something in his bloodstream shifted. The room swayed, the torches flickering in the corners blurring together like smeared oil paint.

“Oh God,” he whispered, already feeling the gravity of it pulling him down. He collapsed back onto the mattress, the sheets sticking to his damp skin. The ceiling was spinning. His limbs went heavy, first his arms, then his legs, then the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears slowed to a crawl. And then—nothing. A blank, empty void swallowed him whole. No thoughts. No dreams. Just silence. And it was the best thing he’d felt in weeks.

One moment, Percy was sinking into the void; the next, he was burning. The sun, white-hot and unrelenting. It hung directly overhead, searing the sky without mercy. The desert stretched for miles in every direction. No trees. No shade. No sound.

His feet dragged through the dunes, causing him to stumble. His throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. His skin blistered under the intense heat. Sweat poured off him, caked with sand. Every breath felt like inhaling fire. 

The horizon wouldn’t stop shifting. He fell, sliding down a steep dune, sand flooding into his clothes, his mouth, his lungs. He couldn’t breathe anymore. He clawed upward, but the sky kept spinning. He turned, except he didn’t choose to. The dream moved without his control—another flash. The desert sky had changed. Gone was the relentless sun. Now it churned black with clouds, thick and seething. The sand vibrated beneath his feet like something massive was moving just under the surface.

Percy’s eyes snapped open. His body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning, muscles seizing, chest heaving. 

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was pounding on the door. A voice was muffled behind it, frantic, but Percy couldn’t make it out. His body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every limb buzzed like it had been filled with static. His fingers barely twitched when he tried to move them. The blankets were tangled around him, soaked through with cold sweat. His skin felt clammy. His mouth was dry and sour. His stomach twisted painfully, nausea rolling over him in waves.

He blinked against the torchlight chandelier flickering on the ceiling, trying to will his vision to focus. What the hell happened? His heart pounded unevenly in his chest, still racing from the images he couldn’t piece together. His head felt like it was splitting open from the inside, like something had crawled into his brain while he slept.

Another bang. “Percy!” Nico’s voice was clearer now. “Come on, man. Open the door.” 

Percy tried to speak and ended up groaning. His throat felt raw. The knock came again, more desperate this time. The doorknob jostled violently. 

“You’ve been in there two days,” Nico said, his voice muffled but tense through the door. “Percy—open the damn door!” 

Percy’s brows knit together. Two days? That couldn’t be right. He forced his fingers to move. Then his hands. One arm dragged the sheets off. He rolled halfway over and slumped to the floor with a heavy thud, the stone cool against his cheek. This felt so wrong. He could barely lift his head from the floor. His limbs twitched uselessly. Static buzzed along his nerves. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was thick and heavy. He groaned and pushed up on his elbows, swaying violently as the room tilted.

“Percy!” Nico’s voice broke through again after hearing movement. “Fuck this. I’m coming in—” 

Percy tried to call out but could barely manage a croak. He managed to sit up, slumped against the foot of his bed, the stone floor cool beneath him. Every breath felt like dragging sand through his lungs. There was a loud thump —then a second—and then the door slammed open, blasted inward by a pulse of shadowy magic. Nico stood there, eyes wide, cheeks pale. He took one look at Percy crumpled on the floor and bolted inside.

“What—” Nico dropped to his knees beside him. “Percy. Hey. Hey, come on.” He reached out, grabbing Percy’s arm, shaking him slightly.

Percy flinched at the touch. Nico’s eyes flicked to the side, and that’s when he saw them. Two empty glass vials lay discarded near the bed, their shattered corks darkened with the remnants of the tonic inside. His stomach dropped. “I said to take one! ” he snapped. 

Percy let out a hoarse exhale, his eyelids fluttering like they weighed a thousand pounds. The effects of the double dose still lingered, enticing him to fall back under. His body leaned heavier against the stone floor, and his head lolled to one side.

“No, no, no,” Nico muttered, moving fast. He grabbed Percy’s face in both hands, tilting it up. It was burning under his touch. “Percy,” he said, more forceful this time. “Look at me.”

Percy’s eyes cracked open, unfocused and glassy.

“Don’t fall back asleep,” Nico said quickly, his hands still holding Percy’s face, thumbs pressed gently under his jaw. “Who knows what the hell that would do to you?”

Percy blinked, slow and dazed, as if he hadn’t heard. His lips moved like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Nico's heart raced as Percy blinked sluggishly. “You need to throw up,” he demanded.

Percy didn’t respond. His gaze was far-off, like he was still trapped somewhere between the nightmare and waking. Nico looked around frantically, eyes scanning the room until they landed on the small waste bin near the bed. He stood up and darted over to grab it. It was half-filled with crumpled parchment and dust, but it would have to do.

“Okay, okay—” he breathed, returning quickly to Percy’s side. He dropped to his knees and used one hand to steady the back of Percy’s neck, gently tilting his head forward. With the other, he brought the bin into Percy’s lap. “You need to throw up. Now.” 

Percy didn’t move. His half-lidded eyes met Nico’s—glassy, unfocused, rimmed red and shadowed beneath. But there was something else in that stare that made the hairs on the back of Nico’s neck rise. It was like Percy was seeing something Nico couldn’t. 

Nico swallowed hard, shaking him slightly. “Percy.” 

That seemed to break through slightly. Percy blinked again, slowly, and this time his eyes drifted downward, settling on the trash bin in front of him. 

“Come on,” Nico muttered, hand still behind Percy’s neck. “You’ve got to get the rest of it out.” 

Luckily for Nico, Percy already felt nauseous. A low, broken noise escaped him, and then he lurched forward, retching hard into the bin. Nico winced, but kept steady, his hand bracing Percy through it. The sound of Percy gagging and coughing filled the room. It was rough and violent, like his body was trying to purge more than just the potion. 

After what felt like forever, Percy leaned back slightly, eyes wet and face pale. His chest heaved with each breath, his fingers still gripping the sides of the bin like he wasn’t sure if it was over. 

“Gods,” Nico muttered, wiping a hand down his face. “You’re lucky you didn’t poison yourself.”

Percy gave a faint, disoriented cough that might’ve been a laugh. “Didn’t mean to… I just wanted to sleep,” he whispered hoarsely.

Nico let out a quiet breath and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the half-full bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He twisted off the cap as he turned back to Percy, gently nudging it against his shoulder. “Here.”

Percy blinked at it for a second, as if it didn’t register. Then, with shaky hands, he slowly reached out and took the bottle from Nico’s grasp. Percy’s jaw clenched, trying to force the tremors still racking his arms to settle. He brought the bottle to his lips and drank. Just a sip at first—then another. His throat burned, and the water felt like relief sliding down. He lowered the bottle with a sigh and placed it on the floor beside him. Then he let his head fall back against the edge of the bed, eyes closing, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

Nico let out a sharp, shaky breath and collapsed onto the cold floor beside him, knees drawn up, his back hitting the bed frame. The relief came so fast it was almost nauseating. Nico let his head fall back against the bed and stared at the ceiling. His pulse was still roaring in his ears, but the tension that had gripped his chest for the past forty-eight hours was finally starting to ease. His arms had been shaking since he’d forced the door open. 

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, then let his hands fall to his lap. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath. 

Percy let out a short, breathy laugh, but didn’t respond. 

Annabeth sat at her desk, half-buried in textbooks and printouts, the warm afternoon light slanting through the dorm window behind her. Notes cluttered the desk, highlighters uncapped, but her pen lay idle in her hand. She’d finished the assignments that were due, but she wanted to get a head start on her extra readings. She leaned back in her chair, legs propped up on the desk, ankles crossed over each other. 

The book in her lap was cracked open, the text dense and technical—typically something she’d devour. But she’d been stuck on the same paragraph for the last fifteen minutes. Her eyes scanned the page again. And again. The words ran together, meaningless. Her focus slipped with every line. She shut the book with a frustrated sigh and rubbed at her temples, feeling a dull ache start to build behind her eyes. 

The knock at the door was loud and frantic. Annabeth’s scowl deepened. Not again. She was getting tired of the constant interruptions—people asking if she wanted to grab lunch, or join a study group, or, worse, begging to see Daedalus’ old laptop. She didn’t even know how they kept finding her room. She’d have to talk to Reyna about privacy enforcement.

She stood up slowly, brushing her hair back with one hand as she padded over to the door. “I swear, if this is about another project—” she muttered, and pulled the door open. She barely had a second to register who it was before she was nearly tackled.

“ANNABETH!” A blur of energy and braids threw itself into her arms. Annabeth stumbled back a step as Piper McLean wrapped her into a tight hug, squealing with delight. Annabeth barely managed to catch her breath as Piper gripped her tightly, laughing, spinning them both around.

“You’re real! Oh gods, you’re really here!” Piper gasped, pulling back just enough to look her in the face. 

Annabeth blinked at her, stunned. “Of course I’m real—what are you doing here?!”

Piper just grinned, unbothered, her arms still draped around her. “I got tired of waiting for your next cryptic Iris message, so I came to see you myself.”

Annabeth let out a breathless laugh, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. “Pipes, you’re insane.”

“Insanely dedicated,” Piper corrected, finally stepping back into the hallway. “Now, are you gonna let me in, or am I telling all your neighbors about that time you and Percy—”

“Alright! In,” Annabeth said quickly, dragging her inside by the wrist. 

​​Piper wandered into the room, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the stack of books by the bed. She plopped down on the edge of Annabeth’s mattress, bouncing a little, then looked over with a grin. 

“So,” she said, “you wanna grab dinner or something?”

Annabeth hesitated, glancing back at her desk. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a lot of reading to do and—”

Piper snorted, cutting her off with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, right. Annabeth Chase, you’re probably two weeks ahead on all your syllabi.”

Annabeth’s face flushed, and she tried very hard not to smile as she avoided Piper’s gaze.

Piper leaned forward, grinning wider. “Exactly.” 

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but the smile broke through anyway. “Fine. Maybe I’m only one week ahead.”

“That’s still deeply upsetting,” Piper said dramatically. “But I’m willing to forgive it if you come eat greasy food with me and catch me up on everything.” 

Annabeth hesitated for a beat longer, then nodded. “Okay. Just give me five minutes to change.”

Piper held her chin in consideration. “I’ll allow it. But if you come out in your New Rome colors, I reserve the right to roast you the entire walk there.”

Annabeth gave her a playful glare as she dug through her dresser.

Later, with their hunger finally sated and the night air crisp around them, Annabeth and Piper strolled through campus, each cradling a steaming cup of hot chocolate. They walked down a quiet pathway, their shoes crunching softly against fallen leaves. The lamplight cast a warm, golden hue around them, but their conversation had slowed. They’d already gone over the Percy-in-L.A. situation during dinner, skimming the details while splitting fries. 

“So,” Piper said eventually, trying to steer them away from the heavy stuff, “have you been to any parties yet?”

Annabeth glanced at her, one brow raised in quiet judgment.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! You’re in college now. You’re safe—mostly—from the dangers of the outside world. You’re seriously telling me you haven’t done a single thing to let loose and relax?”

Annabeth didn’t answer. She sipped her hot chocolate, her gaze fixed ahead. The silence said enough.

Piper groaned. “Annabeth!”

“I’ve been busy,” Annabeth said tightly.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Piper said, her tone softening. “You need to move on—”

Annabeth’s head whipped around, her glare cutting through Piper’s words. Piper stopped walking. “…Sorry,” she added quickly, wincing.

Annabeth looked away again, the heat in her stare fading into something more brittle. She exhaled slowly, watching her breath mist disappear into the air. “I know,” she said quietly. “I just—” She broke off, then started again, “It’s not that simple.”

Piper nodded, her lips pressing together. She knew better than anyone what heartbreak looked like and how it could hollow someone out.

“You don’t have to forget him,” Piper said after a long pause. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I just don’t want you to disappear because of him.”

Annabeth didn’t respond right away. She kept walking, her steps slower now. “I don’t know how to not wait for him,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “Even when I’m mad. Even when I want to scream, I keep thinking… maybe this time he’ll stop running.”

Piper didn’t say anything, but she reached over and gently linked her arm with Annabeth’s. The walk back was silent, yet comforting in some way. They decided to go back to Annabeth’s dorm to watch a movie, stopping by the campus store to buy some snacks. 

Piper carried two plastic bags in one hand, swinging them as they walked. Inside was a ridiculous amount of junk food—popcorn, chips, chocolate, sour candy—none of it nutritious, and all of it exactly what they needed. 

Annabeth was grateful she had a single room. The thought of having to make small talk with a roommate right now made her want to climb into the nearest vent. Instead, she opened her door, flicked on the soft desk lamp, and gestured for Piper to make herself at home.

They kicked off their shoes, changed into pajamas, and set up camp on the bed with a mountain of snacks between them and a movie playing from Annabeth’s laptop: something old and kind of cheesy—just background noise.

By the time the credits rolled, both girls were half-wrapped in blankets, surrounded by empty candy wrappers and popcorn kernels. Piper shifted onto her side to face Annabeth, propping her head up with one hand.

“So,” she said quietly, “you wanna talk about it? I could feel your brain turning the entire movie.”

Annabeth didn’t answer at first. She stared at the dark screen in front of them, her knees drawn up beneath the covers. “I keep thinking I’ll stop feeling like this,” she finally said. “That maybe if I stay busy enough, I won’t miss him as much, so I won’t wake up expecting to hear his voice, or see his name on my phone. Or wonder if he’s dead.” She laughed bitterly. “But I do. I still do.”

Annabeth sat up, the blankets falling away from her shoulders. She felt the hot tears betray her as they fell down her face. She angrily wiped them away. “He didn’t even look like he remembered me. Or if he did, he didn’t care. And I know that’s not fair. I know something’s wrong with him. I just…” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how to fix it this time.”

Piper moved instantly, sitting up and sliding closer. She reached out, pulling Annabeth into a hug. Annabeth didn’t resist. She folded into her like a collapsed building, her face pressing into Piper’s shoulder, tears spilling down her cheeks. They came quietly at first, then harder, until her shoulders were shaking.

Piper didn’t say anything. She just held her arms tight around her back.

“I miss him,” Annabeth whispered brokenly. “I miss him so much, Piper.”

“I know,” Piper murmured. She released a deep sigh. “I know.”

By the time the sun broke through the haze of early morning, Piper was already shouldering her bag. She gave Annabeth a long hug at the dorm door, murmuring something like, “Call me the second anything changes.” Annabeth promised she would.

Then she was alone again. The silence in the room felt louder than it had yesterday. She cleaned up the stray wrappers and popcorn kernels from last night’s sleepover, then sat on the edge of her bed and stared at nothing for a while. Her planner was full. Her classes weren’t letting up. She had reading to do, diagrams to finish, and a dozen emails she hadn’t even opened. She figured maybe some mindless homework might help her refocus.

By midmorning, she found herself in the university’s library. The high ceilings, endless stacks of books, and quiet atmosphere should’ve helped her concentrate. She settled into a corner table with her laptop and a textbook open in front of her. 

But her mind kept drifting. To Percy. And then, inevitably, to the damn prophecy. The one they’d nearly died retrieving. The one that had kicked all of this into motion. The name echoed in her skull: Python . 

Annabeth exhaled sharply and shut her textbook. Fine. She rose from her seat and headed deeper into the archive stacks. The restricted magical studies section was quiet, its shelves tall and lined with cracked tomes that hadn’t been touched in decades. She found a few books on ancient oracles, a scroll collection on early Underworld cosmology, and a dusty compilation labeled simply "Serpents of Myth and Legend ." She hauled it all to a side table and got to work. 

At first, most of it was what she already knew. Python was an ancient primordial serpent tied to the earth and the mists between worlds. A serpentine guardian of Delphi, a creature birthed before time had shape. He had warred with Apollo. He had been cast into the chasms of the underworld—supposedly slain. Except he wasn’t. 

Percy and Nico found him. Her stomach twisted. She scanned a few more pages, digging through references to monsters and bloodline curses. One paragraph caught her attention:

“No mortal speaks with Python without sacrifice. To earn a vision is to bleed. To bargain for one is far worse. His price is never forgotten.”

Annabeth frowned. Bargain? That didn’t match what Nico had said. He claimed they’d fought for the prophecy, almost died getting it. But what if that wasn’t the whole truth? She sat back in her chair, jaw tightening. Did Percy bargain with Python? And if he did… what did he offer? She flipped the page. A diagram of a serpent coiled through a chasm filled the parchment, ink faded with age. Her eyes scanned the accompanying footnotes, and one line made her go still.

“It is said Python can bind demigods to his service, using their souls as vessels to extend his reach beyond Tartarus. These cursed servants often display fragmented visions, unnatural dreams, and an erosion of self.”

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. Her fingers curled around the page. She stared at the words, feeling them settle like lead in her chest. He wouldn’t… she told herself. He wouldn’t give himself up like that. Right? She closed the book softly, the sounds of the library distant now. The thought clung to her chest and squeezed. 

What had he done?

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since Percy had scared the life out of Nico by nearly overdosing on the sleep tonic. The haze hadn’t lifted much since. The dreams had returned and Percy could feel them eating into his waking hours now. He barely noticed when his food grew cold. When voices around him stopped making sense. Time started to slip away from him. 

Today, though, was supposed to be better. The courtyard behind the palace was quiet, except for the sound of swords clashing. Gravel crunched under their feet as Percy and Nico sparred in the open space. Torches lined the perimeter, flickering with soft orange flames. It was early— still cool out, with a low fog curling around the stone of the courtyard. They’d been going at it for about twenty minutes. 

Percy pivoted sharply, swinging his blade down toward Nico’s weak spot, but Nico blocked it easily and used the momentum to spin Percy off-balance. 

“Come on,” Nico said, panting lightly, “you’re pulling your hits.” 

Percy didn’t respond. He adjusted his stance. This was the kind of thing that used to help. But today, his thoughts kept drifting. 

He thought back to that night. The way his mind had gone quiet, the way his limbs had gone numb. It should’ve scared him more than it did, but there had been something comforting about it. He remembered waking up feeling like he had just climbed out from his grave. And right before waking, there had been that dream. The heat, the blazing sun, the ground shaking. He knew it was Python. He just didn’t understand why. 

Nico lunged, and Percy moved. His sword faltered, the weight of it dragging slightly in his grip. A swing that should’ve landed on its target missed completely. Percy frowned. 

Nico said nothing as he came at him again. Percy blocked him, but the effort felt off, as if his timing was wrong. He gritted his teeth, trying to push back his thoughts. His mind now drifted back to the moment he saw her again. Her expression had thrown him. Seeing her had fucked up whatever progress he had made— and he hated her for it. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? He should’ve handled that moment differently. If he had just done what he needed to do, he could have easily avoided her confrontation. His jaw clenched. When Nico’s next strike came, Percy’s foot slipped in the dirt. He caught himself at the last second, forcing Nico back with a shove and trying to shake it off. But his wrist ached now, and his grip wasn’t as steady anymore. Something was off. 

Nico sighed heavily and stepped back, sheathing his sword. “You’re swinging like you’re underwater. If this is gonna be another day of you—” 

Percy tsked, staring down at the blade in his hand. It hadn’t always felt like this. When Hades first gave it to him, it had practically thrummed with power. Now, it felt distant, resentful almost, like it didn’t trust him to hold it. Percy swallowed, frustration bubbling up fast. He didn’t say anything, but he could feel the anger creeping in. He didn’t know if it was toward her, or the sword, or himself.

Probably himself. 

And that just made it worse.

Percy let out a sharp breath and unexpectedly tossed his sword away from him. The blade clattered against the ground. The instant it left his hand, something had eased in his chest. The buzzing in his arm faded, and his grip relaxed. He shook his hand to get rid of the leftover static before turning to Nico. “Let’s do hand-to-hand.”

Nico blinked, confused, “Now?” 

Percy nodded, already shifting into position. “Yeah, come on. We need the practice anyway.” 

Nico sighed, but didn’t ask. He glanced once at Percy’s sword in the dirt, then shrugged off his own.

They sparred for over an hour, trading blows, testing each other. Percy took a hit to the ribs; Nico landed hard on his shoulder. Neither of them held back much. It wasn’t anything personal— it just felt good to burn off whatever was still crawling under Percy’s skin. By the end of it, they were both wrecked. Percy dropped to the ground first, his back hitting the packed dirt. Nico followed a second later, groaning as he stretched out, breathing heavy. Everything ached: shoulders, arms, legs. Percy could already feel the bruises forming. 

“Not bad,” Nico muttered after a while. 

Percy let out a short laugh. “You elbowed me in the ribs.” 

“You deserved it.” Nico shot back, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah.” 

Eventually, they dragged themselves off the ground. They left the courtyard in silence, limping a little as they headed back inside. A shower helped as much as it could. Afterward, they made their way to the kitchens, starving. Neither of them said it, but the exhaustion had finally caught up to them. They ate quickly, without bothering to engage in conversation. 

Once they’d finished eating, Nico stretched his arms over his head with a tired groan and stood. “I’m gonna hit the drawing room again for a bit. Read or something.” He took a few steps before glancing back and noticing Percy still lingering near the table, staring at the crumbs on his plate.

“You wanna join?” Nico asked, half-expecting a no.

Percy hesitated, his jaw tight like he was considering going off to brood alone again. But then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, alright.”

-

A quiet, dull warmth flickered from the massive fireplace, casting shadows over the drawing room’s walls. The hearth was twice Percy’s height, the flames licking upward toward a chimney that vanished into darkness. The firelight painted the room in amber and gold, dancing against shelves packed with leather-bound tomes and scrolls.

Percy sat slouched low in a high-backed armchair too elegant for how he was slumping in it, legs stretched out over the matching ottoman. A thick book rested open on his lap. They’d started this ritual a couple of weeks ago. Percy and Nico spending time in the drawing room just reading. It was Nico’s idea, something to help keep their minds busy. At first, Percy rolled his eyes. Reading had never been his thing. Not with his dyslexia turning every page into a battlefield. But once he started thumbing through the library's collection, he realized Hades didn’t keep normal books. 

The books here weren’t like the ones in Camp Half-Blood’s library or the ones Chiron used to assign. These held knowledge most mortals were never meant to access. Maps of forgotten realms, breakdowns of underworld contracts, commentary on godly power that made Percy’s skin crawl in a strangely satisfying way. He hadn’t realized how much he craved understanding until Hades’ library started offering it. And weirdly enough, it was getting easier. The more he read, the less the words seemed to fight him. Maybe it was just practice. Or maybe being older helped. Or maybe his brain had finally figured out how to keep up when the stakes were high enough. And strangely enough, reading had kept him present… most days. 

Across the room, Nico stood scanning the shelves,  fingers brushing over the spines. “What do you know about this one?” he asked, pulling a book halfway off the shelf and glancing at Percy.

Percy didn’t answer. He wasn’t trying to ignore him—at least, he didn’t think he was. He was staring at the open page in front of him, but the words had started to shift. Not in the usual way when he got too tired and everything blurred. These letters bent at impossible angles, their ink bleeding into the parchment like it was alive. The text morphed, curling into shapes he didn’t recognize. 

So much for thinking his dyslexia was improving.

The margins darkened, and the firelight dimmed. Percy blinked hard. Then again. But the comforting heat in the room vanished, replaced by a dry, suffocating pressure. The next breath he took scorched his lungs. The chair was gone. The room was gone. 

He was in the desert again. Blinding sunlight stabbed down on him; every inhale tasted like dust and heat. The ground beneath his feet trembled violently, and before he could find balance, cracks split the sand open with a deep, shuddering growl. He stumbled, fell to one knee, and the searing ground bit into him. 

“What do you want from me?!” Percy screamed into the air. He was getting tired of the vague subliminal messages. Suddenly, the sand erupted. Pillars of it shot up all around him like geysers, explosions of grit and wind battering his skin. Each blast came closer and closer.

“ Perseus. ” 

The voice rattled through his chest— a command.

“Percy!”

He flinched and forced a breath. His book slid from his lap and hit the floor with a thud. Percy blinked, his limbs tingling like they’d gone numb. “What?” Percy rasped, voice dry and off-kilter. He looked around the room. The fire was still burning. The chair beneath him hadn’t moved. Everything was exactly where it had been, but it felt off.

From across the room, Nico hadn’t moved. He was still standing by the shelf, one eyebrow raised slightly, his hand on the spine of the book he’d been considering. “You didn’t answer me,” Nico said carefully. “I asked you three times about this book.”

Percy blinked again and shook his head as if trying to clear water from his ears. “Sorry. Zoned out.” He bent to retrieve his book from the floor. “Wasn’t really listening.”

Nico didn’t press, but his eyes narrowed just slightly.

Percy smoothed a hand down the page he’d dropped, trying to will the tremor out of his fingers. The words looked normal now, boring, even. He could feel Nico watching again. He turned a page, just to keep his hands busy. “You find something over there?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

There was a pause, then the soft sound of a book being pulled fully from the shelf. “Yeah,” Nico replied simply. His voice was neutral, but Percy could hear the calculation behind it. He didn’t say anything else, just walked over with the book and dropped into the chair across Percy.

Percy glanced over. “What is it?”

“Dead languages and cursed contracts,” Nico said, flipping it open. “Real cheery stuff.”

Percy snorted faintly, grateful for the shift. He leaned back in his chair again, but this time he didn’t put his feet up. He tried to keep reading, he really did. He stared at the page, but the words weren’t landing. His brain skimmed the lines like they were in another language, slipping right through him. He blinked and forced his eyes to track each sentence, but they wouldn’t stick. His thoughts spun back, pulled under by what just happened. He’d been fine. One second, he was reading; he could still feel the weight of the book in his lap, and the next, he wasn’t here anymore. 

What the hell was that? He tried to remember more. He needed to remember more. But it was already slipping away from him. All he could gather were flashes of heat and choking breaths. He could barely breathe just thinking about it. Something’s definitely wrong with me. His fingers curled over the edges of the pages, rubbing his thumb over the dry parchment again. He could feel sweat building at the back of his neck. It shouldn’t be like this. Whatever was happening to him, it wasn’t just mental. It was deeper than that. It felt invasive. He clenched his jaw. His fingers itched for something to do— sitting still made him feel like he was being hunted.

A soft rustling sound cut through the quiet of the room. Percy blinked and looked up just as one of the Palace’s ghostly attendants glided into the room. She was slight, almost translucent, her form flickering faintly in the firelight. Her long robes drifted across the stone floor, and her presence brought a noticeable chill. 

She stopped in front of the two boys seated in the plush chairs and bowed slightly. “Hades would like to see you both in his throne room,” she said, her voice soft and oddly flat as if it was being echoed from somewhere far away. 

Percy straightened slightly in his chair, frowning. “What for?” 

The servant lifted her gaze to him, eyes like fogged glass, deep and eerily unreadable. Percy didn’t know if she was really seeing him or if she was looking straight through him. “He did not say.”

Percy shivered involuntarily and looked away, snapping his book shut a little harder than necessary. Nico stood up, carefully marking his page before placing his book down on the side table. “Let’s go,” he said simply, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants.

The ghost turned silently and led them out, gliding ahead through the dim corridor. The torches lining the walls flared to life as they passed. The throne room was dimly lit as always, the massive obsidian pillars rising into the shadows of the ceiling. Hades reclined on his throne, swirling wine in a blackened goblet. Cerberus slept comfortably by the fire near the back. 

As Percy and Nico entered, the god of the Underworld lifted his gaze and offered a smile. “Ah, my favorite mortal liabilities.” 

Percy tsked. “We were in the middle of something.”

Hades sighed like Percy’s directness was terribly inconveniencing him. He swung his leg off the armrest and sat up straighter, draining his goblet before setting it aside. “Fine, if we’re being rude today. I need you two to retrieve something for me.”

Hades stood, his black robes shifting like smoke. He descended from the dais, his eyes locking onto Nico first. He frowned down at his son, pausing in front of him. Before Nico could retreat, Hades reached out and gently grabbed his son’s chin with one cold hand, inspecting his face like a particularly dull gemstone. “Have you been getting fresh air? You’re paler than usual.”

Nico gave him a look. “I live here with you. Fresh air is hard to come by.”

Hades let out a bark of laughter, releasing him and giving his shoulder a firm pat—more a shove than anything. “Ah, yes, of course. How could I forget.”

Percy crossed his arms. “So what is it this time?” he asked flatly, annoyed with Hades’ stalling. “Another cursed artifact? A soul you want dragged out of some pit you conveniently forgot to mention last time?”

The god’s face remained neutral. He moved on from Nico to stop in front of him. He didn’t respond as his gaze swept over Percy. 

Percy huffed. “Right. Guess we’re doing the whole ominous silent treatment thing again.” There was just the slightest twitch in the god’s expression. A slow smirk crept onto Percy’s face. “What,” he pressed. “You gonna comment on my health, too? Tell me I’m looking sickly? Or maybe you want to watch me eat, see if I’m still eating enough.”

Nico shot him a warning look, but Percy ignored it. His fuse wasn’t that long to begin with. “I mean, if you’re trying to play protective uncle, you’re about eighteen years too late,” Percy added, cocking his head. “And for the record, you suck at it.”

Nico’s posture shifted. “Percy—” But it was too late.

Hades grabbed Percy’s face, his cold fingers locking around his jaw like a clamp. Percy flinched, instinctively reaching for the grip on his sword and unsheathing it before he brought the blade down in a wide, sharp arc, aiming for the god’s shoulder. Hades was faster. With his other hand, he reached up and caught the blade mid-swing. There was a hiss and smoke as his fingers gripped around the metal like it was nothing more than a toy, but the god didn’t react. He didn’t even blink as he ripped it out of Percy’s hands with one violent jerk. Percy stumbled as the sword clattered uselessly to the floor behind Hades.

Hades stood there, dark eyes locked onto Percy. “You dare raise that blade against me?” 

Percy said nothing. His pulse pounded in his ears. 

“You forget yourself,” Hades continued. “No gratitude. No respect. Just the same reckless boy who challenged Kronos with a dagger and a death wish.”

Percy clenched his teeth. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “it worked, didn’t it?”

“You don’t have the curse of Achilles to protect you anymore.” There was a pause. The firelight from the sconces cast shadows across Hades’ face, deepening the hollows beneath his eyes. He let out a humorless breath and dropped his hand from Percy’s face. 

Percy took a small step back, the cold imprint of Hades’ fingers still lingering, but he didn’t lower his eyes. Despite the sting in his jaw, he didn’t regret a single word.

“Enough theatrics,” Hades spat, his tone hardening. “If you’re done lashing out like a child, we can move on.” Hades turned away without another word and started back up the dais, his robes sweeping across the floor dramatically. As he moved, he passed Percy’s sword. Without looking down, he kicked the flat of the blade with the side of his boot and sent it sliding across the stone floor in Percy’s direction. 

Percy stopped its momentum with his foot, the soft clink of metal echoing in the tense silence. He glared down at it for a moment, then slowly crouched and picked it up.

Hades reclined on his throne, but the easy arrogance from earlier had vanished. His posture was regal, yet rigid now. His eyes were dark, sharp, and narrowed, and they found Percy again like a hawk locking onto prey.

“There’s something in the mortal world that belongs to me,” he said, “And you’re going to retrieve it.” His gaze drifted to Nico, then back to Percy. “Both of you.” There was no room for argument.

-

The smell of smoke still lingered in the attic of the big house. Even after months of cleaning, repairs, and half-hearted purifications, the scent persisted. The floor groaned beneath Chiron’s weight as he stepped over a warped floorboard and nudged open the narrow window at the far end. The early evening breeze was cool and thick with the scent of pine trees, but it couldn't carry out the smoke. Maybe it never would.

Behind him, Mr. D hovered beside an open crate, idly plucking through its contents. His fingers closed around a scorched document, which he promptly dropped with a wrinkled nose. “Why are we doing this again?” 

Chiron exhaled slowly, placing a crate marked CHIRON’S ARCHIVES - DO NOT OPEN down. “The wards shielded some of these items,” he answered. “And because some of these things, charred or not, still carry power.” 

“Mm.” Mr. D let a half-burned scroll roll off the side of the crate. “I vote we toss the whole attic into the sea.” 

Chiron didn’t answer. He pulled open a lid, began sorting through singed camp rosters and ruined binders. He paused, frowning as he pulled out an old camp ledger. He looked away, toward the attic window, then down at the ledger warped by fire and time.

“I take it this is about him again,” Mr. D said behind him. 

Chiron shook his head slightly, “Isn’t it always?” He continued, “Campers are starting to whisper again.” 

Mr. D rolled his eyes. “Let them. Gossip is the only language they speak fluently.”

“After his confrontation with the council, he disappeared. Not even a word to his mother.” Chiron’s voice tightened. “That’s not like him.”

“So? Isn’t he with the other one? The broody one.” 

“Nico.” 

Mr. D snapped his fingers. “That one.” 

Chiron nodded. “Nico hasn’t shown his face in months either. No reports. No iris messages. The shadows don’t even whisper.” 

Mr. D gave an exaggerated snort. “You make that sound more ominous than it needs to be.” 

Chiron turned to face him. “But it is ominous. You’ve seen the way they move now— quiet, fast. And when they do appear, it’s just long enough to retrieve something, and then they’re gone. It’s like they vanish completely. Even the mist doesn’t ripple.”

“Sounds like efficiency to me.” 

“They’re hiding , Dionysus.” 

Mr. D gave a theatrical sigh and sat heavily on a crate, knocking over a tin of melted drachma. “By the gods, Chiron. If this is going to lead to one of your sinister horse-gut feelings, I beg you, spare me.” 

Chiron said nothing at first. He picked up a broken lyre from a shelf, turning it over in his hands. “He’s changed,” Chiron said quietly. “More than before. I expected distance, grief. But not this. This is something else. There’s precision to his absence. A pattern.” He dropped the lyre on top of a box before turning away. 

Mr. D raised an eyebrow, watching him. 

“And Nico…” Chiron trailed off. “He’s always kept to himself. But lately, I don't know if he’s keeping secrets or if he is the secret.” 

The attic seemed to still around them, the dust hanging heavier in the fading light. Mr. D stared at him, lips pursed in irritation. “Just say it, old man.”

Chiron met his eyes, “I have reasons to believe Perseus is working with Hades.” 

There was silence, and then, “And?” 

Chiron bristled. “ And? Does that not concern you?”

Mr. D tilted his head, “Not particularly.”

“Hades has rarely been an ally.” 

“And yet he’s also not an idiot,” Mr. D snapped. “Neither is the Jackson boy. He’s stubborn, reckless, and thinks with his fists, yes — but he’s never been a traitor.” 

“Not a traitor,” Chiron said. “But maybe… desperate.” 

That made Mr. D pause. 

Chiron pressed on. “What if he’s decided the only way forward is through Hades—through whatever power or promise the Underworld can give him?”

Mr. D sighed and stood, brushing off his hands. “You give Hades far too much credit. And the boy too little.”

“I’m not accusing him,” Chiron said, stepping forward. “I’m worried. He’s not the boy who came to us all those years ago. He’s changed. And I don’t know if we still have a place in his world.”

They stood there in silence as the sun dipped behind the hills. Below them, Camp Half-Blood hummed quietly with life. The clang of hammers. The laughter of campers eating dinner. The world continued, unaware that one of its greatest heroes might no longer be standing with them— or might be standing somewhere far darker. 

Finally, Chiron asked, “What do we do if he is working with Hades?” 

Mr. D didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was low and matter-of-fact. “We hope he remembers why he fought for us in the first place.”

-

The concrete steps stretched out before them, wide and weathered from thousands of footsteps. Tourists bustled past— families taking selfies under the wide arches of the Natural History Museum. The gray sky cast the entire city in a dull color, and Percy couldn’t tell if the chill in the wind was from the coming rain or just his nerves. He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and muttered under his breath, “How the hell are we supposed to steal a crown in broad daylight?”

Nico, walking beside him, kept his eyes on the front entrance. “We’ll scope the place out,” he said, voice low. “Figure out the layout. Come back another day if we have to.”

Percy scoffed, his breath fogging faintly in the air. “Yeah, great.”

They reached the top of the stairs just as the afternoon crowd surged again—parents trying to control their hyper kids, a class being shepherded inside by a teacher, and a man in a trench coat arguing with a security guard over a backpack policy.

Percy lingered a step back. His eyes flicked over the building’s facade—the stone arches, the tall museum banners, the security cameras perched like vultures near every entrance.

“This is insane,” he muttered. 

Nico glanced at him sideways. “We’ve done worse.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out , ” Percy said, sweeping a hand at the crowd. “I’m not exactly great at subtle.”

Nico sighed. “Come on.” He was already veering off, cutting through the tide of people and stepping off the main path toward the edge of the building. Percy followed him around the side, brushing past hedges and a chained-off maintenance path, until the sound of the crowd faded behind them. They ducked beneath the shadow of trees where the museum's back wall rose tall and windowless. 

Percy leaned against the wall. “You think this place actually has it?”

Nico shrugged, his expression unreadable. “If my dad says it is, then it has to be.”

Percy scoffed. Before he could say anything else, Nico stepped closer and grabbed the front of Percy’s hoodie. A pulse of cold radiated outward as Nico reached into the shadows pooling around their feet. 

They landed in silence, pressed into the far corner of a vast, dark room. The only sound was the faint mechanical hum of air vents and the muffled thud of footsteps echoing in other halls. Soft spotlights glowed above glass displays, casting fractured light across shimmering stones and polished crystals. Walls of obsidian, quartz, emerald, and amethyst gleamed.

They were in the Gem and Mineral Hall. Percy straightened slowly. So far, so good. Nico didn’t say anything. He stepped forward, glancing around the cases of rough geodes and faceted jewels. Percy followed, weaving carefully between the displays. They moved in near-silence, each step muffled by the thick carpet.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the exhibit they were looking for—The Visible Vault. A sign in gold lettering announced the entrance, and the lighting shifted as they stepped in, dimming further. Glass walls surrounded them, enclosing a collection of archeological treasures. Display cases stretched out in gentle arcs, each one carefully spotlighted to showcase artifacts once held by empires long buried. 

Percy slowed his pace as they entered, glancing at Nico. He nodded, then peeled off toward the right while Nico veered left. The room was small but densely packed, filled with items that radiated centuries of history. Percy passed a case of gilded ceremonial daggers, their blades still sharp after centuries. He kept walking, scanning for anything that resembled a crown, or at least something vaguely crown-adjacent. 

On the other side of the room, Nico moved silently past shelves of clay vessels and golden trinkets. He paused in front of a glass case nestled at the corner of the exhibit. It looked less impressive than the rest—no special lighting, no signs drawing attention. Just a small, brittle crown resting on a velvet pedestal. The gold was faded to a dull yellow, the edges jagged with age. But it hummed. 

Nico narrowed his eyes. This was it. He turned and gave a low whistle. Percy looked up instantly. He crossed the exhibit in a few quick strides. He stopped beside him. “That it?” he asked.

Nico nodded once. “Yeah.”

Percy squinted at it through the glass. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“Doesn’t need to,” Nico murmured.

Percy exhaled slowly. “So what now?”

Nico glanced around, eyes darting to the corners of the room, then to the ceiling where small cameras sat tucked near the light fixtures. “The case is definitely warded,” he muttered. “Might be pressure-locked, too. Any clumsy move and the whole museum’ll be on us.” 

Percy let out a slow breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Great,” he said dryly. “So we sit here and wait for it to roll itself out on a red carpet?”

Nico shot him a look, unamused. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Percy’s jaw twitched. He stared at the crown, then at the sleek glass case, then back up at the ceiling and the pristine white walls. His eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s plumbing in these walls,” Percy said slowly. “Old pipes. You can hear them if you focus.”

Nico raised a brow. “And?”

Percy smirked. “And if a freak accident just happened to burst a few pipes, it would explain the broken display, wouldn’t it?”

Nico stared at him for a moment, blank, then followed Percy’s gaze to the ceiling. The lights. The fixtures. The panels where water might rush through. He exhaled. “You're planning on flooding the museum.”

“Like I said, I’m not exactly great at subtle,” Percy said, voice low. “A busted pipe, a water main freakout. Boom. People panic, we grab the crown, get the hell out.”

Nico looked at the sparse group still in the room—someone taking pictures with flash (despite the obvious NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY sign), and a couple of students slowly making their way around with a notebook and pen. After a long moment, he let out a sigh. “Fine,” he said, stepping back a little. “Who’s grabbing it?”

Percy’s stomach turned at the thought. His eyes snapped to the glass case again. “I’m not touching that fucking thing,” he muttered, remembering the instant he touched Hades’ amulet. 

Nico raised both hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’ll grab it. You just make the distraction big enough.” 

Percy smirked. “Easy.” He clapped Nico on the shoulder and nodded once. “Be ready.”

They split. Percy circled to the far end of the exhibit, pretending to admire a display of jagged quartz formations. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning slowly as if taking in the layout of the exhibit, but under his sleeves, his fingers twitched.

Deep within the walls, he found it— water rushing, fast, and pressured—a vein beneath the plaster. With a slight flick of his wrist, he pulled. There was a deep groan followed by a sharp creak. Then a snap . Water burst through the ceiling, blasting through the vents and crashing down onto the exhibit cases. The sound of glass shattering echoed through the room like gunfire. The lights flickered. One of the side walls buckled with a wet crunch, spraying arcs of water across the polished floor.

Screams erupted. People ran in every direction, slipping, shouting, panicking. Security radioed frantically into their walkies. Alarms hadn’t even started blaring yet—the system still trying to understand what had just happened. 

Nico didn’t waste a second. He rushed to the case, kicked aside the shattered glass, and snatched the crown with gloved hands. The moment it left the pedestal, the thrum of power surged. He nearly dropped it for the gold burned like dry ice. He shoved it into his backpack and zipped it shut without another thought. 

“Move!” Percy’s voice shouted. 

A firm hand grabbed the strap of Nico’s backpack and yanked him backward. They sprinted out of the exhibit just as another pipe burst near the far wall, water gushing down like a waterfall and flooding across the marble tiles. They sprinted into the hall just as the alarms finally caught up and roared to life, red lights flashing and steel shutters beginning to descend. They didn’t stop until they were outside, slipping through a side exit and tumbling down a short embankment into the shadow of a line of trees.

They stood there, both of them dripping and panting in the cold evening. “Nice freak accident,” Nico muttered, brushing glass shards from his sleeves. 

Percy grinned, “Told you. Easy.” 

Nico rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

Percy started to follow, then paused. “Oh—wait.”

Nico stopped and turned back, brows raised in confusion. Percy stepped closer and placed a hand on Nico’s shoulder. He drew the water out of Nico’s soaked clothes and dripping hair. The moisture shimmered in the air for a second before falling to the pavement in a neat puddle beside them. Nico blinked down at his now-dry hoodie, then back up at Percy. “Thanks.”

Percy shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Can’t have you catching a cold. We might have another museum to rob next week.”

“Shut up,” Nico scoffed, unable to hold back a grin. “Let’s grab something to eat before we head back. I’m starving.” 

The pizza place was small, tucked between a nail salon and a vape shop, with plastic chairs that creaked if you leaned too far back and greasy napkins that stuck to your fingers. But the food had been hot and cheap, and after the chaos of the museum heist, it hit the spot. They stepped outside into the chilled night air, the warmth of the oven fading quickly behind them. Percy crossed his arms over his chest, breath fogging the air. “Damn, it’s freezing,” he muttered.

Nico didn’t respond—just pulled his hood up and fell into step beside him. They turned down a busier street where music spilled from nearly every bar and open-air café. Guitars and drums, and the shrill sound of a saxophone cutting through the din. Laughter echoed down the sidewalks, people spilled out of restaurants with drinks in hand, a bachelorette party passed by in matching glittering hats.

They were halfway down the block when the front door of a bar to their left slammed open, and a man was shoved violently out. Percy stumbled back just in time to avoid being knocked over. The man hit the pavement with a heavy thud, cursing. “Hey—watch it,” Percy growled, frowning.

A second man stormed out after him, finger pointed and yelling. “I won’t tell you again! You’re lucky I didn’t break your nose!”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” the guy on the ground snapped back, scrambling to his feet, wobbling as he got upright.

Nico instinctively pulled Percy’s arm, backing them both away from the scuffle. They took a few steps toward the street, giving the shouting pair space—until suddenly, the first man straightened, like something invisible had yanked him upright. Rage twisted his face. With no warning, he launched himself at the other man, tackling him into the street. A chorus of yells rang out from the crowd nearby. They crashed into the road, fists flying, teeth bared like animals. People screamed. A bartender rushed out, followed by two bouncers. It took all three of them to tear the two men apart.

“Drunk idiots,” Percy muttered. “Let’s go.”

But Nico didn’t move. His brows drew together, attention fixed not on the fight, but on the shadows dancing around it. Something was wrong. At first, it looked like the usual tricks of the light—shadows cast by the flickering neon lights, shifting with movement. But as he watched, his stomach twisted. One of the shadows didn’t just move. It peeled itself from the man who had started the fight. A tendril of black mass coalesced behind him, snaking upward and condensing into the vague silhouette of a figure. She stepped out from the void. Olive skin, luminous and pale in the cold glow of the streetlamps. Her long, jet-black hair floated behind her like ink in water. She wore a dark plum silk gown that clung to her frame, slit high up one thigh, revealing boots made from stitched brown leather. Her smile was lazy yet mischievous, eyes shining gold framed by heavy lashes and lined in dark kohl. 

Nico frowned. The woman’s eyes lit up when she noticed him, a grin twitching at the corners of her mouth as if she could already see the pieces moving. Then, just like that, she melted. One blink and her body collapsed into smoke, sinking into the sidewalk, dissolving beneath the crack in the curb like she’d never been there at all.

“Nico?” Percy asked, turning around after realizing Nico wasn’t following. 

Nico shook his head quickly, not responding. He shoved Percy hard in the arm, muttering, “Come on. We should head back now.” They turned down a side street, a thinner road with fewer bars and fewer people. The music faded behind them, replaced with the buzz of a broken streetlamp and the crunch of their footsteps.

Without warning, a burst of dark mist exploded from the sidewalk in front of them. A gust of cold air rolled off the street as the shape rose. Her form shimmered fully into being, rising from the shadows one pale leg after another. Long curls of black hair trailing behind her. She stood mere inches from Percy, far too close for comfort. “Well, well,” she purred. “ Percy Jackson. How delicious.” 

Percy blinked. “Excuse me?”

Her fingers reached out and ran gently, almost affectionately, through his hair, then slowly traced down the side of his cheek. “You’ve been a very bad boy, Percy.” 

Percy jerked back. “Don’t touch me,” he spat. He reached for his sword, but she was faster. Her fingers curled tight around his wrist, her nails digging into his skin.

“Oh, come now, sweetcheeks,” she said softly, her face tilting toward his. Her golden eyes flicked over his features.“I’m only saying hello. You’re more handsome up close,” she hummed, eyes roving like she was memorizing him. “And taller than I expected.”

Percy narrowed his eyes and yanked his arm out of her grip. “What do you want?” he growled. 

She gave a satisfied hum, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “I’ve kept tabs on you for quite some time. Most demigods get swallowed by the system. Or they burn out. But you…” She leaned in until her lips nearly brushed his ear. “You broke the rules. You disappeared. And now no one knows whose side you’re on.”

Percy clenched his jaw. “I’m not on anyone’s side.”

“Exactly! That’s what makes this so much better.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re all anyone talks about. Word of the great Percy Jackson causes more unrest in Olympus than a storm in Hera’s wine cellar.” She grinned, teeth white and too perfect. “Some want to kill you. Some want to use you. And then,” she grabbed his chin with delicate fingers, forcing him to look at her, “there are the ones like me. Who just want to see what happens next.”

Percy grimaced, shoving her hand away from him. “Who the hell are you?” 

Her smile widened with delight. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been off the grid, but surely you’ve heard of me.” She stepped between them, spinning once like she was showing off her dress.
“You’re Eris—Goddess of strife,” Nico answered. 

Eris turned toward Nico, clapping her hands once like a teacher thrilled by a student’s correct answer. “Very good, son of Hades,” she said, placing a hand on her chest and offering a slight bow.

“Great,” Percy muttered. “Another one.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she crooned, ignoring his glare. “I’m not here to smite you or beg for help with some tedious war. I’ve got no prophecy, no chosen quest.” She smiled sweetly. “I just think you’re fascinating.” She drifted back toward him, trailing a hand over the edge of his hoodie, pausing just above the hidden line of his sword.

Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “Do you know how fun you’ve become?”

Percy stepped back again, jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, I know enough,” she said softly. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re tired. I know the Olympians have burned you so many times you barely bother pretending to care anymore.”

“I admire that. You broke the rules and lived to talk about it. Now just imagine what we could do together.” Her face was inches from his now, leaning close enough that he could see the strange shimmer in her irises. 

Percy felt a chill down his spine, his hand tightening into a fist. “Get away from me. You and the whole messed-up family tree— just stay out of my way.” 

“Feisty little one. You sure you’re not one of mine?”

“I’d rather drown.”

Eris pouted, theatrically. “Shame.” She slipped something from the folds of her dress holding it up between two fingers. A black card, edged in gleaming gold. “Still, just in case you ever decide to stop playing the brooding martyr.” She flicked it toward him, and Percy caught it without thinking. The lettering shimmered across the dark surface.

ERIS — Queen of Chaos.
Trouble, tailored to you.

Percy stared at the card, unimpressed. “Hard pass.”

She only smiled. “I’ll be seeing you, Percy Jackson,” she said, brushing her fingers once more along his jawline before her form began dissolving into shadow again. “Don’t be a stranger.” Then, with a wink toward Percy and a smirk aimed at Nico, Eris’s form dissolved. 

“Great, just what I need,” Percy muttered, eyes on the empty street. “Another psycho goddess with a thing for drama.” He ripped the card in half and let the pieces drop to the street.

“Well, that was… unsettling,” Nico said, watching as the wind picked up the pieces of her business card and carried them down the street. 

They continued their walk in silence for a while, both of them more than a little irritated by the encounter. Percy’s shoulders didn’t fully lower until they reached the edge of a shuttered strip mall, a decaying row of fast food joints and laundromats covered in graffiti. An old Taco Bell stood at the end, its door long boarded shut. Percy slowed, blinking up at the faded logo.

“This is it?” he asked.

Nico nodded, stepping forward. He brushed aside a loose piece of plywood and placed his hand against the grime-covered bricks. A deep pulse of Underworld energy echoed outward. The wall shimmered, then rippled. A narrow archway peeled open from the center, revealing a shadowy tunnel just beyond.

Percy gave a low whistle. “Charming.”

“Most mortals don’t look twice,” Nico muttered, stepping inside.

They descended quickly. The air shifted as they passed through, warm and dry again. The path sloped downward, lit by the dim green torches along the walls, each one reacting to Nico’s presence with a soft flicker. By the time they reached the base of the tunnel, Percy’s head was pounding with exhaustion. They passed through the black gate, guards nodding as Nico led the way through the familiar halls. Percy’s steps slowed near the long corridor that branched toward Hades’ throne room. Nico noticed and turned back. “You coming to drop this off?” he asked.

Percy shook his head and rubbed his temple. “Nah. I’ve had enough of your dad for one day.”

Nico didn’t argue. “Fair,” he said. Then, with a short wave and a quiet “Goodnight,” he turned down the corridor toward the throne room.

Percy took the opposite path. When he reached his room, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, immediately shutting it behind him. He sagged against it for a second, then slowly took off his sword, placing it against the wall near his bed. He then peeled off his hoodie, tossing it onto the floor. He exhaled one more time, long and deep, and pressed his palms into his eyes. He didn’t care if the news was already spinning their chaos into something palatable. He didn’t care if Hades was annoyed. Right now, all he wanted was silence. And sleep.

Percy collapsed onto the bed. He draped an arm over his eyes, trying to shut out the faint flicker of the torchlight. His limbs felt heavy—twitching now and then from overuse. He could feel his sword where it rested, humming faintly like it hadn’t quite calmed down either. Like it knew something was wrong.

He groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. His arm flopped back to his side, and he stared blankly at the ceiling. Nico had made it annoyingly clear: no sleeping tonic without supervision, and only every other night, like he didn’t trust Percy not to abuse it. Which—fair. But still. It wasn’t like Percy wanted to take it just to knock out. He just didn’t want to dream.

And tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He rolled over onto his side, then onto his back again. The blanket twisted around his legs. He didn’t bother fixing it. Didn’t bother undressing, either. He felt wired and numb at the same time. He let out a slow exhale, then muttered into the empty room, “Awesome job, Jackson. Another goddess wants to kill you—or date you. Probably both.”

He didn’t remember falling asleep. One second, he was staring at the ceiling, and the next— He was standing now, somewhere flat and endless. The floor beneath him was black stone, wet and cracked with molten veins of lava threading just beneath the surface. Above, a swirling sky that looked like it had never known light. “Of course,” Percy muttered bitterly. “Not even five minutes.”

A sound echoed, low and drawn-out.

“You’re resisting less.” 

“Shut up,” Percy snapped, looking for where the sound came from. “Whatever freaky thing this is, I don’t care. I’m not in the mood.”

“And yet, here you are.” 

Percy turned instinctively, and on the far end of the void was a darker section of shadow, thicker than the rest. And then two massive golden, serpentine eyes peeled open within the void.

Percy’s breath caught. He stepped back automatically, his hand going to his back—no sword, of course. “Nope.” His jaw clenched. “Leave me alone.”

“You are mine, Perseus Jackson.” 

 The words slithered over his skin like ice.

“We made a pact.

“I don’t care,” Percy spat. “I’m not your errand boy. I didn’t agree to this.”

The golden eyes narrowed.

“You would do well to remember your place.”

The temperature dropped. A force began pressing down on Percy’s shoulders, like gravity tightening its hold. Percy’s knees buckled as the weight intensified, invisible hands dragging him downward. He fought it—clenched his teeth, arms shaking, muscles screaming—but the pressure doubled. It felt like he was pressing against the sky again.

“Get—” Percy strained, the word tearing from his throat. “Get out of my head! I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t want this !”

Python laughed. A deep rattle that echoed through the endless void.

“You did ask, Perseus. You were the one who reached for power in the dark. You were the one who chose survival over righteousness.”

Percy gasped, finally forced to one knee. Sweat slid down the side of his face. “Just—” he gritted out, his tone shifting as the exhaustion took hold. “Please. I just want to sleep. Just let me sleep. That’s all I want.” 

There was a long silence. The cracks in the stone pulsed, dimming. Percy stared at the ground, panting. “If I do this—whatever it is—will you leave me alone? I’ll do your task. But after that… will you please just let me sleep?”

The eyes blinked once, slower than before. 

“Perhaps.”

The pressure vanished. Percy collapsed fully to the ground, chest rising and falling with heavy, broken breaths.

“You must not waste time.” 

Percy gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I get that.”

“No,” Python corrected. “Your time… is nearing. ”

Percy forced himself to look up. “What the hell does that mean?” he snapped. “What, I’m gonna die? I’m going to lose? Is that the part where you get cryptic and disappear again?”

The golden eyes blinked once. “It means you are not ready. And yet… the path is already being carved beneath your feet. You will walk it, whether you understand it or not.”

Percy let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “You talk like that and I’m the one who’s losing my mind.”

“You are ,” Python said, releasing a slow exhale through the hollow cavern. “And that is why you must decide. Before your will is no longer your own.”

Percy felt the floor sway underneath him like a wave rolling beneath the stone. He pressed a hand to the ground to steady himself. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Soon,” Python said. “You will come to me by month's end. ”

Percy’s vision was beginning to blur around the edges now. The air was thinning, and the world around him was fading. “Wait,” Percy said, heart racing. “Wait!—” But everything disappeared. 

Percy jolted upright with a strangled gasp. His hand flew out, gripping the edge of the mattress like he might fall straight through the floor. Without thinking, he scrambled out of bed—legs tangled in the sheets, his body stiff and trembling from the shock. His bare feet hit the cold ground, and he staggered forward, bracing a hand against the nearest wall as he tried to steady his breathing. 

“Son of a bitch , ” he growled. He turned back to the bed, fury pulsing just beneath his skin. With a sharp tug, he ripped the sheets from the mattress, yanking the covers until they fell in a heap on the floor. The room was too hot now, or maybe it was just him. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. He tore his shirt off as he crossed the room, flinging it to the ground. The rest of his clothes followed until he pushed into the bathroom. 

The mirror reflected his face, pale with dark circles under his eyes and a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. He didn’t stop to look. Percy stepped into the shower and twisted the knob all the way cold.

Annabeth sat hunched in the far corner of the school’s library, tucked behind a tall shelf stacked with obscure mythology texts. The glow from the desk lamp above her cast a warm pool of light over the chaos spread in front of her—books on Python, pages dog-eared and underlined, loose papers filled with her own notes and sketches, maps marked with red ink, photos clipped to corners, timelines scribbled in the margins.

She hadn’t moved much in hours. The chair beneath her creaked every so often when she shifted her weight, but otherwise the space around her had been silent. Anyone in the building was too intimidated to approach her, or too wise to interrupt. Her pen tapped rhythmically against the edge of her notebook as she stared at the same pair of maps before her. Her eyes were dry. Her brain buzzed. She should’ve taken a break, but she couldn’t, not when she was this close.

Something was right there—she could feel it, like the answer was just a breath away from surfacing. She pressed her knuckles against her forehead. Four hours. She’d been at this for four hours without a break. Annabeth leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared down at the maps and timelines like they might confess their secrets if she glared hard enough. Her foot bounced beneath the table. And then— Her brow twitched, and her gaze slowly narrowed.

Wait. Her fingers reached for the map of Percy sightings and disappearances again, dragging it closer. She grabbed the L.A. overlay and placed it on top of it. Her pulse quickened. Same pattern. Same gaps. The exit points. The lack of mortal witnesses. No magical residue. No transportation runes. No Pegasus sightings. Nothing. Percy had disappeared like he had never been there in the first place. 

Her mouth parted slightly in disbelief. “No way,” she whispered.

She shot forward in her seat, suddenly wide awake. “Of course,” she whispered. She scoffed and shoved the map away from her, letting it crumple at the edge of the desk. “You bastard , ” she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she laughed bitterly. It all clicked. Percy wasn’t running in the mortal world. He was vanishing into the one place no one ever dared to look—because no one could. The shadows he disappeared into weren’t tricks. They were passageways to The Underworld. 

He’s with Hades. The god of the dead was harboring the most wanted demigod in the world. Annabeth scoffed, a bitter laugh slipping from her mouth as she dragged a hand through her hair. Of course, it was Hades. Who else would dare? Who else would hide someone like Percy? 

She sat there for a long moment, heart pounding. It looked like she would be making another trip to Los Angeles.

Chapter Text

Percy’s fingers wouldn’t stop twitching. It was like his body was constantly preparing for a fight he wasn’t in. The deep purple under his eyes made it look like he’d taken a punch to both sides. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the mess covering his wall. Scraps of paper, torn notebook pages, the backs of old maps, anything he could write on, were taped up in a cluttered patchwork.

At first, it had felt like progress. If he could get every possibility down, every theory, every half-baked plan, then maybe he’d see the answer staring back at him. But now, looking at it in the dim lighting of his room, all he saw was noise— too many questions and no answers. His shoulders ached from sitting in the same spot for too long, and his eyes burned from exhaustion. 

Days had passed since the dream, if he could even call it that. It had felt more like a hiss of thoughts that weren’t his own, weaving into his head. He still couldn’t figure out what Python could possibly want from him, though he had run through dozens of possibilities. But no matter how many reasons he listed, his mind kept snagging on the last thing Python had said. 

By month’s end.

There was no way—no fucking way—he’d actually go by then. Not willingly, at least. And yet… the end of the month was less than a week away. Soon it would be February. His pulse jumped at the thought. Percy rubbed a hand over his face, trying to push the tension out of his head, but it didn’t go anywhere. The wall felt like it was watching him now, all those words and arrows and underlined guesses leading him nowhere. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. Not like—

The thought stopped short. Her name sat there unspoken, but present enough to drag his mood even lower. His fists curled at his sides, and he scowled at the mess in front of him. 

The sound of ripping paper filled the room. He tore each sheet off the wall with a violent rip. Pages fell to the floor, some drifting lazily, others crumpling in his hands before he let them drop. When he finally glanced at his watch, the hour barely registered. 4:03 AM. He’d been at this for hours and had nothing to show for it.

He pulled open his bedroom door. The hallway outside was quiet, lit by the dim flicker of torches. Nico’s door wasn’t far, and once he got there, Percy didn’t bother knocking. The room inside was dark and cold. Nico was fast asleep, lying on his stomach with a pillow over his head, blocking out the nonexistent light and noise. His space was painfully neat, as if he didn’t actually live there—no stray clothes, no scattered books, nothing out of place. The flames here were gone completely, snuffed out to suit Nico’s preference while he slept.

Percy crossed the room and set a hand on Nico’s back, giving him a rough shake. “Nico.” 

No reaction. Not even a grunt. Percy shook him harder. “Nico.”

This time, Nico groaned, shifting under the pillow until one dark eye peeked out at him, heavy-lidded and annoyed. “What?” He snapped. 

Percy’s voice was low and quiet. “I need the tonic.”

Nico let out a tired, annoyed huff and buried his face deeper into the pillow. “It’s not your night.”

Percy’s jaw flexed. He was trying to stay calm, but the pounding in his head made it impossible. “I don’t care if it’s my night or not. I haven’t slept—” He cut himself off, grinding his teeth. “Just give me one.”

Nico finally rolled over, blinking up at him in the dark. His hair stuck up at odd angles, his voice still raspy from sleep. “Percy, I’m not doing this with you at four in the morning.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything except give me the damn bottle.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying no to.” Nico pushed himself up on an elbow, his shadowed eyes locking on Percy’s. “You keep relying on it; it’s going to stop working. And then what? You crash harder? Lose it in the middle of something important?”

Percy’s hands curled into fists. “You think I haven’t already lost it?” He said harshly. “You think I’m holding it together right now?”

Nico just stared at him, his silence somehow more cutting than the argument. Percy didn’t move, his gaze locked stubbornly on Nico’s. The room was still except for the faint sound of torches flickering outside in the hall. Neither of them blinked. 

A full minute passed before Nico finally exhaled, as if Percy’s stubbornness had finally settled on him. He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes like the conversation was physically exhausting.

“There’s one other thing we could try,” Nico muttered.  “But I doubt it’ll work.”

Percy’s shoulders tensed. “What is it?”

Nico lowered his hand and studied him for a beat. “We can try asking Hypnos. His domain’s actually not far from here.”

Percy frowned instantly. “You’re kidding.” The idea of going to another god for help, especially one as fickle as Hypnos, sat sour in his gut. 

Nico seemed to read the thoughts crossing his face before Percy even voiced them. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “You said you’d try anything.”

Percy stared at the floor, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Sleep had been slipping through his fingers for months now, and the exhaustion was starting to sink deeper. Desperate wasn’t a strong enough word anymore. Finally, he let out a sharp breath. “Fine. Can we go now?”

“I figured you’d say that.” Nico was already pulling on a clean shirt, shoving one arm through a sleeve. He sighed, ruffling his hair into something less of a sleep-tangled mess.

The palace torches flickered as Nico led the way out, the stale heat of the Underworld settling into Percy’s skin. They slipped through the gates without issue. Nico muttered something to the guards that Percy didn’t catch, and soon the marble paths gave way to rough, shadowed stone. The air became heavier, thicker, and each breath was like drawing in smoke. Percy kept his hands jammed into his pockets, jaw tight. He’d been in the Underworld more times than he could count, but walking it now, without a fight to distract him, he noticed more. The distant, muffled cries carried from somewhere far beyond sight. Shapes moved in the shadows. Constantly vague and shifting, and never quite solid when you looked straight at them. 

The deeper they went, the quieter it got. Even the air seemed to press against his ears, muting the scrape of his shoes. He’d heard of Hypnos: god of sleep, twin to Thanatos—but never met him. Maybe he’d have a good standing rep with the guy for setting his brother free that one time in Alaska. He once heard someone mention him being… lazy. Gentle, even. But Percy doubted that description applied to whatever they were walking into now. Anyone who lived down here long enough would pick up the same edge Nico had. 

“What are you thinking?” Nico’s voice broke the silence ahead.

“That this is either gonna work or he’s going to knock me out and I won’t wake up for a century,” Percy muttered.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing for you right now,” Nico said dryly, not slowing his pace. They walked for what felt like forever before the path narrowed, sloping down toward a hollow carved into the rock. The river Lethe flowed just beyond, its surface smooth and black. 

The entrance to the cave was low and unadorned, half-shrouded in mist that curled and twisted. Percy felt his body tense as they stepped inside. The air grew cooler, laced with the faint scent of poppies and something sweeter that made his eyes want to close on instinct. Hypnos sat on what looked like a low, uneven stone chair, his posture relaxed but his golden eyes sharp in the gloom. His dark, curling hair was mussed. He didn’t rise when they entered, nor was he surprised.

“Nico,” Hypnos said quietly.

Nico nodded once. “Hypnos.”

“You’ve come far from your usual haunts,” the god observed, a faint curl of amusement on his lips. Then Hypnos’ gaze shifted to Percy, and the warmth evaporated. He looked at Percy like he was a noise that had woken him up from a deep sleep—a mild annoyance, but an annoyance all the same.

Percy started to speak, but Hypnos cut him off, “I know who you are.” 

Percy knew the way he said it wasn’t a compliment. Something in his gut tightened. “Then you know why I’m here—”

“I know why you think you’re here,” Hypnos interrupted again, his tone unhurried as if Percy’s presence didn’t deserve urgency. “And I will tell you now: whatever your problem is, I will not help you.”

“Why not?” Percy snapped.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

The blunt dismissal hit harder than Percy expected. He clenched his jaw. His fingers twitched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He tried to keep his voice level, but it came out rougher than he intended. “I can’t sleep.”

That earned him a short laugh from Hypnos. “You think that matters to me?”

Percy’s throat tightened. “It’s not—” He stopped, searching for the right words, the ones that might make the god see reason. “It’s not just that. I’m—” His voice faltered. He hated the way it sounded, like weakness. “It’s making me feel like I’m falling apart.”

Hypnos tilted his head, eyes glinting faintly gold in the shadows of the cave. “Then perhaps you should learn to live with the pieces.” It wasn’t said with viciousness, but it might as well have been. It was infuriating.

“You don’t get it,” Percy said, stepping forward before he realized it. “I’m not asking for a favor. I’m—” He bit back the rest, but his temper burned hot in his chest. “You’re the god of sleep. This is literally your thing, and you’re just going to stand there and—”

“And what?” Hypnos asked, still in that maddeningly neutral voice. He raised an eyebrow. “Fix you?”

Percy’s anger flared. “You could try.”

“I could,” Hypnos said. “But the truth is, Jackson, you reek of unrest—and unrest is not my enemy. It’s my ally. People like you keep the world turning in ways I don’t interfere with. You have quite a reputation for mayhem these days… destruction, murder, turning on your allies. ” He paused, his eyes roaming over Percy. “I would be better off not getting involved with your kind.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” Percy scoffed. “You think you’ve got me all figured out? You gods don’t know a damn thing about me. You never will.” 

Hypnos’ eyes narrowed. “Watch yourself, demigod,” he said, his tone now with warning. “Not many gods would be so forgiving of your mouth—or your temper.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Percy shot back without hesitation, his voice rising. “All you gods can—” 

Hypnos moved as a blur. One second, he was seated; the next, his hand closed around the top of Percy’s head. 

Percy’s body gave out instantly, his legs buckling like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The last thing he felt was the cold stone beneath him before the dark swallowed everything whole.

“Stupid boy,” Hypnos said to the unconscious demigod. His golden eyes shifted to Nico, his voice flattening further. “Take your friend away from here, Nico. And do not bring him to my realm again. Understood?”

Nico’s throat tightened, but he nodded. “Understood.” His voice carried a quiet apology as he stepped forward, crouching beside Percy. He hooked one of Percy’s limp arms over his shoulders and wrapped his other arm firmly around his torso, lifting and steadying his weight.

“Sorry,” Nico muttered as he began dragging his friend toward the cave’s exit. The god of sleep stood still, watching until they left entirely.

Percy came to slowly, as if surfacing through heavy, murky water. The first thing he noticed was how warm he felt. His eyelids felt like lead, but they parted just enough to let in a haze of golden light. The fireplace in front of him blurred, and for a moment, his brain lagged, struggling to piece together where he was or why every part of his body felt like it had been wrung out.

The scent of burning wood pulled him further into waking. He shifted his gaze downward and saw the orange flames of the fireplace dancing, licking at the blackened logs. His vision drifted until the shapes of the room began to settle into place: the high mantle with a few scattered objects, and the low coffee table in front of him, cluttered with books and a half-empty mug.

To his right, a figure was in the chair beside the couch. Nico was slouched back with a thick book in his lap, legs kicked up on the coffee table. His eyes scanned the page, unbothered, oblivious to Percy’s consciousness. Percy let his head sink deeper into the couch cushion. His limbs felt heavy. The slow throb in his skull bloomed into a pounding headache. He shut his eyes again, hoping the weight in his chest would ease if he just stayed still a little longer. The couch was warm from where he’d been lying, but his body protested the position—shoulder twisted awkwardly beneath him. When he tried to shift, pain spiked down his arm. He hissed sharply, instinctively grabbing at the bad shoulder, fingers pressing into the sore joint.

The sound broke Nico’s bubble. His head snapped up, dark eyes locking onto Percy’s face.

“Oh,” Nico said simply, closing the book with a soft thud. “You’re awake.”

Percy pushed himself upright slowly. He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. A deep exhale escaped him. 

From where Nico sat, Percy looked marginally better than before, less pale, but there was still not enough improvement to feel settled about it. When Percy finally lowered his hands, his eyes were glassy, rimmed red. He glanced up at Nico, blinking a few times as if his vision still wasn’t clear. 

“How’d you sleep?” Nico paused for a moment, then arched an eyebrow. “You were sleeping, right?” He asked, not entirely convinced. Hypnos’s touch was unsettling, but Nico had never known him to do anything truly harmful. Still, the thought lingered in the back of his mind. 

Percy cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and dry. “I didn’t dream.” His gaze slid away from Nico and back to the flames, which were now little more than glowing embers curling in on themselves. The orange light flickered over his face, catching in the sheen of his watery eyes. “How long was I out for?”

Nico studied him for a moment before answering. “Close to twenty hours.”

Percy’s sigh was heavier this time, almost a groan. He leaned back into the couch, grabbed one of the pillows, and pulled it against his chest. 

Nico had been watching him in silence for too long. At some point, the quiet stopped feeling like patience and started to feel like something gnawing at the back of his mind. He finally swung his feet off the table and leaned forward.

“Percy.”

Percy’s eyes flicked toward him. His face gave nothing away, but he could tell where this was headed. 

Nico didn’t look away. His voice came firm, his tone making it clear there wasn’t room to dodge the question. “What is going on?”

Percy just stared at him. His fingers flexed against the pillow in his arms. He swallowed once, his jaw tightening in a way that told Nico he was pulling inward, retreating to wherever his thoughts had been before.

“Percy,” Nico said it again, sharper this time, almost accusatory.

A small, frustrated sound slipped from Percy, and he looked away toward the shadows in the corner of the room. “Python has been trying to reach me in my dreams.”

Nico’s body went rigid. “Excuse me?” There was a flash of anger in his voice, not just at what Percy had said, but at the fact that he was only hearing about it now. Heat prickled up the back of his neck. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that before?” he snapped. 

“I only actually spoke to him a couple of nights ago.” Percy shot back.

Nico’s expression darkened, but he didn’t interrupt when Percy started talking again. He described the dream, every piece of it, every word Python had spoken. Nico listened in silence, trying to piece together what this meant. When Percy finished, the color had drained from Nico’s face. “But the end of the month is in a few days.”

Percy didn’t react. His gaze had already drifted back to the coffee table. “Yep.”

Nico’s eyes flashed with frustration as he grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Percy with all the force he could muster. The pillow hit Percy on the head, the sudden action breaking the heavy tension between them.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nico demanded, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you even have a plan? Do you care that this serpent is crawling around in your head, manipulating you like this?”

Percy blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden action. His eyes narrowed, darkening as he shoved the pillow off his lap to the side. He stood up, still taller, but Nico’s recent growth spurt made the gap between them noticeably smaller. 

“Of course I care!” Percy growled. “I’ve tried everything, Nico. Everything you can think of.” The words came out in a harsh snap. He took a ragged breath, struggling to hold himself together. “I don’t even know what the task is. I keep getting these visions, these half-messages, fragments I can’t piece together. And the closer the date gets, the louder the noise in my head becomes.”

Percy threw his hands up in frustration. “I never should have taken that deal with him.”

Nico fell back into his chair. “No shit, Sherlock.” 

Annabeth’s dorm was quiet except for the soft drone of the TV, the news anchor’s voice filling the silence while she stacked notebooks into her backpack. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds. Her pencil case slipped into the side pocket, her planner on top of her notes, everything in its usual meticulous order. She tugged the zipper halfway closed before the words from the news made her fingers pause.

“…a freak plumbing accident that left an exhibit at the Los Angeles History Museum severely damaged…”

Her head whipped toward the screen. Grabbing the remote, she cranked up the volume, her bag forgotten on the edge of the bed. The footage switched to shaky shots of the museum’s interior, water pouring through jagged holes in the walls, shards of shattered display cases littering the floor. Reporters in raincoats pointed out the destruction while the anchor’s voice carried on:

“Officials are still unsure what caused the burst pipes. Witnesses describe water exploding through the stone foundation itself, flooding the exhibit hall and damaging several display cases. One artifact in particular is missing: a 14th-century crown…”

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. Her nails dug into the remote as she stared at the picture. What the hell is he collecting these artifacts for? The thought ate at her. Artifacts, crowns, amulets. Pieces of history vanishing suspiciously. She tried to put it together. Were these quests handed down from Hades, or was he freelancing in chaos now? 

If this happened recently, then he was still out there on the surface, which meant she might actually have a shot at finding him before he vanished back underground. Her eyes flicked to the map pinned above her desk. Tiny red markings dotted Los Angeles: spots she’d calculated could be entrances, but never narrowed down the exact place. But if she camped out, waited for him to make a move, then she might just catch him.

She snapped the TV off. Her backpack landed on the bed as she turned it over, notebooks spilling across the sheets as she dumped the contents. Screw her last class. It was Friday. She could make it work. Her hands moved quickly—flashlight, drachma, her dagger, ambrosia squares wrapped tight in plastic, a change of clothes. She shoved them all inside, double-checking each item before cramming in the next. As she zipped the bag shut, her pulse steadied and her plan took shape. 

The Greyhound station was loud, the smell of cigarette smoke drifting in the air. Annabeth stood at the counter, her backpack slung over one shoulder, sliding cash toward the clerk. They took her money, tore a stub from the roll, and handed it to her. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and stepped aside, scanning the plastic chairs lined up along the wall. 

The next thirty minutes passed by slowly. She sat rigidly, her backpack on her lap, staring at the Departures board without really reading it. Every few seconds, her fingers tapped against her thigh. 

When the headlights finally cut across the lot, her pulse jumped. She stood quickly, slinging the bag over her shoulder, and filed into line with the other passengers. By the time she climbed the steps and sank into a seat halfway down the aisle, her body somewhat relaxed. Eventually, the engine rumbled and the bus lurched forward. 

Her jaw tightened as she stared out the window. She couldn't stop the thoughts as they came at her. She hated him. She hated that he’d abandoned them, abandoned her , and somehow, the world kept spinning. The thought alone made her pulse spike. It wasn’t that he was gone. It was that he’d chosen to stay gone. He’d chosen to make himself a fugitive, to keep fighting and moving like it didn’t matter who he hurt or what bridges he burned. And the part that irritated her the most was that he seemed okay with it. Instead, he was out there letting the world call him a criminal and not bothering to prove them wrong.

She had been against him, questioning, doubting, second-guessing when maybe she should have tried harder to understand. The memory of breaking into his apartment still ate away at her. She remembered her heart racing when she finally found him there, the way it had felt like the world was finally giving her something back. Not a day went by that she didn’t replay it—his expression, the sound of Theseus banging on the door, the way everything had been ripped away from her in seconds before she could even hold onto it.

Her eyes stung, heat gathering despite her best efforts. She shut them and dragged in a deep breath. She would not cry. She had done enough of that already, and she was done with self-pity. 

What happened, happened. It was on her. But it didn’t matter now. She leaned her head back against the seat, fingers curled around her bag. This time, she wasn’t going to let him slip away.

The corridors of Hades’ palace were unnervingly quiet at night. Percy’s hood was up, hands stuffed deep into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. The emptiness in him hadn’t let up. His eyes were unfocused, rimmed with shadows. He looked every inch like the walking dead, dragging himself through another sleepless stretch of hours. But staying shut away in his room had started to feel worse, as if the darkness in his head would eat him alive if he let himself sit still.

So, he wandered. The palace stretched on endlessly. He let his feet carry him through parts he’d never bothered to explore, because what else was there to do? The walls loomed, lined with portraits of rulers long dead, their painted eyes following him. Percy dragged his gaze upward, forcing his mind to numb itself, but unease spread through him anyway. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was oppressive. 

 Faint footsteps came echoing down the corridor. He stiffened, scanning the end of the hallway until a figure stepped around the corner. Hades. Even before Percy fully registered him, he felt the shift. The god walked with unhurried confidence, the hem of his dark robes trailing behind him like smoke, and the faint gleam of obsidian jewelry catching in the torchlight. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, cutting straight through Percy as if there was nothing to hide behind.

Percy froze mid-step, rooted to the floor as Hades came to a halt directly in front of him. Hades looked him over quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned Percy’s navy blue hoodie and jeans.

“Is this what the kids call fashion nowadays?” Hades said flatly with a hint of amusement.

Percy scowled, pulling his shoulders back. “And you would call yourself an expert?” he shot back. His gaze flicked to Hades’ traditional dark robes, the heavy folds hanging with undeniable grandeur.

Hades’ eyebrow twitched. “These robes are older and far more expensive than anything you will have ever encountered in your lifetime.”

Percy scoffed, turning his gaze away, unwilling to entertain the game.

“What, no comeback?” Hades pressed, eyes gleaming with an almost predatory interest.

Percy’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Hades’ face twisted into a slight frown. Then his voice turned darker and teasing, and a slow smirk stretched across his lips. “Ah. Did you have another run-in with Miss Chase? Annabeth, is it?”

Percy’s head snapped back to face him, his eyes flashing with anger. “I told you to never mention her again.”

Hades adjusted his stance, hands folding behind his back as if indulging a child’s tantrum. “Oh, my apologies, dear boy. I forgot how tortured you are—that a simple mention of the girl could rile you up so.”

Intent on garnering a reaction, Hades continued. “Do remind me. Did you break her heart? Or did she get so sick and tired of the person you’ve become that she couldn’t stand the idea of being with the likes of you?”

Percy’s fingers twitched, clenched tightly at his sides. Hades’ eyes flicked down, catching the subtle movement.

“Hm?” He let the silence hang before continuing. “Well, I commend her decision to leave you. However, her intelligence becomes questionable as she continues to chase after you, time and time again.”

That was the last straw. Percy’s control snapped. His body recoiled as he threw a fist toward the god’s face. Hades caught Percy’s fist, twisting his arm. A sharp cry escaped Percy’s lips as the pain radiated through his shoulder, joints straining against the unnatural force. Hades forced Percy down to his knees, tightening his grip on the boy’s fingers until the bones ached.

“I love when you try to do that,” Hades sighed.

Percy glared up at him, eyes burning with hatred. In the only act of defiance he could muster, he spat at the god’s feet, making sure to meet Hades’ eyes. 

Hades’ eyebrow twitched, and his eyes darkened. Percy’s fingers cracked as he squeezed his hand tighter, eliciting a fresh wince of pain. Leaning in close, Hades whispered, “Tell me. How did that prophecy go again? Embracing forces, dangerously untamed?” 

Percy felt the blood drain from his face. 

“— with mortal bonds severed, his destiny is claimed. ”

No—no way. It was impossible. His mind scrambled for some kind of explanation, some denial to cling to. Prophecies were fickle things, hidden and guarded. There was no way Hades had known all this time. 

But Hades continued, “Everyone knows that all Poseidon’s children are monsters. Too powerful for their own good. Always destined to go bad.”

Panic surged through Percy’s veins. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He wanted to shout back, to argue, to spit something back in Hades’ face, but the words were caught in his throat. He thought about the dreams that haunted him, the way his sword grew heavy when his control slipped, the times he’d scared even himself.

“Yes,” Hades hissed, his breath cold against Percy’s skin. “I knew of the prophecy long before you. You were destined to join me from the start, whether you wanted it or not.” 

The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. A ringing filled his ears, drowning out everything but those words. Percy’s hand trembled, fingers clawing at the rough stone floor for something to hold onto. His mind screamed in rebellion, trying to shove the truth away. 

All this time.

The late nights when Hades had offered him new quests. The gifts, the quiet nods of approval. The way he had always seemed so certain Percy belonged here. It hadn’t been trust, but inevitability.

Hades’ lips curled. “When you came to me that day many months ago, I could already see it. The darkness inside you was slowly leaking. I have been waiting out the years to see if the prophecy would ring true.” He pulled back slightly. “And, oh, how Poseidon always thought he could outswim fate. That these things could never apply to him. If it wasn’t his firstborn, then it would be his second. You were never the exception.

“And poor Theseus,” Hades added quietly. “Dead by the hands of his own dear brother. Oh, how the fates can be cruel.” He tsked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Like a wound reopening, Percy’s chest tightened so violently he could barely breathe. The memory of piercing Theseus’ chest with his sword, watching his lifeless body sink to the floor. His throat burned with the urge to scream or throw up. 

It had hit him then that there was no way out. No matter how far he ran, how hard he fought, he’d always be trapped. The chains were wound too tightly around him, tugging at him whenever the gods wanted. 

His heart pounded so hard it hurt. Each thud reminded him of the same thought: You will never escape. He desperately wanted release. But it seemed as though the harder he wished for it, the deeper the grip appeared to tighten. 

Hades’s eyes gleamed. “You are a monster, Perseus, embrace it! Destined to bring chaos and strife to the world in ways unimaginable.” 

Percy’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. “Shut up,” he growled. His breath came in sharp bursts, each one hotter and heavier than the last. The air around him seemed to vibrate, his pulse pounding so hard in his ears that it almost drowned out Hades’s voice. 

“And imagine my surprise when the son of Poseidon came willingly, on his own terms, to my doorstep asking for help.” A rich laugh escaped Hades’s lips. “It was simply too good to pass up.”

Hades released his grip on Percy’s arm. The sudden absence of pressure left a dull ache behind. But before he could gather himself, Hades’s hand shot out again, grabbing the scruff of Percy’s hoodie and yanking him up to his feet so their eyes met.

Percy’s vision darkened at the edges. The onset of a panic attack clawed its way up, and with it, a desperate need to escape.

Hades’s grin widened, savoring the torment he’d caused. Then, with a voice like a death knell, he added, “You can’t run from what’s been written. You will fall. Just like him.”

Whatever humanity Percy had been clinging to, whatever scraps of reason had been holding him back, Hades’s words had just ripped them away. He didn’t care about the consequences. The threat of divine wrath, the danger of overstepping, the fact that this was Hades —none of it mattered anymore. 

It was like a switch flipped in Percy’s head—one violent, irreversible click. He surged forward before the thought could even register, slamming his forehead into Hades’s with a sickening crack. The force reverberated painfully through his skull, but the fear in the god’s eyes was worth it. Hades’s grip slipped, and Percy staggered back just long enough to suck in a ragged breath.

“You little rat,” Hades snarled.

The pressure inside Percy broke. The sea inside him answered his rage like an old friend. He could feel it. Water flowed through the stone beneath them, waiting in the ancient aquifers and underground streams that ran through the palace’s foundations. He yanked on it with everything he had. The ground buckled, cracks spreading across the marble, and then, with an earsplitting boom, the floor erupted. Shards of obsidian stone flew in all directions, clattering against the walls as a roaring column of water shot upward. 

Percy seized the torrent and whipped it toward Hades in one strike. The god barely had time to register it before it slammed into him with the force of a battering ram. The impact hurled Hades across the corridor, smashing him into the far wall so hard that the stone fractured and gave way. He crashed through it in an explosion of dust and debris, vanishing into the adjoining room.

Percy didn’t hesitate. His sneakers crunched over the stone as he stalked forward, stepping through the jagged hole in the wall. The next room was lined with shelves of black-bound tomes, an obsidian desk gleaming at its center— Hades’s study. 

The god was on one knee, shaking off the impact. Percy crossed the space in three strides, grabbed Hades by the collar of his black robe, and drove his fist into the god’s face. Once. Twice. The impact jarred up Percy’s arm, but Hades didn’t flinch. Three times, accompanied by a frustrated scream.

Hades’ gaze flicked briefly to Percy’s soaked hoodie, the damp curls plastered to his forehead, and most of all, to the darkness swirling in his sea-green eyes, consuming every trace of light. A slow grin crept across his face. “Ah… there he is.”

Percy’s chest heaved, each breath a fight to keep his hands from shaking. His whole body felt like it was set on fire, like he could tear the palace down around them if he wanted to.

“Stop talking,” Percy spat. The water dripping from his hoodie and hair shimmered into the air, rising in tiny droplets around him. The droplets of water around them rose higher, steaming together and forming a mist that wrapped the room in a dense, heated cloud. The furniture was slick with condensation, the stone floor glistening like a black mirror. Percy’s eyes never left Hades’s. 

“You think you’re invulnerable,” he said, tightening his hold on Hades. “But every god has a weakness,” he reminded. “Try me again, and I’ll make sure you never forget what it feels like to face a child of Poseidon.”

Percy forcefully shoved Hades back, the god’s robe slipping from his grip as he turned on his heel. He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t care to hear another word. He turned his back and made his way toward the gaping hole in the wall he’d blown open. The corridor outside was flooded, ankle-deep water rippling out in every direction from where he’d lost control. Each stride sent waves crashing along the hallway as he nearly broke into a run.

As he passed Nico’s room, he pounded a fist against the door hard, but didn’t stop to explain. He stormed down the hall and kicked open the door to his own room, the wood slamming against the wall. Inside, the torches flickered violently at his arrival. He grabbed his backpack from the chair and tore it open, shoving his things inside with shaking hands—shirts, hoodies, jeans, the few scraps he owned that he actually cared about. The rest he left scattered across the bed and floor, meaningless now. 

He turned, eyes locking on the blade propped against the wall. His hand lingered on the hilt for a moment, a strange calm washing over him when his fingers wrapped around the familiar grip. He swung it onto his back, the strap tightening across his chest. He spun toward the door, and that’s when he saw him.

Nico stood there, shadowed in the doorway, eyes narrowed and fixed on Percy. “What the hell happened?” he asked.

Percy yanked the zipper of his backpack closed. “Your dad is a lying piece of shit.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder. His hands were still buzzing, itching for another fight. He turned fully now, meeting Nico’s eyes. “I’m leaving. Are you staying, or are you coming?”

Nico froze in the doorway. He’d half-expected it, had known it was only a matter of time before Hades pushed Percy too far, but watching it play out in front of him still made his chest tighten. Nico gave a firm nod. “Give me five minutes.” 

Percy bent down, tugging off the soaked, worn-out sneakers. He shoved them aside with little care and pulled a newer pair from underneath his bed. They were stiffer, cleaner, and less lived in, but he yanked them on anyway. His hands moved fast and impatiently. He glanced up at Nico.

“I’m giving you two.”

Nico didn’t argue. He vanished into his room. Inside, he moved quickly, pulling his already packed bag from beneath the bed. He’d kept it ready for days, maybe weeks—stuffed with essentials, weapons, ambrosia, dollars, drachma. Deep down, he’d always known Percy wouldn’t last under his father’s thumb. He shrugged the pack onto his shoulders, slipping his Stygian iron sword into place.

Two minutes later, Nico stepped back into the hall, tugging the strap tighter across his chest. He looked up just as Percy was walking toward him. He didn’t stop or slow down as he passed Nico. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Nico fell into stride beside him. The faint sound of rushing water drifted in from one of the side halls—a growing flood forcing its way. Nico’s eyes flicked toward it uneasily. The water was spilling faster than it should’ve, pooling across the marble floors and creeping toward their feet. He jogged a little, catching up with Percy.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked.

Percy didn’t look at him. He adjusted the strap of his backpack and muttered, “Later.” 

Nico’s lips pressed thin. He jumped over a widening puddle, his shoes smacking against the dry stone on the other side. His frown deepened as he watched Percy stop and turn around. 

Percy kneeled, placing both hands flat on the floor. He closed his eyes, and the floor began to shake and groan. From the other side of the hall, water erupted from the ground, rushing dangerously through the corridors, destroying everything in its path. Satisfied with his goodbye present, Percy straightened and ran in the other direction. 

They rounded a corner, and the noise of the palace dimmed. The corridor here was empty, save for a single painting on the wall. Without hesitation, Percy reached for it. He yanked the frame aside, revealing a carved symbol burned into the stone underneath. He pressed his palm flat against the mark. 

The stone rippled under his touch, lines glowing faintly before the wall cracked open. A door formed out of the rock itself, groaning as it shifted into existence. Percy shoved it wide and strode through. Nico darted in right after him, the sound of stone sealing shut behind them like it had never opened.

Finally, after what felt like walking forever, the tunnel shuddered. The air shifted, carrying asphalt and stale city wind. A seam appeared in the stone before them, widening into a door. Percy pushed it open, and the two stepped out into cold evening air—the exit sealing behind them in an instant, erasing all signs of their escape.

They stood in the back lot of a restaurant that had closed hours ago. A rusted dumpster loomed to one side, the faint smell of grease and burnt food lingering in the air. Neon lights flickered weakly from a sign out front, but the alley was deserted.

Nico exhaled, tugging his jacket tighter. “So where do we go now?”

Annabeth opened her worn little map, her eyes scanning the inked notes she’d scribbled in the margins. Different neighborhoods, buildings, and faint disturbances that might have been nothing—or might have been disguised entrances to Hades’ domain. The closest mark to her currently sat on the edge of the city. She traced the spot with her finger, committing the streets and landmarks to memory. With a decisive fold, she slipped the map back into her jacket pocket.

The air nipped at her face as she rubbed her hands together. The day had dropped into a sharper cold front. She stuffed her hands deep in her pockets, her steps brisk on the sidewalk. Her gaze caught on the glowing sign of a corner coffee shop, and for once, she let herself pause. The smell of roasted beans and baked pastries drifted out every time the door opened, and her stomach gave an impatient twist. She hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t even noticed until now. Just five minutes, she told herself. She deserved that much.

The warmth hit her as soon as she stepped inside, loosening the tension in her shoulders. She exhaled, almost a sigh of relief, and joined the short line at the counter. When her turn came, she kept her voice quiet as she ordered. The barista slid her order and some change across the counter. Coffee in one hand, pastry bag in the other, she made her way to a small table by the window and sat down.

She leaned back into the seat, letting the steam rise against her face as she carefully took her first sip. Her brows furrowed as her thoughts began to churn. Was she already too late? Maybe Percy had already vanished back underground. Maybe all her maps and marks were just busywork, a desperate way of keeping herself moving while he slipped further and further from reach.

Her jaw tightened. No, that wasn’t her. That wasn’t Annabeth Chase. She wasn’t the one to give up. If there were an entrance to the Underworld in this city, she’d find it. And if Percy thought he could disappear from her life this easily, he had another thing coming.

She tore into the pastry, the sweet strawberry filling cutting through the bitterness of coffee in her mouth. She smiled faintly at the taste. It was good—better than she’d expected. Somehow, the simple sugar gave her a sense of renewed direction. By the time she’d finished it, the tiredness hadn’t gone, but it no longer weighed her down. She told herself she’d find him. She’d track him across every alley and tunnel if she had to. 

Annabeth’s coffee had long since worn off by the time she reached her first marked location. An abandoned lot on the edge of the city—rusted chain-link fences, cracked pavement, weeds curling through. She ran her hands along the brick wall of the warehouse, pressing against uneven brick, searching for the slightest shift in texture or resistance of magic—nothing— just dust and splinters of mortar.

The second was no better. She pried open half-rotten wood panels at the back of an old storage unit, shoving them aside only to uncover… more wood. No hidden passage, no faint glow, not even a whisper of the Mist. By the time she moved on, her palms were scraped raw.

At the third site, she grew impatient. It had been an alley she’d circled in her notes weeks ago, its graffiti oddly warped, as if the paint resisted mortal eyes. She checked the bricks, shoved against dumpsters, and even knocked down part of a loose stone corner. Nothing. Just the sour stench of old garbage and the distant hum of traffic.

Her frustration grew—three locations, and not a single hint. She cursed under her breath and tightened her grip on her backpack strap. One more tonight and that’s it, she told herself. Then she would get a hotel. She didn’t bother pulling out the map anymore—every mark was burned into her memory.

By the time she made it to downtown, the city had transformed. Night had settled, swallowing the last of the light, and Friday’s crowd had flooded the streets. Annabeth pulled her jacket higher, zipping it to her chin as she exhaled, watching her breath cloud in the glow of the streetlamps. The fourth location sat somewhere near Koreatown, tucked in the same area where she’d chased Percy through the narrow alleyways. Her heart skipped at the thought. If there was an entrance that might exist, it had to be there. And if she was right, she was closer than ever.

Annabeth slowed on the sidewalk, forcing herself to stop moving. Her legs screamed at her to stop, and for once, she listened. She scanned the street, catching sight of an empty bench pushed up against the edge of the sidewalk. She slipped past a couple of laughing college kids and made her way over, lowering herself onto the bench with a sigh. She leaned back, stretching her sore feet against the pavement. One hand rested loosely against the hilt of her dagger. She watched the crowd go by—faces blurred together, voices rising and fading in the din of the city. A few passersby glanced at her, but no one lingered. Good, she preferred it that way.

Her mind drifted toward her phone, and the tug in her chest tightened. She’d left it behind in New Rome, locked in a drawer, knowing it would only attract monsters if she carried it. Still, she imagined it buzzing endlessly—people she used to talk to daily… people who no longer bothered. She stopped responding to texts and ignored every call. The silence she’d cultivated had spread until it smothered everything between her and them. A part of her knew she’d built a wall too high to climb back over. And the truth? It was hard to feel guilty about it. She just didn’t care anymore.

Her fingers brushed against the string sitting on her collarbone. She tugged it free from beneath her jacket, freeing the small charm Grover had given her. She stared down at it, thumb brushing over its surface, weighing the thought of calling him. But the hesitation won out. She closed her hand around it and tucked it out of sight. She wasn’t even sure if tonight would be the night she found Percy—or if it would be tomorrow, or the next day. Or ever.

She rubbed her eyes, blinked hard, and lifted her head, forcing herself to take in her surroundings. And then she froze. No. Freaking. Way. She nearly laughed. She stared across the street through the glowing window of a bar dressed up like a casual restaurant.

He was slouched in a chair by the window, a half-empty basket of fries and a Coke in front of him. His sword hung over the back of his chair, going completely unnoticed. His dark hair hung over his eyes, messy and damp at the ends. His arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders back. Her brain was still catching up when she realized he wasn’t alone.

Nico sat across from him, and she almost didn’t recognize him at first. Gods—he looked different, too. Taller and more put-together than the boy she remembered. His black hair had grown out, curling just past his shoulders, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light as he lifted a burger. The sight was so disorienting.

She forced herself to stay still, swallowing hard as she pulled her hood up. She couldn’t afford to rush in and blow it. Not now, not when she was finally this close. She pressed her back against the bench and willed her breathing to slow. If she was careful enough and stayed quiet, she could watch them, follow them, and figure out where they were headed. 

Inside the restaurant, Nico ate his burger, chewing slowly, while Percy sat opposite him with his arms folded, his Coke barely touched. The fries sat in their basket, cooling by the second, Percy’s eyes locked on them like they’d done something to offend him. His jaw twitched every so often, but otherwise, he was stone-cold.

Nico could read the silence for what it was. He’d seen that look before, too many times. Whatever had happened between Percy and his father wasn’t just a typical argument. Finishing the last of his burger, Nico leaned back in his chair, wiping his hands on a napkin. He downed the rest of his drink in one go, the ice clattering against the bottom of the cup before he set it down. 

He stared at Percy for a long moment, waiting, but Percy didn’t move. Finally, Nico exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. “So, you gonna tell me what happened? Or do I get to sit here watching you glare into your fries all night?”

Percy didn’t answer at first. His eyes shifted, sliding up to meet Nico’s. The look in them was hard, like waves right before they crashed violently into something. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to reply. Then he opened his mouth. 

“Your dad knew about the prophecy,” Percy said, his voice rough. “And he used it to his advantage. Him summoning me the first time, dangling that favor in front of me, taking me in, pretending like any of it was a choice.” His lip curled, and the disgust in his tone was palpable. “It wasn’t chance, or timing. It was him. Every step of it, already mapped out.” 

Nico blinked, taken aback despite himself. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, and dragged his gaze over Percy’s face as if trying to gauge just how serious he was. “Do I need to ask what you did in retaliation?”

“I punched the shit out of him,” Percy growled. 

Nico shifted in his seat, pressing his back harder into the chair, the wood creaking under the movement. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I’m assuming you flooding the palace was payback?”

For the first time all night, Percy’s expression changed. Not by much, just the faintest twitch of his mouth with grim satisfaction. He nodded. 

Nico let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. He eyed Percy carefully. The posture alone told him enough, like every muscle was locked in a fight he couldn't step away from. The anger radiated off him in waves. Nico’s gaze drifted up, finally meeting Percy’s eyes again. What he saw there made his heart skip a beat. The usual brightness, the flicker of humor, or hope, or even stubborn defiance, was missing. What stared back at him now was empty. It was as if something inside had burned out and left only the embers of something darker in its place. 

He’d known Percy was different since they’d reunited, but he’d told himself it was just exhaustion, grief, or maybe the aftereffects of everything that hadn’t fully faded. But he knew this wasn’t just wear and tear, this was rot setting in. 

He let the thoughts circle in his mind, but didn’t voice them. He didn’t want to, and maybe he didn’t have the energy to fight it. Instead, he shifted, forcing himself to move past it. He changed the subject. “So, what do we do now?” 

Percy's gaze remained distracted as he leaned over the table, arms crossed. “Where the fates want me,” he said finally.

Nico frowned, leaning forward slightly. “And that is…?”

Percy stared down at the basket of fries before popping one into his mouth, savoring it. “Headed for Python,” he said casually, and Nico’s stomach dropped.

Nico’s fingers tapped against the table, restless. “Python,” he echoed, his voice tinged with anger. “You mean the Python who tried to kill us, who has no benefit to us whatsoever, the Python who nearly pierced my heart with a broken blade. That Python?” 

Percy shot back instantly, “Yes, that Python.”

Nico’s eyes narrowed. “Percy—”

Percy slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off. “What else can I do, Nico?” he hissed. “I can't sleep. He's in my head— all the time !” He ground out. 

Nico crossed his arms over his chest, not responding. 

“I won’t ask you again,” Percy continued, leaning forward, “Are you staying or are you coming?” 

Nico tsked and looked away for a moment, weighing the decision. “I’m not letting you go alone,” he said finally, his voice firm.

Percy leaned back slowly in his chair.

“You’re insane, though,” Nico muttered under his breath.

“I can’t keep running in circles, Nico. Python isn’t going to leave me alone.”

“And you think going after him head-on is going to solve that? You think you can handle him?”

“I don’t care if I can handle him. I have to try. I can’t let anyone control me anymore.”

Nico shook his head. “Fine,” he said, almost reluctantly. “But I don’t care how much of an angst-filled monster you think you are. We do this smart, or we don’t do it at all.”

Percy shrugged, standing up from his chair. "Sure, whatever," he said, grabbing his sword and putting it over his head. He pulled out some cash and threw it on the table, enough to cover the bill. 

They left the restaurant, the cold night air hitting them as they stepped outside. Percy tugged his hood over his head, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. Nico fell into step beside him. 

From across the street, Annabeth watched as they stepped outside. Her mind raced, replaying everything she had just seen inside the restaurant. She traced their every gesture as they walked down the street, noting how Nico kept a measured pace beside Percy. Annabeth’s curiosity gnawed at her. What were they arguing about? Why had Percy been so impossibly tense, almost on the edge of snapping?

She rose slowly from her spot on the bench, careful to remain unnoticed. The crowds of Friday night revelers were a blessing, weaving through pedestrians and street performers, giving her cover as she trailed them.

Percy and Nico walked in silence for a few blocks. The night was cool, a thin fog rolling in. Nico finally broke the quiet. “We should stop by a bodega,” he said, tugging at the strap of his backpack. “Grab me a few energy drinks, maybe some snacks for the road.”

Percy nodded, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, sure.” However, as they continued walking, Percy’s instincts began to prick at him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He kept glancing over his shoulder, each time scanning the streets, half-expecting someone to be there. Every turn revealed nothing, yet the sensation persisted.

By the time they reached the store, Percy’s nerves were wound tight. He told Nico to go in and grab the drinks, leaning against the brick wall outside. The air smelled faintly of fried food and exhaust. He shifted his weight, the rough surface of the wall pressing into his shoulder as he peeked down the street. People passed by, oblivious, heads buried in phones or wrapped in conversation, but his instincts screamed at him that this was different. Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to sense the presence of anyone approaching, every sense heightened. When he opened them, he stepped away from the wall, moving down the dark alley that ran along the side of the building.

A set of footsteps echoed from behind. Percy’s pulse spiked, and without hesitation, he melted into the darkness. As soon as the figure came close enough, Percy lunged, grabbing and twisting the person’s arm behind their back, slamming them against the brick wall. They grunted and kicked at Percy’s legs, wrapping their foot around his ankle to unbalance him. Percy stumbled slightly, his grip loosening. 

The attacker turned and swung, throwing a punch, but Percy ducked to the side. He caught their arm, but in a brutal motion, the attacker grabbed Percy’s bicep and flung him over their shoulder. Percy hit the ground hard with a grunt. Pain shot through his chest as a knee pressed down on it, twisting his arm into an uncomfortable angle.

Percy’s chest heaved as he struggled under the weight of his attacker, the knee pressing into him making it nearly impossible to breathe. He squinted in the dim alley light, catching sight of her blonde curls and the familiar gray eyes. His pulse skipped, and a jolt of disbelief coursed through him.

Annabeth’s expression was calm, almost unnervingly, as she leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “It’s not right to attack someone when they’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Percy glared, his jaw tightening. “It is when they’ve been following you,” he replied, twisting his body just enough to break some of the pressure from her knee.

Annabeth’s hand instinctively tightened on his arm at the sound of his voice, her fingers curling unconsciously around him. It was the first time she’d heard it in months, and it was like a knife twisting in her chest. It was different, stripped of everything she remembered. Her stomach twisted painfully at the realization: the boy she had loved, the one who had been her anchor and her partner, no longer existed. In the span of a single year, he had molded into someone she didn’t know.

Her eyes stung, burning against the tears that threatened to fall. She narrowed them, willing herself to stay composed. “Why—” she asked, voice tight.

“Why what?” Percy snapped.

Annabeth’s chest heaved as anger pooled in her. “Why are you doing this?” she hissed.

“I told you not to come after me,” he said coldly.

“You think I’m going to listen to you?” she spat, teeth gritted.

Percy didn’t flinch. He kept a steady gaze locked on her. 

“All you do is run. You think if you go far enough, the pain will stop?” she pressed, her voice rising, trembling with emotion.

Percy scoffed, turning his head to the side to avoid meeting her eyes. He knew he could break free from her grip in an instant, could throw himself out of this confrontation without effort. But he didn’t.

“Answer me!” she hissed, pressing her knee deeper into his chest, evoking a grunt from him. 

Percy’s jaw clenched, the set of his shoulders rigid. He stayed still, his green eyes distant. “I think if I burn the whole world down, maybe the gods will feel it too.”

Annabeth’s breath hitched. She couldn’t believe those familiar words, couldn’t fathom that they had come from the boy she had loved with all her heart. “How can you say that?” she shot back. 

Percy sighed heavily and turned his head away again, like he was done pretending she had the upper hand. Then, he shifted his weight, flipping them over. He pressed his upper body against hers, pinning her to the ground. She gasped, caught completely off guard. Her back hit the cold alley floor, and a few tears slipped free, tracing down the sides of her face. 

He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. 

“Why, Percy?” she asked desperately, her voice cracking, pleading for some fragment of the boy she knew. “Don’t be this way. Please—” she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips.

He blinked. “Go home,” he interrupted with a low voice. 

“No,” she snapped back, defiance flaring despite the ache in her chest.

His grip on her wrists tightened suddenly, pressing her hands into the unforgiving ground above her. “Leave me alone,” he growled, every syllable a mix of exhaustion and rage. Her heart thudded painfully as she met his gaze, realizing that whatever hope she’d clung to was slipping further away with every passing second.

Both their heads snapped toward the sound of Nico’s voice echoing down the alley, calling out Percy’s name. Percy’s grip didn’t loosen, and when his eyes met Annabeth’s again, they were darker, as if Nico’s interruption only reminded him of the tightening noose around his secrets.

A dozen possibilities crashed through Annabeth’s mind, but one thought stood out from the rest—the passages she had read late at night, the old accounts of Python’s influence, the way he bound demigods to his will. It made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to ask, but she knew she had to.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is this about Python?”

The change in Percy was instant. His eyes flared, violent and unrestrained, like she had just ripped away the one mask he still had left. He yanked her wrists harder against the ground, and the pain jolted through her arms.

“How do you know that?!” he yelled. 

Annabeth winced, turning her head away from him. Her breath caught, but she forced the words out anyway, “Don’t let him get to you-”

That only made it worse. His nails bit into her wrist until she gasped, shutting her eyes against the sting. “Shut up!” he snapped.

He didn’t even hear the running footsteps until Nico was suddenly there, his hand clamping on Percy’s shoulder and yanking him backward with all his strength. Percy’s body wrenched away from Annabeth’s as Nico shoved him hard.

“What are you doing?!” Nico shouted angrily.

Annabeth scrambled to her feet, her chest heaving. She stumbled back until her shoulders hit the wall, pressing her wrist against her chest. Her eyes stayed locked on Percy as if she was seeing a stranger in his skin.

Nico’s gaze flicked to her, wide and disbelieving. For a moment, he looked like he didn’t know who to worry about more. 

Percy dragged both hands down his face, his fingers digging into his skin as though he could claw the frenzy out of himself. His chest heaved, but no matter how hard he tried to steady his breath, the panic kept clawing higher in his ribs. His voice came out hoarse. “She knows about Python.”

Nico’s eyes snapped to Annabeth. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. “She knows we’re headed that way?” Nico asked. His dark brows furrowed, the words caught between accusation and genuine disbelief.

Annabeth’s blood went cold. “You’re going to Python?” she asked, her voice rushing out. The adrenaline was returning. 

Percy’s hands dropped limply to his sides, fists curling tight again. His jaw locked as he shot Nico a glare. “Now she does,” he snapped bitterly. 

Nico raised his hands in defense. His lips pressed into a thin line, choosing silence over saying anything that might light the fuse again. 

Annabeth forced herself a step forward, her voice trembling. “Don’t go.”

Percy let out a short laugh. “Right, because I’m going to listen to you,” he mocked. “Next, you’ll expect me to apologize, and we’ll go back to camp, where everything will go back to normal, and I’ll tell you that I love you.”

Annabeth went still. She could already feel the sting in her eyes. It wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it, like he’d already buried that possibility long ago. “Do you?” she asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. 

Nico’s face drained of color, the coldness in his eyes faltering. He looked anywhere but at them, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as if wishing he could disappear altogether.

Percy didn’t move. His eyes narrowed as if her question had already been answered long before she’d asked it. His silence was worse than a denial. “Go home,” he said finally, turning his head away from her. “I’m not going to say it again.”

Annabeth swayed slightly where she stood, a painful ache in her chest. It was like she had been stabbed, left bleeding on the inside with nothing to stop it.

Percy bent, scooping up his backpack from the floor. He slung it over his shoulder, his movements nonchalant as if none of this had affected him at all. He didn’t look at her again as he walked past, brushing by like she was no more than a shadow on the wall.

Nico hesitated, his jaw tightening as he cast one more glance at Annabeth. For a moment, guilt flickered across his face. Guilt for leaving her like this and guilt for following Percy, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand in the crossfire any longer. Without a word, he followed Percy. 

Annabeth’s fingers curled into a fist, trembling with the effort of keeping herself rooted in place. She could feel her heart pounding, urging her to run after him, to grab him and refuse to let go. But her body wouldn’t move. 

So, she let him go—at least for now. It felt like a betrayal of everything in her, but chasing after him when his back was set like stone would only shatter her more.

Percy didn’t look back. He wouldn’t admit it, not to Nico, not to Annabeth, and especially not in the quiet of his own mind— that his hands, buried deep in the front pocket of his hoodie, were shaking. 

Chapter Text

Annabeth swung her backpack onto her shoulders, the strap twisting in her grip as she yanked it into place. Like hell she was going to let him walk away and have the last word. Like hell she was just going to stand there while he disappeared again. 

She broke into a run until the distance closed between them and her. Percy barely had time to react before her hand caught his shoulder, wrenching him backward with more strength than she thought she had left. “Hey!” She shouted. 

Percy spun on her. “What?!” he snapped, shoving her arm away as though her touch was toxic.

The rejection only stoked her anger. Annabeth shoved him, palm flat against his chest, pushing him back with the full weight of her body. “You think you can just walk away like that?”

Percy stumbled. He scoffed as he turned his shoulder toward her again, as if she weren’t worth answering. The gesture made her blood boil—the dismissal—the audacity of him. 

Her hand shot out, her fingers clamping tightly around his wrist. The muscles in his arm tensed, but she held on, nails digging into his skin, forcing him to face her. 

His glare sharpened, words pressed through gritted teeth. “Leave.”

Her back straightened, her chin lifting as though bracing for impact. “No,” she shot back instantly. Annabeth’s gaze narrowed, searching for the fault lines in his anger. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s really going on.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he spat. “You think you deserve the truth? After everything?” 

She swallowed hard. “I’m trying to help–” 

“No, you make everything worse!” he exploded, yanking his wrist free so violently she nearly lost her balance. 

“Me?!” she shot back. “You vanish, you leave nothing but destruction behind, and then you act like you’re the only one allowed to be angry about it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Percy snarled, stepping closer. His voice lowered, tight with fury. “You don’t get it. You’ve never gotten it. You just stand there, looking down at everyone, judging. Like you’ve got all the answers—like you’re not just as broken as the rest of us.”

Annabeth’s chest tightened, the words hitting harder than she wanted them to. Her jaw locked, but she refused to let the sting show. “At least I don’t push away the people who care about me.”

Percy barked a laugh. “Care? You don’t care about me— you care about keeping me on a leash so I don’t ruin your perfect plans.”

Annabeth’s anger rose. “Screw you, Percy!”

“You keep chasing me like you’ll find the version of me you want,” Percy pushed. “But he died a long time ago, and you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

Her nails dug painfully into her palms to ground herself against the flood of hurt pressing against her ribs. “You think you can just erase everything we’ve been through? You think you can just decide I don’t matter?”

“You don’t!” he roared, his voice breaking. “Not anymore!”

All the fury, all the grief, all the betrayal surged at once, leaving her with nothing but the sharpest edge of the truth burning on her tongue. 

“I hate you!” Annabeth screamed. Percy’s glare seemed to loom over her, making her feel like a little girl again—helpless, exposed, and utterly unable to contain the storm inside her. The heat of embarrassment crept up her neck and into her ears as she realized how completely he had unmoored her. 

“Good!” he yelled back. Percy didn’t wait for her reply. His jaw clenched as he stared at her, his chest heaving. He gave her a once-over before he turned sharply, his hand clamping down on Nico’s shoulder and shoving him forward. “Are you good to travel?” Percy’s voice was hoarse. 

Nico stiffened, his eyes flicking past Percy to where Annabeth stood frozen, her fists clenched at her sides. He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, she almost believed he’d break—he’d look back, he’d give her some sign. But his face shuttered, too, and he only gave the smallest nod.

“Yeah,” Nico said quietly.

“Then let’s go.” Percy’s tone was final.

Annabeth’s fists shook at her sides. She wanted to scream after him, to hurl every word that had been festering in her throat for months. Instead, she stood there, trembling with rage, her breathing sharp.

As Percy and Nico disappeared into the next narrow alleyway, something inside her snapped. Her feet moved before she could think. The sound of her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out reason and the part of her that told her to let him go. Her backpack jolted against her shoulders as she broke into a run.

Turning the corner, she caught a glimpse of Nico lifting his hand, the shadows of the alley curling around his fingers. Annabeth sprinted. Just before they vanished, Percy’s head jerked up, his sea-green eyes locking on hers. For a split second, his expression cracked. His mouth parted, as though he might tell her to stop, but the words never came. He didn’t think she’d follow, didn’t believe she’d dare.

Before Percy could shove her away, she crashed into them. Her fingers hooked onto Nico’s arm, clinging with the stubborn desperation of someone who refused to be left behind. The shadows seized her instantly, swallowing all three of them in a rush of darkness. 

The world spun. Her stomach twisted violently. There was no ground, no sense of direction, only the nauseating lurch of falling and being yanked forward at the same time. Cold and suffocating darkness squeezed around her, her ears ringing as the world tilted in every direction at once. 

Annabeth hit solid ground hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. She rolled once before the world steadied, rough gravel scratching at her palms. Her stomach heaved, a wave of nausea threatening to undo her entirely. She staggered to her knees, clamping her teeth together as bile surged at the back of her throat. She stumbled toward the nearest patch of green and bent over it, bracing her hands on her thighs, willing herself not to throw up. The adrenaline still thrummed in her veins, which made her skin hot and her vision swim.

She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She dropped onto her heels, arms draped over her knees, head hanging as she wrestled her body into calmness. Finally, when the world no longer spun, she lifted her head.

Her heart sank instantly. She was alone. The stretch of road around her was endless, flanked by desert scrub and jagged silhouettes of distant hills. The night sky spread overhead, stars bright in the absence of city glow. There was no sign of Percy. No sign of Nico. 

“Great,” she muttered bitterly. She spun in a circle, taking in the vast emptiness stretching in every direction. An endless flat expanse broken only by scattered shrubs, patches of sand, and the looming silhouettes of distant mountains. Her hands fumbled with the straps of her backpack, yanking it more securely into place. If they thought ditching her would stop her, they clearly didn’t know her as well as they thought.

She picked a direction and started walking. The desert night was cold, the moonlight spilling pale across the asphalt. Walking felt endless until the dark outline of a sign in the middle of the road emerged from the distance. She squinted against the moonlight, finally making out the letters stenciled across the weathered sign: Alamogordo, New Mexico.

She blew out a sharp breath and muttered under her breath, “Assholes.”

The moon hung high, silvering the dunes that stretched out like an ocean of frozen waves. The entrance sign to White Sands National Park loomed behind them, the parking lot eerily empty. As soon as Percy’s feet hit solid ground, he staggered back a step. His head whipped around in every direction, eyes scanning the emptiness with a feral kind of urgency. 

“Where is she?” he demanded. He spun once, scanning the sand, the shadows, anywhere she might’ve landed. 

Nico dropped heavily onto a nearby rock, his movements sluggish and drained. He shrugged off his backpack, the straps sliding down his shoulders. His breaths came rough and uneven. “I managed to leave her behind,” he said hoarsely, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead as if he could alleviate the new throbbing pain there. He leaned forward, dark hair falling into his face. “On the border of town.” 

Percy froze, blinking at him. “You can do that?”

Nico’s hand slid down over his eyes, and he gave the smallest shrug. He didn’t bother explaining—it was advanced work, splitting the thread of travel mid-passage. Dangerous, exhausting, but possible.

Percy turned toward the stretch of road that disappeared into the distance toward the exit of the park. He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe she did that,” he muttered. He sighed before glancing back at Nico. His voice dropped, the sharpness fading into concern. “You okay?”

Nico lifted his head, the shadows under his eyes prominent. He gave a quick nod and pushed himself upright, though his legs trembled faintly under the effort.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter this time. He straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll be okay.”

Percy studied him for a moment longer, frowning, but didn’t press. He pulled his sword from his back and tightened his grip on the hilt. The weapon thrummed in his hand, the edge shimmering darkly in the moonlight. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, forcing a sharp exhale, “it’s now or never.”

Nico stood beside him, eyeing him with his usual shadowed intensity. His hand flexed on the hilt of his own sword, but his lips twisted into a grimace. “I’ve already accepted the fact that we’ll probably die from this.”

Percy didn’t reply—he just started walking. Nico swore under his breath, drew his own blade with a scrape of iron, and followed. Their shoes sank with every step, crunching softly in the silence of the desert night. The wind was sharp, cold, and carrying a dry sting. 

For nearly an hour, they pressed deeper into the shifting expanse, each dune higher than the last, the stillness around them too perfect. Percy’s patience frayed with every step. They crested another dune, and his knuckles ached from the pressure of gripping his sword too tight. He scanned the horizon, where the faintest sliver of dawn was beginning to bleed into the dark sky. His jaw clenched.

Nico stopped a few paces behind, catching his breath as he glanced toward the horizon. Percy’s temper finally broke. He threw his arms wide, his shout tearing through the night air with challenge. “I’M HERE,” his voice echoed across the dunes. “JUST LIKE YOU WANTED. SO STOP HIDING AND COME OUT ALREADY!”

Almost instantly, the ground shuddered. A low vibration, like the growl of something massive stirring beneath the surface, rippled through the sand. Percy staggered, his footing sliding. Nico swore, spreading his stance. Then the tremor intensified. The ground beneath them buckled, the sand violently rippling outward in waves like an earthquake.

Both boys toppled, tumbling down the side of the dune, arms fighting for purchase in the shifting sands. Their bodies slammed into the slope hard, the impact jarring, knocking the wind from their lungs. The taste of grit filled Percy’s mouth as he spat sand, rolling until he thudded to a stop at the base of the dune.

Before either could recover, the dune in front of them detonated. Sand burst into the sky in a deafening roar, raining down in a blinding storm. The air stung with sharp grains, biting their skin, tearing at their eyes.

From the heart of the eruption, a shape surged upward.

Python emerged, its scaled body glimmering in the faint light. Deep, iridescent purple shimmered over its length, each shift of its muscles catching a different hue. Wings burst upward from Python’s back, a whip-crack of air, sending Percy’s hair lashing across his face and tugging at the sand under his shoes.

Percy swallowed, remembering the last time he had faced those wings. The choking helplessness clawed back at him now, phantom pain tightening across his ribs until his breath came shallow. Percy stumbled back a half step, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Python’s head swung low, massive jaws opening in a grin to reveal fangs long as spears. His glowing amber eyes locked on them. Percy noticed the left one was marred—a jagged scar cutting down through the lid and across the gleaming surface. The one he’d carved into the serpent’s face the first time they met.

Percy’s chest heaved. “Well?” he snapped, his voice breaking against the silence of the dunes. “I’m here. You dragged me out, messed with my head for weeks. What the hell do you want?”

Python’s eyes narrowed, sand slithering away from him as though the desert bent to his presence. “Patience,” His voice called out deeply.

“No—don’t tell me to wait!” Percy bit back. He jabbed his sword upward, the dark blade catching the faint morning light. “Now tell me why you summoned me!”

For a long moment, Python was silent. His expression was unreadable, save for the faint twitch of his scarred eyelid. Then came a hiss, like an irritated sigh amplified. His wings stretched outward before lowering with a slow motion, planting into the sand like blackened pillars. The ground trembled under their weight. Finally, he hissed: 

“Northwest winds will guide you where sun kisses sand

Where walls rise in circles, made by careful hand.

A house without doors, yet with eyes to the skies—

Within its heart, seek what patiently lies.”

The words hung in the air. Percy stared up at him, unblinking. “You’re joking,” he said. His lips curled back. “Another riddle?” he ground out, each syllable splintered. His voice rose, loud against the emptiness around them. “Another fucking riddle?!”

Python stayed quiet. 

“Right!” Percy exploded, throwing his hands up into the air. “I forgot who I’m talking to.” He dragged a hand down his face, the grit biting into his skin like glass.

Python waited silently, letting Percy burn himself out. And then, calmly he spoke.

“You are to retrieve something of mine that has been lost to time.”

Percy froze mid-breath, his sword lowering a fraction. His jaw clenched. Before he could speak, Nico stepped forward, refusing to waste words on Percy’s spiraling. His voice was steady, “What is it?”

Python’s head lowered, the massive shadow of it sweeping over both boys. His tongue flicked, tasting the desert air. “The Serpent’s Scroll.”

Nico’s brows furrowed. He tilted his head slightly, confusion breaking through his mask of control. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“That is because it was erased from history,” Python answered. “Before Apollo’s gilded age, there stood a grove and a temple where my breath was law. There served a high priestess—Pythia—my vessel. She gathered what I revealed: visions coiled from the past into the now, and from the now into what waits. She marked them upon a single scroll.” The serpent’s head tilted, the scarred eye catching starlight. “The Serpent’s Scroll is more than a piece of parchment. It’s a lens. Through it, Fate’s pattern can be sensed—how a thread frays, where it knots, which cut turns tapestry into snare.”

Percy’s grip tightened. “And then it went missing.”

“It was taken,” Python corrected, a hint of anger in his tone. “When the old order waned, when new mouths claimed old visions, the Oracles feared what mortals would do with a mirror that could reflect more than their own faces. They hid it. They salted the records. They taught your histories to forget.” He shifted, the sands shivering beneath him. “They raised trials and placed it where earth remembers the sky, where stone and sun keep counsel. None may reach it unless the place itself consents.”

Nico’s eyes flicked sidelong to Percy. “And you want… us to bring this back to you.”

“I want what was taken from me,” Python said. 

Percy swallowed, jaw tight. “Where?”

The serpent’s wings pressed deeper into the sand, anchoring. “You have been told.”

“Your riddle,” Percy snapped. “Northwest winds—walls in circles—house without doors—eyes to the skies.” He shook his head, breathing hard. “You could just say it.”

“And cheat you of what the place requires?” A thin smile creased the line of Python’s jaws. “No. The path must be walked as it was laid. It is somewhere on this land. In ruins raised by hands who listened to the sun. If you are worthy of entry, the place will open. If you are not—” The serpent’s gaze lowered until the full cold of it rested on Percy.

“Fine,” Percy said, voice low.

Python’s head lowered, so close Percy could smell the mineral chill on its scales. “One false step, one choice untrue, and fate will turn its gaze on you. Tread carefully, Perseus.”

“When I come back with your scroll—this ends. You stay out of my head. You leave me the hell alone.”

Python only grinned as he withdrew. His wings flexed once, kicking spirals of white grit into the night. Python’s bulk sank, sinking through the sands as if it were water welcoming him home, until only the ridged crown of his skull remained—and then that, too, was gone. 

Percy’s fingers hovered above his blade, then eased as he slid it back across his shoulder. The hum receded, but the ache in his chest did not. He looked into the black distance where the dunes gave way. 

Silence pooled. Nico exhaled first. “We can head out tomorrow. But first, I need rest.” 

Percy said nothing as he turned, beginning to make his way back. The desert seemed endless, every ridge of sand identical to the last, and no matter how many turns they made, the path back to the entrance of the park seemed to vanish. The horizon was softening now—no longer black but streaked with muted gray-blue, the first light of dawn seeping across the sky.

Nico was faltering. Each step dragged more than the last, his head pounding with a steady throb. A sharp pain sat lodged behind his right eye, stabbing every time the glare of dawn caught his sight. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, forcing him to stumble over the sand. Even breathing became hard. He wanted nothing more than a real bed, somewhere quiet and dark where he could finally let the weight in his body win.

Percy kept turning Python’s riddle over in his head. He knew that Python’s riddles were traps and breadcrumbs at once. He mouthed the lines once, twice, as if sounding them would pull out a meaning that logic and sleep-deprived thought had so far refused to yield. The serpent had every advantage: time, reach, the ability to shape a dream into a command. Percy hated that he’d been dragged into it; he hated that a part of him had agreed. He glared at the sand because the dunes could take his anger better than anything. It didn’t matter to the dunes if he was right or wrong. 

Nico stumbled beside him, and Percy glanced over. The son of Hades looked worse by the minute—pale, eyes rimmed in shadow, the bruise of wear behind his gaze. He folded Python’s riddle back into his head like a map, each line a step he had to take whether he wanted to or not. Retrieve the scroll. Bring it back. Make the bargain hold. Disappear…

He wanted to vanish. To strip the name Percy Jackson from every mouth that spoke it. To tear down the weight of recognition until there was nothing left but silence. It bound him to expectations he no longer cared to meet, to people who looked at him like he was something less than human. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he was still one of the good ones. He was sought after, hunted, marked. And if people whispered his name now, it wasn’t in praise. 

His mind circled back to the Serpent’s Scroll. A quest disguised as fate, or maybe fate disguised as a quest. Either way, it was his now. Percy didn’t care about destiny or balance. He’d carried the world on his shoulders, fought tooth and nail to be the hero everyone wanted, and for what? 

If the Scroll truly held what the serpent promised—the idea sparked and spread like fire in dry grass. Percy could do what no demigod had ever done. He could cut himself out of the story completely. The idea was obscene and intoxicating both. He imagined a page where his name simply wasn’t written: a present where his past mistakes didn’t ripple into his future, where Sally had a different son, where people didn’t have to pay for what he’d done. Maybe he could write a version of now that didn’t hold him responsible for being him. Maybe he could make himself a ghost. The thought was small and filthy and so, so tempting.

Percy closed his eyes for a second and let the gray-blue light of dawn wash over him. He imagined standing on a shoreline, faceless, nameless, no weight dragging him under. The water would touch his feet and retreat, leaving no trace that he had ever been there. If the scroll could deliver oblivion, then maybe—for once—he could finally stop fighting.

Annabeth trudged down the silent main street of Alamogordo. The desert night stretched wide, and stars shone bright above her, but the beauty of it was lost on her aching body. Every step pulled at her shoulders, her backpack feeling twice as heavy as it had that morning. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and her chest was still tight from the shouting match with Percy. She wanted to scream into the empty streets, to let the frustration and exhaustion rip free, but all that came out was a sigh that trembled. Her throat was dry. She wanted a hot drink. A bed that wasn’t stone or dirt.

And then, as if the universe had been listening, light flickered at the edge of her vision. She stopped, blinking hard, certain that fatigue was playing tricks on her. But there it was—a glow spilling onto the street from a small corner building that hadn’t been there a second ago. 

The sign above the door shimmered faintly, letters curling in golden script: Bed & Blessings. Her breath caught. For a moment, she almost laughed, but the relief hit too hard. She had read about places like this—safe havens for demigods, rare, appearing only when they were needed most. But to see one, to find one, in the middle of nowhere, at her lowest point…

“Thank the gods,” she whispered. Her legs moved quickly, carrying her across the street. The glow radiating from the little shop felt like a hand pressed against her back, urging her forward. The moment her palms met the door, warmth seeped into her skin, chasing away the chill of desert air.

Inside, the space seemed impossibly larger than the building’s exterior suggested. Warm light spilled across polished wooden floors. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with ambrosia squares wrapped in gold foil, vials of nectar glinting like liquid sunlight, celestial bronze daggers balanced neatly on velvet-lined racks. And nestled between these mythic treasures were small comforts: folded blankets, steaming coffee machines, even baskets of fresh bread that filled the air with a soothing scent.

Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper. He wasn’t imposing—average height, his dark leather jacket sitting on broad but unthreatening shoulders. His shirt was plain, his hair streaked with gray, his face weathered and lined. 

“Welcome,” he said gently, voice rich. His smile was calm and patient, as if he had been standing there all night waiting for her.

Annabeth’s mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Her body ached for rest, but her mind clung to suspicion—how many times had something too good to be true nearly killed her? And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way her chest loosened just from standing here. She finally found her voice, though it was quiet, “Hello.”
“Please, come in,” he said warmly, someone who had spoken the same invitation a thousand times before, “Take what you need.” 

Annabeth hesitated, her eyes flicking over the glowing shelves and gleaming displays. It felt curated, intentional, as if the shop knew her. A dangerous thought, but the longer she lingered, the harder it became to resist. She stepped forward.

The shopkeeper leaned casually against the counter, watching her with that same calm patience. “You look like you’ve been walking all day.”

“I have,” Annabeth admitted.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?” the shopkeeper asked.

Annabeth froze mid-step. His words were as though he’d plucked them straight from her thoughts. Her brow furrowed, and she let out a small, tired laugh. “Sort of,” she said. Her eyes scanned the shelves to her right. “I’m just not sure if what I’m looking for still exists.”

For a long moment, the shopkeeper didn’t answer. Then he leaned forward more, his tone firm. “Things worth seeking rarely vanish,” he said. “They may change shape, hide in shadows, or demand more of you than you think you can give—but they do not simply cease to be. The question, daughter of Athena, is not whether it exists. The question is whether you are willing to keep looking when the path grows unclear.”

Annabeth’s head snapped back toward him, suspicion flickering through her gray eyes. She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m a daughter of Athena?”

The shopkeeper’s smile deepened, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tapped a finger lightly against the counter, as though considering how much to reveal.

“It isn’t difficult to see,” he replied. “Your eyes betray you—always measuring, always weighing the room before you fully step inside. That is Athena’s mark as much as any symbol you might wear.”

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably, though not entirely from distrust. “Observation skills don’t explain everything,” she said carefully. “You speak like you know me.”

At that, the man chuckled. “Names have power. And so do lineages. You wear yours like a beacon, even when you wish to disappear. I know more than most, Annabeth Chase.”

Her breath caught at the sound of her name, her gaze narrowing instinctively. “…Who are you?” she asked, her voice quieter now. 

The shopkeeper straightened, his hand brushing the pendant that hung from his neck. “I am called Xenios.” 

Annabeth’s brow furrowed, a crease forming between her eyebrows as her mind spun. “Wait,” she said slowly. She blinked, frowning even deeper. The familiar lessons from camp came—the Greek concepts of xenia, the rules of guest and host, the blessings and curses that could fall upon those who broke them. She knew the word, the meaning, but never had she expected to meet someone who embodied it. 

“I didn’t know hospitality was a god.” She shook her head. “I mean, I know what Xenios means. Xenia, right? Hospitality, guest-friendship. But… that’s not a person. That’s a concept. A principle. Not… not you.” 

Xenios tilted his head, amber eyes glinting like sunlight. “No?” He smiled. “My name is a title– a responsibility. I have been called to aid travelers such as you, to safeguard the weary, and to offer what the world often forgets to provide: welcome, guidance, and rest.”

Annabeth blinked. “And… what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?” she asked, frowning harder. “Are you saying you… watch over demigods? Or just me? Why here? Why now?”

“I watch over those who travel paths fraught with danger,” he said, gesturing toward the shelves around them. “You are not the first to stumble into my doors, and you will not be the last. But the timing of your arrival is not by chance.” He placed both hands flat on the countertop and leaned forward, “So tell me, Annabeth Chase, what is it that you need?” 

Annabeth swallowed, her throat tight. “I don’t know,” she whispered. 

Xenios’s smile widened just enough to be reassuring, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then we will begin with the first step,” he said simply. “Rest.” A shimmer of light rippled outward, and when it faded, a sleek machine sat between them, steam already hissing from within. With his other hand, he reached down and set a polished wooden box on the counter, opening it to reveal rows of neatly arranged teas. 

“What kind of tea would you like?” he asked, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

Annabeth stared, a little dazed. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious about tea.” His amber eyes glimmered with humor.

Her fingers brushed over the labeled sachets, hesitating before she picked one. Something floral and calming. She handed it to him, and he nodded approvingly. The machine whirred, pouring steaming water into a ceramic mug that appeared as if it had always been there. Annabeth accepted the mug, slipped the tea bag inside, and inhaled the curling steam. 

“You’re… interesting,” she said, half to herself, watching him with narrowed eyes as she settled onto a nearby stool.

Xenios lowered himself onto the stool opposite her, folding his arms on the counter. “You know,” he began, his tone conversational, “gods have not always been so careful with the laws of xenia. Hospitality is sacred—Zeus himself gave it shape. But I have been the one to enforce it when others forget.”

Annabeth tilted her head, curiosity pricking at her. “Enforce it how?”

“There are rules, you see,” He leaned back. “Rules even the gods find difficult to follow. Xenia is older than most of them realize. And yet, they break it more often than not.” He lifted a brow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ares has a poor track record, Hermes has been known to bend it in inconvenient ways… Zeus himself, when mortals are involved, is prone to lapses.”

Annabeth scoffed. “I expect nothing less,” she said dryly. “This doesn’t surprise me in the least.” 

Xenios leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Bad manners or worse. When Xenia is broken, consequences must follow. Some punishments are subtle, but others are lessons that linger for centuries.” He paused. “I’ve witnessed immortal beings teetering on the edge of breaking the code, and I have acted quietly to remind them what is at stake. The world is not patient with those who violate it, and neither am I.”

Annabeth shifted slightly on her stool, her fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “I suppose you’re right.”

Xenios leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the counter, amber eyes holding her gaze. “And what about you, Annabeth Chase?” he asked gently. “What is it you are searching for that you believe no longer exists?”

She frowned, swirling the tea in her mug, letting the steam curl around her fingers. “I don’t know,” she admitted slowly. “I’m not even sure what I’m really looking for, other than… answers. Closure, maybe. Or some way to make sense of the mess Percy and I are in.”

Xenios nodded, not pressing further. “Ah,” he said, his tone quiet, almost reflective. “Young Percy. He has found my shop before. He and the son of Hades.”

Annabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What? Percy and Nico?” she asked.

“Yes. They’ve appeared a few times. The first occasion, the son of Hades required medical assistance,” Xenios explained, his eyes distant for a moment, as if recalling the memory. “The second, Perseus was suffering from a panic that left him nearly lost to his own mind.”

Annabeth’s fingers tightened around the mug, the warmth doing little to calm the sudden surge of adrenaline in her veins. She set it down with a clink, eyes narrowing as she tried to fit the pieces together. “Wait,” she said. “You’re saying this place—your shop—shows up when in danger? And it’s not just random? It’s… protective?” Her brows furrowed. 

Xenios gave her a slight, patient nod. “The shop can respond to need. It appears at moments when fate teeters. Demigods often stumble into peril they cannot foresee. Sometimes, it is the universe, or perhaps forces older than the gods, that ensures they are given a chance.”

“It does not announce itself until the moment they need it most.” He continued. “And sometimes, even then, they resist. You are children of gods, after all. Pride, defiance… it runs in your blood.”

Xenios’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “The paths we choose, and the paths others take, are rarely as separate as we believe,” he said softly. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Sometimes, the threads of fate pull tighter than one can perceive. But if you are to find them, you must learn to follow, not simply to search.”

“Annabeth,” he said, his voice calm, “There’s something I want to show you. It’s something attuned to those who chase what seems lost. It is not a weapon, nor a map in the traditional sense, but a guide.”

Annabeth’s fingers twitched. “A guide?” she asked.

“It shows the way,” Xenios nodded. “It will point to what you desire most. But stay cautious— desire is often entangled with choices you have yet to make. The compass will not show the path you wish for, only the path that exists.”

Annabeth’s curiosity sparked, her mind racing with possibilities. Percy. The answers she needed. The tool was simple, but it promised direction, a way to cut through everything and find what had always seemed just out of reach.

Xenios gestured toward a small doorway to the side of the shop. “Go in there. It will become clear once you see it.” 

With a nod, Annabeth rose, abandoning her tea. She moved toward the small doorway, stepping into the adjacent room. It was quieter here, warmer, the air scented faintly with lavender and old wood. Her eyes immediately caught on a delicate, golden pocket-watch-like object resting on a low pedestal. The casing was etched with tiny patterns. She lifted the lid, revealing a compass inside. The needle twitched as though it were alive, sensitive to the rhythm of her pulse, and for a second, she felt the subtle pull. 

The bell over the shop door jingled suddenly, the sound carrying through the quieter side room. Annabeth’s head snapped up, her fingers curling tighter around the golden locket. Her eyes fell to the compass again. The needle spun in frantic circles before slowing, settling with its point aimed directly behind her. She frowned, confused. Meanwhile, in the shopfront, she could hear the muffled voice of Xenios. 

“Welcome back! What does the night— or should I say morning— bring this time, hm?” Xenios greeted.

Percy brushed past the words. He strode to the nearest shelf, sweeping a jar of ambrosia squares into his backpack. His movements were like a soldier stripping rations from a supply line. Without missing a beat, he tossed other items toward Nico, who caught them silently and packed them away.

“Just a room,” Percy muttered, his tone rough with exhaustion.

“Of course.” Xenios inclined his head smoothly. “Shall I prepare a meal?”

It was then that the soft tread of footsteps sounded from the back. Annabeth crossed the threshold, the golden locket still clenched in her hand. She began speaking before she even looked up, her voice steady with curiosity. 

“Xenios, are you sure this works—” Her words stopped short as she looked up.

The world seemed to split in two: her body stiff in the doorway, their figures frozen at the counter. Percy turned first, Nico a beat later. Shock flickered across all three faces before being buried under other emotions. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Xenios answered lightly, his chuckle slipping into the tension as though he had orchestrated it.

“What are you doing here?” Percy growled, his brows knitting into a scowl. 

Annabeth’s spine straightened, her own fury rising to meet his. “I could ask you the same!” Her eyes dragged over them both, dirty, sand-streaked, and worn thin from whatever they’d been doing. “And why are you covered in sand?”

“None of your business,” Percy snapped.

She rolled her eyes, letting her hand fall to her hip, her patience already thinning. “If you must know, the shop appeared to me when you two left me behind.” Her glare slid toward Nico, who stood beside Percy with an unreadable expression. “I was here first. So if anything, you’re interrupting my conversation with Xenios.”

Percy gave her a look like she’d just spoken another language. “Who the hell is Xenios?”

Her laughter came out cold. “Of course you wouldn’t know the name of the god who’s saved your ass twice now.” She gestured toward the counter, where Xenios lifted a hand from behind the counter and gave Percy a pleasant little wave, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Percy’s jaw tightened. “So what? And who says you were here first? We’ve been coming here long before you.”

Finally, Nico slammed his voice into the space. “Oh my— just stop it already!” His fingers curled tightly into his hair. “You’re making my headache worse. You’re both acting like children.” He exhaled, jaw tight. “I’m sure we can both stay here tonight and act like civil adults.”

Annabeth and Percy locked eyes across the room, neither giving an inch. The silence pressed heavily, broken only by the faint hum of the shop’s lamps.

“Fine,” Annabeth said at last, her voice like a snapped thread. “But I want my own room.” She turned her chin toward Xenios. 

The god inclined his head, his amber gaze flicking briefly toward Percy before resting on her again. 

Percy rolled his eyes, reaching out to snatch a bottle of water from the nearest shelf. He twisted the cap off and muttered under his breath, “Like anyone would want to room with you.”

Annabeth’s fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She took a sharp step forward, fire in her eyes, but Nico’s hand shot out. His glare was all for her, dark and unyielding. The message was clear: don’t push me right now.

Heat rushed into her cheeks from the sheer audacity of him. She continued forward anyway, catching sight of her backpack slouched by Percy’s feet. Without hesitation, she stepped past him, yanking it up by the strap. Her throat tightened with the force of swallowed fury, and she exhaled sharply through her nose. “Assholes,” she muttered. 

Percy didn’t move as she came near. 

“Right this way,” Xenios said, stepping out from behind the counter, the sound of keys jingling in his hand. 

Annabeth slung her bag over her shoulder, brushing past Percy without looking at him as she followed Xenios toward the back hallway. Behind her, Percy and Nico fell into step, the three of them trailing after the god as though fate itself had ordered them into line.

The hallway stretched narrow and dim, lamps burning low in sconces along the walls, each one glowing with an amber flame that never flickered. Annabeth kept her gaze straight ahead, refusing to look back, the compass locket still warm in her palm. Percy trailed close behind, his water bottle swinging loosely at his side, his silence louder than any insult he could’ve thrown. Nico stayed between them like a barrier. Xenios led them to the first door on the left. He placed his hand on the door handle, inserting and turning the key before opening it slightly.  “For you, daughter of Athena.” 

Annabeth nodded curtly, brushing past him into the room without sparing Percy so much as a glance. “Thank you,” she muttered. She dropped her bag against the wall, then pushed the door closed behind her with a loud slam.

Percy exhaled through his nose, a sound halfway between irritation and relief. “Finally,” he muttered.

Nico turned to him, glaring. “Do you ever shut up?” His voice was sharp, but his posture sagged, fatigue dragging every word down.

Xenios’s smile did not falter as he gestured toward the door next to Annabeth’s. “And yours is here. It will serve for the night.”

Percy stepped past Nico, pushing the door open with one hand, but he couldn’t resist throwing one last look at Annabeth’s closed door. His scowl deepened before he disappeared inside with Nico at his heels.

Nico stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, the steam still clinging to his damp hair. He had changed into clean clothes, hoping the simple act of washing away the grime of the day would help him feel a fraction lighter. But as he crossed toward his bed, the world shifted around him. Images flashed across his vision—snippets too quick to understand. Fragments of scenes, something urgent and unnerving, flickered behind his eyes. His knees buckled, and he stumbled sideways into the small side table. Books toppled, a lamp teetered, and the crash of it hitting the floor made him flinch.

“Shit.” Nico cursed under his breath, scrambling to set the table upright and stack the books again as quickly as possible.

Percy leapt from his bed. “What happened?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine! I’m fine. I just didn’t see the table,” he muttered repeatedly, eyes darting as if the flashes were still hovering just behind his eyelids.

Percy frowned, staring down at him, knowing something wasn’t right. 

“Everything’s fine, Percy,” Nico growled. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Percy rolled his eyes and turned to grab his backpack when there was a loud banging on the wall coming from Annabeth’s room. Percy blinked, then grinned faintly, mischief tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Percy,” Nico warned, straightening his back slightly.

“Relax,” Percy muttered, his grin widening. He kicked his shoes off, sending them thudding into the wall next to Annabeth’s room. His backpack followed with a loud thwack, spilling a few items across the floor. He began rooting through it, extracting clean clothes for his own shower, the sound of clattering supplies echoing in the room.

Annabeth, meanwhile, had had enough. Her fist pounded against the thin wall separating the rooms. “SHUT UP!” she yelled. 

Percy barked a laugh, unable to help himself, but Nico groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his face.

“You’re such an idiot,” Nico said flatly.

“Hey! We’re trying to sleep over here!” Percy called as he walked toward the bathroom, his voice carrying easily through the thin walls.

There was a sharp, deafening crash in reply. The entire wall shook as if something heavy had collided with it. Percy’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned, jaw tight, to see the faint outline of the wall trembling under the force. “Seriously?!” 

“Percy, stop!!” Nico snapped, the exhaustion taking over his body. He couldn't stand to be awake any longer.

“Fine, whatever,” Percy muttered almost to himself. He jabbed a finger at the bathroom door, swinging it closed with a soft click. 

Nico didn’t even stir as the sudden quiet settled around him. The exhaustion that had been gnawing at his body finally took over, dragging him down like a tide. He sagged deeper into the mattress. Within minutes, his breaths grew deep and even, and the tension that had twisted through his body all day melted into nothingness. 

Chapter Text

The hallway was dim as Percy eased the door shut behind him, careful not to wake Nico. For a moment, Percy just stood there, his back to the door, staring out at the long, empty corridor. A pang of envy hit him at how easily Nico could just collapse. He didn’t even bother trying to lie down himself. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant Python clawing his way back into his head. No thanks. 

His legs carried him forward before he even realized he was pacing. Each time Percy walked past Annabeth’s door, his steps slowed. He glanced at it, jaw tightening, then pushed himself forward again, restless energy carrying him back and forth. He hated the way the sight of her door made something twist inside him. 

It’s just a door. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the strands, trying to shut down the flood of thoughts. But the more he fought it, the more it circled back—her stubbornness, her arrogance, the way she always had to dig into things that weren’t hers. His hand twitched at his side. Why couldn’t she just stay gone? 

He stopped at the far end of the hallway, pressing a palm to the wall as if to steady himself. Anger twisted inside him. Her presence was a constant reminder. 

He dragged in a breath and muttered to himself, forcing his mind elsewhere. The riddle clawed its way up, pulling him back into Python’s shadow. Python’s voice lingered at the edge of his memory. He repeated it again and again like he could wrestle meaning from the words if he just said them enough times. Sun. Sand. Circles. Eyes to the sky. The words looped in his head.

“Northwest winds will guide you where sun kisses sand…” His voice was quiet and rough. He resumed pacing, the words falling in rhythm with his steps, hoping that if he spoke them aloud, it would make more sense. “Where walls rise in circles, made by careful hand. A house without doors, and eyes to the skies—within its heart, seek what patiently lies.” He frowned, dragging a hand down his face, repeating the words with various tones and speeds. 

Behind her door, Annabeth stirred. The faint rhythm of his footsteps had pulled her from sleep, and now his voice carried through the thin walls. Blinking in the dark, she pushed herself upright, her adrenaline rising as she recognized his voice. 

She slipped silently from the bed, feet brushing the cool floor as she crept closer. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, but she didn’t turn it. Instead, she pressed her ear to the wood. Through the barrier, she could hear him—pacing, muttering, the annoying scrape of his shoes against the floorboards. The words carried enough for her to catch fragments: “sun kisses sand… walls rise in circles… eyes to the skies…”

Her brow furrowed. He wasn’t just muttering nonsense; he was working through something. It sounded like a riddle. 

She wasn’t stupid—she could connect the dots. They were in New Mexico. Nico had told her the story of their encounter with Python the first time here. And if Percy and Nico were still chasing something, still moving like this, then they’d spoken to him again. 

She tried to picture it: Python. The image in her head came out half-formed and monstrous, a coil of scales and power that seemed impossible to face. And yet Percy and Nico were carrying his words like they were orders. What had they agreed to? What did Python want with them? With Percy? The thought of him throwing himself on a suicide mission made her heart sink.

Annabeth sank onto the cool floor, her back to the door. The wood was warm against her shoulder where she leaned, her head tipped slightly as she listened to memorize the riddle for herself. She repeated them silently as if imprinting them onto her brain. She pictured maps, deserts, and ruins. The phrasing tugged at a memory, something she’d read once about ancient structures in the Northwest. It was obvious to her the riddle was referring to New Mexico, which is good for them.

Walls rise in circles, made by careful hand. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. A great house. Stone rings. No doors, but with an open ceiling—eyes to the skies. A place built for watching the heavens. The realization hit her all at once, stealing her breath. “Oh—” The sound escaped in a sharp gasp before she could stop herself. Her hands shot up, covering her mouth.

Percy froze the instant he heard it. A long, irritated sigh escaped him. “I know you’re listening,” he muttered. 

On the other side, Annabeth pressed her palms against the floor, her mind running through possible outs. She could stay quiet. Pretend to be asleep. Maybe he’d keep pacing, maybe he’d let it drop. But this was Percy, and even if he wasn’t the same boy she remembered, she knew better than that. With a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself up. The old wooden floor creaked under her steps as she moved toward the door. Slowly, carefully, she cracked it open.

And there he was.

Percy stood only a few feet away, tall and rigid, his broad frame filling the dim hallway. The black hoodie hung loose on him, but the shadows beneath his eyes made him look more unrecognizable. His face was blank, completely void of emotion, but his green eyes cut straight through her as if daring her to move. This was definitely not the same Percy she once knew. 

He didn’t speak. Just stared. The silence pressed, stretching out until her chest ached. Finally, Annabeth sighed and pulled the door open wider, stepping into the hallway’s dim light, leaning against the frame. “Fine,” she said evenly. “I was listening.”

Percy’s brows drew together, suspicion darkening his gaze.

She folded her arms, lips twitching despite herself. A faint smirk tugged at her lips.

His eyes narrowed immediately. “What’s so funny?” he asked sharply.

She gave an easy shrug, gaze sliding away from him like she wasn’t rattled. “Nothing. Just… funny how I figured out your little riddle in less than five minutes.”

Percy’s eyes lit with sudden heat. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as if he were holding back something far harsher than words. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe her—again. Always one step ahead, always finding a way to wedge herself into things she didn’t belong in.

Fucking incredible.

Percy’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Annabeth tilted her head slightly, her smirk fading. “And yet,” she said quietly, “you’re the one pacing in a hallway muttering riddles you can’t solve.”

He glared at her, green eyes like broken glass under the dim light. “Then tell me what it means.”

She scoffed. “No.”

His jaw set hard, and his expression shifted from disbelief to anger. “No?”

Annabeth straightened, her arms still crossed. “No. Because I’m not just going to hand this to you. I want you to admit that you’re not going to get anywhere without me.” 

Percy scoffed and turned his head, looking down the hallway as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. “I’ve gotten by the past year without you just fine.”

Her frown deepened. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, you don’t look fine.”

His shoulders stiffened.

“You can pretend you don’t need me,” she continued, her voice lowering but not losing its edge, “but you know I’m right.”

His eyes flicked back to her. “And you think you’re the answer?” 

“I think,” Annabeth said, her voice steady, “I’m the difference between you making it and you not. You know it, even if you hate admitting it.”

The silence between them stretched. Finally, Percy exhaled through his nose, a sharp, defeated sound. He dragged a hand down his face and muttered, “Go home.”

Annabeth blinked at him, but she didn’t move. “I’m not leaving. So don’t think—” 

“Fine,” he growled, voice rougher now. “Whatever! I don’t care anymore. But don’t think for a second this changes anything.”

Her arms lowered slightly, her posture loosening just enough to show she’d won this round. “Why would I think that? You’ve already made it clear there’s no chance of going back.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t let him cut her off again.

“I don’t expect you to be the same.” Her arms uncrossed now, her hands loose at her sides. “I just want you to remember that you’re not invincible, Percy. And it’s not a weakness to let someone stand next to you.”

His eyes flicked away from hers at the sound of his name. His expression faltered, a storm shifting behind his face. For a second, he almost looked like he might bite back with the same venom he’d been carrying since she first laid eyes on him again. But instead, his gaze fell, shadowed by the bruises under his eyes, his voice a little more than a whisper.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” 

“Wrong?” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You think pushing me away keeps me safe? You think it makes a difference?” She pushed, her voice even. “That’s not strength, Percy. That’s fear.”

Percy didn’t answer. He held her stare like his life depended on it, like if he let go for even a second, everything inside him would spill out. 

Annabeth didn’t move either. The hallway between them felt like a battlefield. She could see his jaw working, the faint twitch in his fingers at his sides, the way his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. She waited for him to say something, anything, but he gave her nothing—no snark, no bite, no shield of words—just that glare.

Finally, he broke their staring contest, stepping past her, shoulders tense. He reached his door, fingers closing around the handle but not turning it right away. For a second, he just stood there with his back to her. His head dipped slightly, dark hair shadowing his face. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet.

“Don’t look at me like I’m still worth it.”

He turned the knob, opened the door, and slipped inside without another glance. The click of the latch echoed in the space, leaving Annabeth standing in the hallway, her throat tight with words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

Percy’s room was a pocket of darkness, the blackout curtains swallowing the early morning light. The quiet was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and Nico’s heavy breathing. He entered the room until the mirror by the entrance caught his eye. He paused, standing stiff as he stared at his reflection. He blinked. His jaw tensed, hands clenching into fists before he finally tore his eyes away from the mirror. 

He let himself fall onto the bed, limbs sprawled, the cold sheets almost a comfort. The mattress sagged under him, the darkness of the room pressing in like a quiet accomplice. He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes, and murmured a prayer to Python for a dreamless sleep. 

Annabeth returned to her room, her body still buzzing from the confrontation. She leaned against the door for a moment, letting herself exhale in the quiet. Her mind was racing, untangling the moments from the night, replaying the riddle in her head, and thinking about the way Percy had looked at her. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, her hand reaching for the golden locket she had left on the nightstand, turning it over in her fingers. She sank back against the pillows. The compass lay beside her, a comfortable weight in her palm. She stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet envelop her. The room smelled faintly of lavender.

She didn’t understand him anymore. Her heart still ached with the remnants of their argument, but there was a small, stubborn part of her that refused to let the night end unresolved. Annabeth turned the chain of the locket around her fingers until it bit faintly into her skin. 

Why had Percy given in so quickly? He had resisted her presence with every ounce of bitterness he could summon, but the second she pressed harder, he’d relented. Maybe he didn’t care enough anymore to fight. 

She hated the way he carried himself now, sharp edges where there had once been soft. The way his eyes burned with a kind of fury she’d never seen in him before—it was too uncontrolled. And when she pushed, when she saw him teeter on the edge of that rage, it made her wonder if he’d already lost to it.

Rolling onto her side, she slid the compass under her pillow. Her frown deepened as she stared into the dark. This new version of him was someone she would have to learn to face on his terms. He’d made it clear there was no going back.

Her heart twisted painfully at the thought, the ache blooming until it filled her whole body. She shut her eyes tightly, commanding herself not to cry, but the strength she’d clung to all day finally slipped from her grasp. The silence of the room and the weight of everything pressed down harder than she could bear. Tears slid silently across her cheeks, soaking into the pillow as she tried to steady her breathing. Each drop felt like another admission of grief. She turned her face into the pillow, pressing hard against it as if she could trap the sorrow there and hide it from herself.

Her fingers curled around the compass beneath the pillow. Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under, her tears drying against the fabric, leaving her in a restless, uneasy sleep.

Percy didn’t stir in his sleep. For the first time in months, sleep held him deep and uninterrupted, untethered from the usual dread that latched itself to his dreams. There was no need for a tonic. No jolting awake in the middle of the night. No sword clenched in his hand. 

His eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and then confused. It was quiet. He lifted his head; the pillow creased against one cheek. His arm was thrown over the mattress, where it had fallen hours ago. He pushed himself up, disoriented, and looked around the room. He sat there, breathing steadily, like the air in the room hadn’t felt that clean in ages. Percy rubbed his face with both hands. His body still felt like lead, but there was no ache behind his eyes. No exhaustion threatening to pull him back under. He’d actually slept a full night.

Relief slammed into him so fast it almost knocked the wind out of him. His throat tightened, and for a split second, Percy thought he might cry. He didn’t, but he let himself sit in that tiny flicker of peace. He let his hands fall from his face and tipped backward, the mattress groaning softly under his weight. His head hit the pillow and, for a moment, he just stared at the ceiling. The faint glow seeping through the blackout curtains traced vague patterns above him, but he didn’t bother to focus. 

He thought about getting up—maybe dragging himself into the shower, maybe packing again like he always did when rest refused to linger—but his gaze slid over to Nico’s bed. The younger boy was still sprawled out, completely knocked out. 

Percy let his body sink deeper into the mattress, shoulders easing into the sheets. He shifted once, twice, actually finding a position that felt comfortable—something he couldn’t remember the last time he managed. The heaviness of sleep pulled at him again. His eyelids drifted shut, and before he could stop it or even worry about what waited in the dark, he slipped back under. A dreamless sleep claimed him, pulling him down gently, and Percy let it.

Annabeth woke to silence. For a long while, she laid there staring at the faint outline of the ceiling through the darkness. The air felt still. There were no distant footsteps from the hall, no murmured voices from the other room. It was strange and almost unsettling after everything that had happened. 

She turned her head toward the clock— nearly dinner. With a soft sigh, she sat up, the sheets rustling quietly. Her body felt heavy but rested. She ran a hand over her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and listened again—still nothing.

She slipped her feet to the floor and stood, the boards creaking faintly under her weight. Curiosity tugged at her as she opened the door. The hallway was dimly lit, the air cold with the faint scent of herbs and candle smoke. She hesitated, glancing once toward the closed door of the room next to hers. Nothing. 

Turning back, she locked the door and headed for the bathroom. The shower was small but warm. She let the water run over her face for a long time, trying not to think. By the time she stepped out, the mirror had fogged completely. She wiped a circle clean with her palm and stared at her reflection. She dried her hair with a towel and slipped into fresh clothes.

The silence pressed in again as she moved about the room, but this time it wasn’t unwelcome. She left her hair down to air dry as she packed the rest of her things. She grabbed the small golden locket that held the compass and placed it over her head, tucking it away beneath her hoodie. 

She pulled the door open and quietly stepped into the hall. She passed Nico and Percy’s door and hesitated. A familiar dread stirred in her chest. For a moment, her mind jumped to the worst possibility that they’d left her again. She could picture it too easily. Her hand twitched toward the door, almost knocking, almost demanding proof they were still there. But she stopped herself at the last second, her fingers curling into a tight fist at her side.

If they had ditched her again, she’d find them on her own. She did it before; she could do it again. She drew a slow breath through her nose and forced herself to take a step back. She tried not to read too much into it and moved on. 

Each step she took echoed faintly. The deeper she went, the more the halls changed. At first, they were simple— walls lined with shelves and paintings that shifted slightly when you weren’t looking. But as she walked farther, the air grew cooler, and the décor shifted from warm golds to muted blues and silvers. 

She passed a few open doors that had rooms that seemed to change every time she blinked. One looked like a small kitchen, another a large library, she mentally noted to check out when she had the time. Another was a courtyard with faint stars glittering above it, though she was sure she was still indoors. 

She stopped when a faint metallic sound reached her ears. Following it, she found an open door at the end of the corridor. The glow inside was warmer than the rest of the hall, tinged with the scent of metal and oil. Annabeth stepped closer, leaning lightly against the doorframe.

Inside, Xenios sat hunched over a workbench, sleeves rolled up, a pair of thin spectacles perched on his nose. The room was a carefully controlled mess—piles of half-mended relics, tools neatly arranged by size, weapons of all kinds hanging from the walls.

And yet, despite the sheer amount of stuff, the room was spotless. Every corner gleamed, every object seemed precisely where it was meant to be. The light from several lanterns flickered across the surfaces, giving the entire room an almost golden glow.

Annabeth knocked gently on the doorframe to announce herself. “Didn’t expect to find you tinkering.”

Xenios looked up, a smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Ah, the architect wakes.” He gestured for her to enter. “I trust you slept well?”

She stepped in, looking around curiously. “Well enough,” she said, then nodded toward the scattered tools. “What is this place?”

He chuckled, setting down the piece of bronze in his hand. “A workshop of sorts. I fix what others discard. Weapons, relics—whatever finds its way here.” He leaned back slightly, regarding her. 

Annabeth’s eyes drifted across the room again, catching on the delicate craftsmanship of each item. Her gaze fell to the golden compass resting around her neck. She hesitated before pulling it free and holding it out to him. “Speaking of broken things,” she said, flicking open the lid, “I think this doesn’t work.”

“Doesn’t work?” Xenios repeated, sounding amused. “Impossible.”

“I’m serious,” Annabeth said, pointing to the unmoving needle. “It hasn’t shifted since I first opened it. I thought it was supposed to show me something.”

The god’s laugh filled the small space. He put down his tools and turned fully toward her. “Not broken,” he said, tapping the compass lightly. “Just waiting.”

“For what?” she asked, frowning.

“For you to know what it is you’re truly looking for,” Xenios said, his tone almost teasing. 

Annabeth opened her mouth to object, ready to argue that the compass had to be broken, but the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall cut her off. Both she and Xenios turned as Percy stopped abruptly at the doorway, gripping the frame like he’d sprinted the whole way.

“Nico—he’s not waking up.”

Annabeth’s pulse jumped. “What do you mean, not waking up?”

“I’ve tried everything.” Percy’s tone was sharp. “Water, shaking him, screaming—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Nothing’s working.”

She turned instinctively to Xenios. The god raised a brow, and without a word, he crossed the room to a tall dresser pressed against the wall, pulling open drawers one by one. The sound of wood sliding and glass clinking filled the space.

“No. Not this one,” he muttered under his breath, shuffling through the second drawer. “Ah—here.” From the third drawer, he plucked out a small vial filled with a shimmering white liquid. He turned and held it out to Annabeth. “Try this,” Xenios said. 

Without wasting another second, she spun on her heel and pushed past Percy toward the door. But before she could make it three steps into the hallway, Percy’s hand shot out to block her path.

“You don’t have to come,” he said sharply. “Just give me the vial—I’ll do it.”

She glared up at him, her patience already thin. “No. If something is actually wrong with Nico, you won’t know what to do with it.”

“I don’t need your help,” Percy bit out.

Annabeth scoffed. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here asking for the damn vial.”

Something flickered across Percy’s face—anger, or exhaustion—but before she could read it, his jaw tightened. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. She barely had time to gasp before he shoved her hard against the wall of the hallway, his grip locking her in place.

 “Percy!” she hissed, struggling against his hold. “What’s wrong with you?!” 

For a moment, their faces were only inches apart. Those sea-green eyes she used to know looked different. He didn’t answer her. He just reached with his other hand, prying the vial from her fingers, his touch rough and unsteady. 

As soon as he had it, he let go. 

Annabeth stumbled forward, catching herself on the wall, her heart pounding. Percy didn’t look back. He just turned away, shoulders tense, and strode down the hallway. 

Annabeth pressed her palm to her wrist, the skin already reddened where he’d grabbed her. She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to steady her breathing before she pushed off the wall and went after him.

Percy reached the door to his room and shoved it open, slamming it shut behind him before Annabeth could catch up. He pressed his back to the door for a moment, breathing hard, eyes darting to the still form on the bed. The air in the room was heavy, the kind of silence that made his skin crawl. Nico lay exactly where he’d left him—flat on his back, hair plastered against his forehead, the shadows beneath his eyes stark even in the dim light. His lips had gone pale, almost colorless.

“Damn it,” Percy muttered, pushing off the door and crossing the room. He crouched beside the bed, reaching out to touch Nico’s face. His skin was colder than usual. He shook him once, twice, but there was no reaction.

“Come on, man,” Percy said, almost pleading now. “Don’t do this.” He fumbled for the vial, uncorked it with his teeth, and without hesitation, forced the liquid between Nico’s lips. It wasn’t graceful. He had to tilt Nico’s head back, his hand trembling as he coaxed the tonic down his throat. Some of it spilled, streaking down the side of his jaw, but Percy didn’t stop until the vial was empty.

He set the glass aside with a rough clink on the nightstand and sat back on his bed across from Nico’s. The seconds dragged out slowly. He ran a hand through his hair, his leg bouncing uncontrollably as his gaze stayed locked on the boy.

Finally, Nico moved. His whole body jerked like something had just shocked him awake. He shot upright, gasping violently, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts, like he was drowning on air. Percy jumped forward, catching him before he could fall off the bed.

“Nico—hey, hey! It’s okay,” Percy said quickly, one hand gripping the back of Nico’s head to steady him. “You’re fine. You’re—”

Nico coughed so hard it cut him off, his body shaking with it. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. Percy tried to get a better hold on him, his heart hammering against his chest.

On the other side of the door, Annabeth’s voice rang out sharp and panicked. “Percy! Let me in! What’s happening?” The doorknob rattled. 

Percy didn’t answer her. His eyes were locked on Nico, whose breathing had turned ragged again, but this time from panic. He looked terrified—like whatever he had seen before waking was still clinging to him.

“What the hell happened?” Percy demanded, shaking him gently.

Nico didn’t respond. He blinked, disoriented, then lurched forward suddenly, tearing himself free of Percy’s grip. He threw off the covers, stumbling toward the bathroom. Percy barely had time to react before the door slammed shut behind him.

The retching started almost immediately. Percy froze where he stood, listening to the harsh, sickening sounds from the bathroom. Then it stopped. Percy held his breath, waiting for another sound. Then came a dull thump—the unmistakable sound of someone hitting the floor.

He shoved the bathroom door open; the lights inside were dim. Nico was crumpled by the corner of the shower, one arm limp at his side, the other propped weakly against the wall as if it had been his last effort to stay upright. His skin was deathly pale.

Percy dropped to his knees beside him, gripping his shoulder. The boy stirred, his voice faint. 

“I’m fine…” His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, like he wasn’t really seeing Percy.

Percy exhaled sharply. “You’re not fine.” Before he could say more, Nico winced. His hands shot up to clutch his head, fingers digging into his hair. His body tensed, curling in on itself as a low, pained sound escaped him. Percy’s breath hitched.

“Nico, talk to me.”

“It’s—” Nico’s voice broke into a strangled whisper. “They won’t—stop—”

“Who?” Percy demanded, but the question hung unanswered.

Nico’s breaths came short and uneven, like he was fighting something Percy couldn’t see. His eyes darted around as if he were looking past Percy—past everything. His lips trembled, whispering something under his breath that Percy could barely make out.

Percy leaned closer. “Nico, what are you saying?”

“Them,” Nico rasped. “The dead—they’re louder here. I can—feel them. All of them.” 

Before Percy could respond, the pounding on the door started again.

“Percy! Open the damn door!” Annabeth’s voice was impatient. “What’s going on in there?!”

He clenched his jaw, trying to think, but the banging wouldn’t stop. His head throbbed from the noise and the tension building in his chest. “Gods—” he muttered, shoving himself up and striding to the door before he said something he’d regret. 

As soon as he yanked it open, Annabeth was there, eyes wild. “Where is he?” she demanded, pushing past him before he could answer.

“The bathroom,” Percy said curtly, already turning back. She didn’t wait—just stormed down the short hall and froze when she saw Nico slumped on the floor. Annabeth dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his cheeks. “Nico,” she whispered. “Hey, look at me.” She turned his face gently toward her, and for a second, his eyes fluttered open. But before she could say anything else, his whole body convulsed.

Annabeth backed away. “Put him under the shower,” she ordered.

Percy blinked. “What?!”

“Now!” Her tone left no room for argument.

“Damn it.” Percy moved fast, slipping an arm under Nico and hoisting him to his feet. The kid was trembling even though the air was warm. Percy hauled him up, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the shower. The second he turned the knob, freezing water poured down, splattering across the tiles. He focused, willing the water away from himself so it only hit Nico.

The cold water cascaded over Nico’s skin, soaking his dark hair until it plastered against his forehead. He gasped, and his shivering intensified. 

Percy frowned as he steadied him with a hand on Nico’s shoulder. 

Annabeth stood a few feet back, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “What’s happening to him?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Percy didn’t look at her. “I don’t know,” he said almost to himself. The shower hissed softly, and before he realized it, the water had shifted temperature— first to lukewarm, then warmer, until steam began to cloud the small bathroom. 

Nico’s trembling started to ease. His breathing steadied little by little, and his muscles loosened beneath Percy’s grip. His head leaned against the shower tile, eyes closed, and he drew in a shaky breath that didn’t sound so ragged this time.

Percy exhaled quietly, almost in disbelief. “It’s helping,” he muttered.

A sudden sound behind them broke the tension. Percy spun around fast, water still running over his sleeves, as Xenios leaned casually against the doorway,

Annabeth gasped, her heart lurching. “Gods—”

Percy’s glare was immediate. “Do you knock?” he snapped. 

“My apologies,” Xenios said smoothly, his tone unbothered but his eyes scanning the scene. “I don’t mean to intrude. I only came to check in after the commotion.”

He stepped into the room, the divine shimmer around him dimming as he took on a gentler, almost mortal presence. “I should have warned you,” he said with a sigh. “Vomiting is a side effect of the potion I gave you.”

Xenios smiled faintly.  “However, it seems the worst of it has passed.” He glanced back at Nico, his expression softening. 

Percy exhaled through his nose, shutting off the water. He stood and turned to face the god squarely. “He said he could hear and feel the dead,” Percy said. “That it was too loud. What does that mean?”

For once, Xenios didn’t have a ready answer. His brow furrowed, and his usual ease gave way to unease. “That…” he began slowly, “is not a good sign.”

Annabeth frowned. “You mean he’s hallucinating?”

“No,” Xenios said quietly. “Not hallucinating. His connection to the Underworld runs deep—too deep. The line between life and death for him is thinner than most. It’s possible that, through overuse of his power, that line has begun to blur.”

Percy’s jaw clenched. “So you’re saying his mind’s—what, fracturing?”

Xenios met his gaze evenly. “Scrambled,” he said at last. “Unreliable. The dead are reaching for him, and he’s reaching back, perhaps without realizing it.”

There was silence before Xenios spoke again. “He’s going to be out of it for a while—disoriented, perhaps even confused. His mind needs time to realign itself. Make sure he gets proper rest.”

“How do we stop it from happening again?” she asked quietly.

Xenios’s expression hardened. “That I do not have an answer to.” His gaze lingered on Nico for a moment longer before he straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his hands. “I’ll have a meal prepared for you in about thirty minutes,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay another night. Longer if needed. At least until he’s well enough to travel.”

Annabeth nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Percy didn’t respond. He stood motionless beside Nico, his eyes fixed on the boy’s pale face, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Xenios studied him for a moment, something almost sympathetic flickering in his expression. And with a quiet exhale, he vanished in a faint puff of smoke, leaving behind the faint scent of ash and lavender.

Annabeth took a step toward Percy, hesitating before she spoke. “Percy—”

“Get out,” he said flatly.

Annabeth blinked, caught off guard. “What?” 

He turned then, and the look in his eyes made her freeze. His jaw was tight, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “I said get out.”

“Percy, I’m not—”

“Please,” he interrupted, but there was nothing soft about it. 

Annabeth’s frown deepened. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, her mouth parting with another word on the tip of her tongue. But then she stopped. His glare met her stare, and whatever fight she had left crumbled. She swallowed hard, nodded once, and quietly made her way to the door. It shut behind her with a dull click, leaving Percy alone in the dim room.

For a while, he didn’t move. Then, he shut the water off and slowly knelt beside Nico again. His skin was clammy, but his breathing finally evened out. Percy pressed a hand to his shoulder, closing his eyes as he willed the water to drop from Nico’s body. 

He slipped an arm under Nico and hauled him up as gently as he could. Nico groaned, his head rolling weakly to the side, a soft hiss escaping his lips from the motion, but he didn’t fight.

“Easy,” Percy muttered. He carried him the short distance to the beds and set him down, pulling the covers over him. 

Percy stood there for a second longer before lowering himself to the edge of his own bed. He dragged both hands down his face, elbows resting on his knees, and let out a long, heavy sigh.

The hours slipped by quietly, the world beyond Xenios’s temple swallowed by the night. The air outside was still, save for the occasional whisper of wind brushing against the stone.

Annabeth ate alone. The meal had been simple: fresh bread, olives, and a stew, but she’d barely tasted any of it. Now, hours later, she sat in the library—the same one she’d passed earlier, before everything had spiraled. The room was dim but warm, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched toward the ceiling, each one stacked with weathered books and scrolls. 

She’d spent nearly an hour combing the shelves, looking for anything that might help Nico. The search had yielded only three volumes referencing Hades, and even those were so old their spines cracked under her fingers. She carried them to a plush armchair near the window, where a soft pool of lamplight spilled across the pages.

The first book had been a disappointment—mostly myth retellings and vague accounts of mortals who’d descended into the Underworld and never returned. The second was filled with fragmented theology, tangled explanations of death’s balance and the nature of shadows. She’d started skimming halfway through, scanning lines without really absorbing them.

When that, too, failed her, she sighed and dropped it onto the growing pile beside her. Her eyelids were heavy now, her day catching up to her. The thought of curling up and sleeping in the chair was tempting.

That left the third book. Annabeth hesitated before pulling it into her lap. The cover was darker than the others, the surface scuffed and faintly warm under her touch. She flipped it open anyway, thumbing through the yellowed pages. The text was dense, the ink uneven, and her eyes began to glaze over as she skimmed through more of the same—rituals, offerings, meaningless superstition.

Then she turned a page and stopped. Her breath hitched as her eyes landed on the words Shadow Travel. Instantly alert, she flipped back a few pages to find where the section began. She leaned closer, pushing a strand of hair from her face, her fatigue forgotten as she began to read.

Shadow Travel, the art of traversing through darkness and the spaces between, is not without consequence. The shadows themselves are not void—they are memory. They remember all who have fallen within them.

Annabeth turned the page, her fingers trembling slightly.

Those who practice the craft do not merely pass through darkness; they wade through the echoes of death. Each journey pulls fragments from the traveler’s past, or worse—from the spirits that dwell within the void. The untrained mind will hear whispers. The weakened heart will see faces. The cursed will begin to answer back.

Her stomach twisted. The more she read, the heavier the words felt.

Continued exposure binds the soul to the Underworld’s rhythm. The traveler may find their body weakened, their mind scattered—haunted by fragments of what lies beyond the mortal veil. Prolonged use may even allow spirits to manifest in the waking world, drawn to the traveler’s lingering connection.

Everything Xenios mentioned earlier made sense now. Nico’s constant use of shadow travel, being the son of Hades, had all compounded, pulling him deeper into something that wasn’t meant to be abused. Her throat tightened. She closed the book with a soft thud, the sound echoing faintly in the empty library. The lamplight flickered beside her, and for a long moment she just sat there, staring at nothing. Her mind felt heavy, her thoughts tangled. She rubbed her temples and finally pushed herself to her feet. Every muscle in her body ached. 

The corridor outside was dim and quiet when she stepped out. The torches burned low, their flames muted, as if they were half-asleep. Annabeth’s footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor as she made her way down the hall.

When she reached Percy and Nico’s door, she slowed. The room was silent. For a second, she thought she heard something, but it was probably just the torches crackling. She lingered anyway, staring at the closed door. She sighed, forcing herself to move on.

Her room was cold when she entered. She closed the door quietly and locked it out of habit. She kicked off her shoes, stripped out of her sweater, and moved through the dim space like someone half-dreaming. Her bag sat by the nightstand, and she reached into it, pulling out the small compass. It gleamed faintly in the lamplight, worn smooth along the edges from being handled too many times. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding it in her palm, watching the needle stubbornly refuse to move.

Her thumb traced the rim absently. “What’s your problem?” she murmured under her breath, as if the compass might answer her. She thought she knew what she wanted. She wanted to help Percy. To save Nico. To understand what was happening before it got worse. That should have been enough direction for any tool meant to find truth or guidance. But the needle stayed still, mocking her certainty, or maybe exposing that she didn’t have any.

Annabeth lay back against the sheets, still holding the compass loosely in her hand. The ceiling above her blurred as exhaustion pulled at her mind. She turned the compass toward the light one last time, watching it catch on the faint glow before letting it fall gently onto her chest. Maybe it didn’t move because she didn’t truly know what she wanted. 

Annabeth turned onto her side, the sheets rustling softly beneath her. Her eyes drifted to her wrist—the one Percy had grabbed earlier. The skin there still bore a faint red mark, almost gone now, but visible enough to remind her of the way his fingers had wrapped around her. She remembered the look in his eyes. The familiar kind of look that used to belong to someone else. The sharpness in his voice when he’d demanded the vial, and the way he’d slammed her against the wall as if she were the enemy.

Her throat tightened at the memory. She lifted her other hand, brushing her fingertips lightly over the fading mark. It didn’t hurt anymore, not physically. But there was something about it that got under her skin.

Annabeth frowned, rolling onto her back again. Her mind replayed every moment from earlier: the snide comments, the clipped replies, the way he dismissed her as if she didn’t matter. The Percy she knew used to challenge her, but never like this. Never to wound.

But then her mind shifted to the night before, to that quiet, broken moment when he’d stood in the doorway.

“Don’t look at me like I’m still worth it.”

His words echoed through her head. Annabeth exhaled, shaky and uncertain. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to hate him for what he’d become—for the way he’d shoved her away, for the way he’d made her doubt herself, doubt him. But even now, lying alone in the quiet, she couldn’t quite untangle the anger from the ache underneath it.

She’d always been able to read Percy, his thoughts, his moods, his heart. But now, she couldn’t even see where he began and where the darkness ended. It was getting harder to remember the boy who’d once made her feel safe, who’d made her believe in things like hope and loyalty and home. Harder to hold on to something that kept slipping further and further away every time she reached for it. Harder to find reasons to love him.

Her eyes drifted shut. The last thing she saw before sleep took her was the faint reflection of the lamp in the compass glass, flickering like a pulse that refused to fade.

Nico’s eyelids fluttered open to a faint, silvery light slipping through the curtains. He laid there for a long moment, disoriented by the quiet. His head throbbed, but at least the voices were gone. His gaze drifted slowly around the room, his body feeling like lead against the mattress, and for a second, he wondered if he was still dreaming. The chair was empty. The floor clean. The air still. There was no sign of anyone.

He tried to piece together what had happened, but his memory was a blur of flashes and fragments. Sharp pain throbbing through his skull. Voices whispering things he couldn’t understand. Hands gripping him. Cold water. Then nothing. His mind recoiled from the memories like they were too heavy to hold.

With effort, he turned his head and stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the faint cracks. The silence pressed in again, almost comforting. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the quiet until now. 

And then the door creaked open. 

Nico turned his head, just enough to see Percy stepping inside. He stopped mid-step, startled, his sea-green eyes locking on Nico’s open ones. Neither of them said anything. Percy looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his hair a damp, tangled mess. Nico didn’t need to ask if he’d slept; the answer was written all over him.

Finally, Nico closed his eyes again, frowning faintly as his voice came out hoarse and soft. “What happened?”

Percy exhaled, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw tightened as he looked at Nico like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Percy said.

Nico's frown deepened, closing his eyes as he tried to force fragments into something tangible. The ache in his head pulsed with the question. He could feel the shadows' residue lingering at the edges of his mind, a dull pressure that made everything hazy. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, voice tight. “I remember… pain. And then… nothing. Or maybe it was all nothing. I can’t tell what was real.”

Percy straightened slightly but didn’t move from the doorway. His expression softened for a fleeting second before hardening again, a mixture of concern and exasperation etched into his features. “You’ve been in and out for two days.” 

Nico’s fingers dug into the sheets, flexing against his disorientation. “Two days?” he groaned. 

Percy sighed and pushed off the wall. He reached over to the small side table and grabbed one of the water bottles. The plastic crinkled in his hand as he walked over, holding it out toward Nico. 

“Yep,” Percy said, almost casual, though his eyes stayed sharp on Nico. “Couldn’t figure out what was wrong with you. You kept muttering stuff about lost souls and to leave you alone.”

Nico’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t answer. He took the bottle from Percy’s hand, his fingers still shaky, and let it rest in his lap without opening it. The cool plastic pressed against his skin. He stared down at the sheets, glaring at the wrinkles. 

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.  He knew what Percy was talking about—those fragmented whispers, the pleading voices that wouldn’t stop. The words lost souls felt too close to what he’d just lived through.

He didn’t remember exactly what had happened when he was awake. But the dream—or whatever it was—lingered. He could still feel it under his skin: the suffocating dark, the endless noise, the sensation of being trapped in a place where no one could reach him. It reminded him too much of Tartarus. That same weight of despair. That same feeling that the air itself wanted to drag him down.

When he finally looked up, Percy was still watching him. Hard. His expression wasn’t angry, exactly, but searching as if he could somehow see through Nico.

Nico hated that look. Their eyes locked, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Nico could almost hear Percy’s thoughts: What aren’t you telling me?
He looked away first, breaking the stare.

He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to add more to Percy’s already impossible burden. The older demigod looked exhausted—like the weight of everything was starting to crush him. So Nico just sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room, and pushed the covers aside. His legs trembled as he stood, the room tilting slightly before steadying. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he muttered.

Percy’s brow furrowed as Nico made his way toward the bathroom. “That’s it?” he asked, disbelief and irritation lacing his tone.

Nico didn’t turn around. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and a moment later, the sound of running water filled the silence. Percy stood there for a few seconds, frowning at the closed door. He could tell Nico was hiding something; his instincts screamed it, but for once, Percy didn’t know how to push without breaking something fragile. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, muttering under his breath as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He cast one last glance at the closed bathroom door before heading out, letting it slam shut behind him with a dull thud that echoed through the quiet hall.

 The air inside Xenios’s temple was cool, calm, and quiet—but inside his head, there was nothing calm about it. He was angry. Angry at everything. Python—for forcing this quest on him. Nico—for shutting him out, pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. Annabeth—for showing up, for pushing her way into something that wasn’t her fight anymore, for looking at him like he was still the person she used to know.

And the gods. Always the gods. His jaw ached as he ground his teeth. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jean jacket, shoulders tense, glaring down at the polished floor. He could feel his emotions tightening, building up in his chest until it was almost hard to breathe. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. 

A small, bitter thought crossed his mind, wondering if he could just slip out when no one was looking. Take off in the middle of the night and finally be alone. He caught himself before the thought could linger too long. “Stupid,” he muttered under his breath.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he looked up, his pace faltering slightly. There was light spilling into the hallway from an open doorway ahead. It was warm and golden, the last rays of the setting sun filtering in. Curiosity tugged at him, dulling the edge of his anger just enough to make him move closer. 

He reached the doorway and leaned slightly to peer inside. The sight that met him was both familiar and irritating. 

She was pacing by the tall window, a thick book clutched in her hands. Her brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as she muttered to herself between turns of the page. The evening light framed her hair in a faint halo of gold. 

Percy leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her for a few seconds, just long enough to notice how tightly she was gripping the book as if she could squeeze answers out of it.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched. He couldn’t help himself. “You know,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the quiet, “most people sit down when they read. But I guess pacing dramatically works.”

Annabeth startled, her shoulders tense as she spun around, snapping the book shut in reflex. She held it close for a moment, then tucked it behind her back like a guilty kid caught sneaking around. 

She hadn’t expected to see him, here, of all places. In the last two days they had been staying here, Percy made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Meals came and went with barely a word between them. If she saw him at all, it was in passing—a fleeting shadow in the hallway, a figure on the balcony before dawn. And now, suddenly, he was standing in the doorway like nothing had happened, arms crossed, looking like he’d been born to irritate her. 

Annabeth swallowed hard, unsure what to make of it. She forced her face into something neutral, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her startled. She steadied herself. “You’re one to talk,” she said finally, her voice even but sharp enough to sting. “I didn’t think you read anything that didn’t come with pictures.”

Percy’s smirk faltered into something between amusement and irritation. “Funny,” he muttered. He tilted his head, the faintest ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Always finding ways to live up to your name, Wise Gir—” He stopped. The familiar nickname was already halfway out of his mouth. 

The words caught in his throat, his jaw tightening. The air between them seemed to thicken. He frowned, looking away, his smirk fading as fast as it had come. 

Annabeth felt her heart skip a beat, the faint echo of that name ricocheting through her mind. For a moment, her fingers tightened around the book’s spine. She looked anywhere but at him, pretending to study the nearby shelf, pretending the silence wasn’t pressing in around them.

The sound of the wind slipping through the window was the only thing filling the space. Percy finally exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring at her as if she’d done something wrong—like she was the one who had brought up something better left unsaid. He tsked and turned away, staring at the shelves like the books might offer him a reason to leave.

“Nico woke up,” he said finally, his voice flat and hard.

Annabeth blinked, her head snapping up. The shift in topic caught her off guard, but she forced herself to match his tone. “He did?” she asked quickly. “Is he okay?”

Percy shrugged, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes flicked toward the floor. “He’s alive,” he said with an edge of cynicism. 

Annabeth hesitated, her fingers tightening on the book behind her back. She opened her mouth, her voice softer now, careful. “Actually, I was reading about something that—”

But Percy was already pushing off the doorframe. He didn’t even wait for her to finish as he turned to leave entirely. 

Annabeth’s words died in her throat, trailing into the silence he left behind. She glared at the spot Percy had been standing a moment longer before exhaling sharply, forcing her irritation out with the breath. She turned back toward the window, then down at the book still clutched in her hands.

It wasn’t just any book—Ancient Civilizations of the Americas, a dense historical-geographical text she’d dug up from the villa’s library earlier that day. She’d been combing through it for hours, tracing mentions of ruins, forgotten temples, and mythological parallels between native legends and Greek accounts. She wasn’t reading for leisure—she was researching for him, and more specifically, where this so-called quest might be taking him and Nico.

Annabeth sank back into the armchair near the window. She flipped through several sections until she reached a fold-out map covered in faded ink and hand-drawn terrain lines. Her eyes scanned over the deserts, mountains, and plateaus until they landed on a small, shaded area in the region of modern-day New Mexico.

Her pulse quickened. Her theory wasn’t just plausible anymore. It was right. A grin tugged at her lips as she traced the area with her fingertip, her heart racing with the thrill of confirmation. “Got you,” she whispered under her breath. Without wasting another second, she snapped the book shut and stood, tucking it under her arm. She hurried toward the door, now in search of Xenios. 

Annabeth nearly tripped over herself as she hurried down the hallway, the excitement of discovery still buzzing through her. She clutched the heavy book, already rehearsing what she was going to tell Xenios. But halfway down the corridor, something strange happened. A faint pulse thrummed against her chest. She stopped abruptly, frowning. Her hand went instinctively to the chain around her neck, fingers brushing the small bronze compass that rested there.

It pulsed again. Her brows knitted together as she carefully lifted it from under her shirt. The metal was warm, faintly humming with energy. She hesitated before flipping it open. The needle twitched. Not a steady spin, but at least it moved just enough for her to see the shift. She blinked, holding her breath as if even that might stop it. But it stayed there, vibrating faintly, as if it were fighting to point toward something unseen.

Then, with a sigh, she shut the compass. She didn’t have time to chase another mystery, not with everything else going on. Whatever the compass wanted, it would have to wait. Annabeth tucked it back beneath her shirt and continued her pace.

She found Xenios in one of the villa’s open rooms, standing near a long wooden table scattered with papers, scrolls, and an open trunk of supplies. The late afternoon light poured through the tall windows, dust motes dancing in the air.

“Xenios,” she called, approaching slowly with a slight bow of her head.

Xenios looked up from his work, grinning when he saw her. “Ah, Annabeth. You look brand new.” 

She blushed, avoiding his gaze. She cleared her throat before continuing. “I need some things,” she said, handing him a small folded piece of paper. “Supplies, mostly. Food for travel, a few extra clothes, maybe a map—anything you can spare.”

He took the list with a gentle nod, scanning it before setting it aside. “I’ll have it ready within the hour,” he said warmly. “Going somewhere, I assume?”

Annabeth smiled faintly, though her heart was already beating faster. “Yeah,” she said.

Xenios didn’t question her. He just gave a nod of approval and disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms, humming softly as he went. 

Alone again, Annabeth set the heavy book on the counter and flipped it open to the map she’d marked. The worn parchment showed the old territories of ancient tribes across the Southwest, all intersecting around one particular region. Her fingers lingered on the page, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. It fits. Everything pointed there.

Then, just as she was reaching for her pen to take another note, the same pulse from before. She froze, her hand hovering midair. Quickly, she reached up and pulled the compass free again. Her stomach twisted in anticipation as she flipped it open.

This time, the needle didn’t twitch; it spun. Once, twice—a complete 360—before stopping sharply, pointing west. For a long second, she just stared at it. Then she took a hesitant step to the side. The needle moved with her, tilting slightly to keep pointing the same way. Her chest tightened. She turned again, this time in a full circle. The needle followed her every move, always snapping back toward the same direction.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. She turned the compass over in her hands, half expecting it to glitch or stop. But it didn’t. The needle held firm. 

It was working. Finally. 

Xenios reappeared with a soft whoosh, a faint shimmer fading from his shoulders as he stepped back into view. In his hands was a sturdy backpack, the seams reinforced and the straps newly mended with golden thread that glinted faintly. He placed it carefully on the counter beside Annabeth. 

Annabeth’s face lit up. She reached for the bag, tugging at one of the straps before looking up at him. “This is perfect,” she said. “Thank you—really, thank you.”

Xenios waved her off, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hospitality is my nature. Besides, it’s been far too long since anyone used these things for a proper journey.”

Annabeth hesitated then, glancing at the book still open on the counter. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before blurting out, “Would it be alright if I… took this with me?” 

She held it up quickly, as if afraid he’d scold her. “It’s just—there’s some information I’ll probably need on the road. But if you’d rather I didn’t, I can just memorize the pages instead.”

Xenios looked at her in mock sternness—arms crossed, brow furrowed like a disapproving teacher—but then his expression melted into a chuckle. “Annabeth, my dear, if I said no, you’d probably sneak it out anyway.”

Her lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“Of course you may take it,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “That library is more alive than I am. Books come and go. Travelers leave them behind, take new ones with them. I’ve read every last page in there a thousand times over.”

That made her grin. “Then… maybe I can trade you something for it.”

“Oh?” Xenios’s eyes brightened, intrigued.

Annabeth slipped the strap of her satchel off her shoulder and crouched down to unzip it. “I have a book from home,” she said, digging through the contents until she found the paperback wedged between her journal and a half-finished pack of gum. She held it up proudly—Greek Architecture Through the Ages. 

“It’s not ancient or anything,” she said, “but it’s about the evolution of Greek structures. You might like it.”

Xenios’s eyes crinkled with genuine delight as he accepted the offering, turning it over in his hands. “Ah, the mortal world’s take on our old designs,” he mused fondly. “Yes… Yes, I think I will enjoy this very much.”

“Then we’ve got a deal,” she said, tucking the new volume into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“Indeed, we do,” Xenios said with a satisfied nod, placing her book reverently atop the pile of scrolls beside him. “A fair exchange of knowledge, just as it should be.”

Annabeth smiled, her fingers brushing the compass at her chest again, feeling its faint pulse beneath her shirt. The weight of the backpack settled comfortably on her shoulders, and for the first time in a long while, she felt more grounded. She was ready.

Chapter Text

Percy shoved another folded hoodie into his bag and tugged at the zipper. The faint light from the window cast pale shadows across the room, and the wind howled outside, pushing flurries of snow against the glass. He could see his breath fogging faintly in the air. It was colder than it had been since they’d arrived.

Nico was sitting on the edge of his bed, lacing up his boots with slow, careful movements. He still looked pale, but the color had started to return to his face. He hadn’t said much all morning, and Percy didn’t push it. He was just glad the kid could stand without swaying.

Xenios had appeared earlier that morning, cheerful as ever, offering them warmer clothes “fit for mortals foolish enough to wander the snow.” Percy had accepted without argument. He’d pulled on a new pair of jeans, clean and intact (a rare luxury), and a black puffer jacket layered over his hoodie. The clothes were thick and lined with a soft material. 

Nico was dressed head-to-toe in his usual black ensemble: black jacket, black scarf, even black gloves. The only color came from the faint silver of the Stygian ring around his finger. 

Percy adjusted his hood so that it rested over his jacket, just as a knock echoed through the room. He sighed. “Of course.”

He opened the door to find Annabeth standing there, snowflakes caught in her hair and clinging to her scarf. She looked… different. Her long blonde hair was braided neatly over one shoulder, and she wore a dark navy-blue snow jacket over a cream-colored sweater, with a thick white scarf around her neck. Her backpack hung from one hand, the other tucked in her coat pocket.

For a moment, Percy just stared. His eyes flicked from her face to the bag, then back up. “What do you want?” he asked.

Annabeth met his stare evenly, her breath visible in the cold air between them. “I’m coming with you, am I not?”

Percy stared at her for a few seconds, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to decide whether this was worth the argument he knew was coming. Finally, he let out a slow exhale and muttered, “Yeah… about that—” He broke their staring contest and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking anywhere but her.

Annabeth’s expression darkened immediately. “You said I could come with.”

“I know,” Percy said, frowning, “and now I’m saying you can’t.”

She glared. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to be involved in everything I do!” he snapped, voice rising before he turned away, heading back into the room to finish his packing.

Annabeth followed right after him, ignoring the look of shock on Nico’s face. “You won’t last two days out there! You don’t even know where you’re going!”

Percy scoffed without turning around. “Yeah, and you do?”

“Yes, actually, I do.” She dropped her backpack with a heavy thud, arms crossed. “And I would’ve told you that the other day if you didn’t just rudely leave in the middle of me talking!”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, because you know everything.”

Annabeth let out a sharp groan. “You are so stubborn!”

Nico blinked between them then muttered under his breath, “Gods, it’s like watching a divorced couple.”

“Stay out of it,” Percy said flatly.

Nico shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on getting in it.”

Annabeth stepped closer to Percy, lowering her voice. “You think I want to follow you around for fun? You don’t even realize what you’re walking into!”

He stopped stuffing his bag for a moment. “Oh, so now you’re doing me a favor?”

“I’m trying to help!” she shot back.

Nico stood up from the bed and groaned. “Quests are usually done in threes,” he interrupted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And right now, we’ve got two. Adding Annabeth doesn’t just make sense—it actually makes things easier. If she knows where we’re supposed to start, that’s better than wandering blind.”

Annabeth, emboldened, leaned forward slightly. “Exactly.”

Percy shot him a sharp look. “Since when did you become the voice of reason?”

Nico shrugged. “Since I realized getting yelled at by you both isn’t helping anyone.”

Percy let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it. You think this is just some game we can plan perfectly. It’s dangerous. I don’t need you getting in the way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I can handle myself. ”

Percy ground his teeth, clearly torn between his stubborn pride and the undeniable truth in her words. The room grew tense again, Nico watching silently, knowing this argument would either end now or drag on until they all ran out of daylight. Finally, Percy exhaled sharply, a reluctant acknowledgment escaping him. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Fine?” Annabeth repeated, eyebrow raised.

“Fine!” Percy barked back. He shoved the last of his supplies into his backpack with more force than necessary, muttering under his breath. 

Annabeth’s shoulders relaxed, her rigid posture easing as she reached for her own backpack. She offered a faint smirk just enough to acknowledge the small victory, and slung her bag onto her shoulders. 

Nico glanced between them, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shifting slightly. Percy shot him a glance, dark green eyes flickering with irritation. Then, with an exhale, he adjusted his backpack straps and muttered, “Let’s just go.” 

They said their goodbyes to Xenios in the quiet of the villa. “Good luck,” he said, “Take care of each other and be smart. The world out there isn’t as forgiving as these halls.” 

The sun was nearly gone, fading behind the outline of the distant mountains. Twilight bled into the sky in streaks of gold and gray, casting long shadows through the villa halls. They didn’t step outside just yet, waiting for the last threads of daylight to wane fully. The cold that clung to the coming night was already sharp against their faces, and the stillness made every creak of the floorboards feel amplified.

In a shadowed corner of the hall, Nico extinguished the torchlight affixed to the wall. Darkness swallowed them almost entirely, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath. They each nodded to one another, silent confirmation that they were ready. Nico’s hands gripped both Percy and Annabeth’s wrists firmly. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the shadows curled around him like a living thing. 

The transition was swift and disorienting, the shadows bending around them, whispering and twisting with every step. But they quickly realized the journey wouldn’t last long. With a jarring abruptness, they were dropped onto the street, only a few blocks from Bed and Blessings. The cold instantly bit through their clothes, and the dim light of a nearby streetlamp illuminated the desolate surroundings. 

Nico collapsed immediately, knees hitting the icy pavement as his hands clawed at his head as though it might split apart. His breath came in ragged, visible bursts, and his scream pierced the quiet evening air.

Percy and Annabeth scrambled to his side, panic flaring in their chests.

“Nico!” Percy shouted, leaning over him.

Nico’s eyes squeezed shut as flashes of dark, incomprehensible images tore across his vision. The world around him blurred, distorted by the cacophony of screams and whispers, grotesque and impossible to ignore. Percy and Annabeth’s voices were swallowed by the chaos. He curled tighter, wrapping his arms around his head in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the assault of memories.

Annabeth glanced at Percy, her jaw tight. “Help me get him off the sidewalk. We can’t have him like this in the middle of the street.”

Percy didn’t argue. He crouched down and, together, they guided Nico a few steps over to the side, pressing him gently against the brick wall of a nearby building. Annabeth lowered herself in front of him, her knees brushing the cold concrete. She reached for his hand, taking it gently at first, then gripping it tightly.

Percy stayed behind, close enough to help if Nico flinched, his eyes scanning the street for any unexpected movement, his hands still half-ready to intervene. 

Slowly, Nico’s breathing began to even out. The harsh gasps softened into measured inhales and exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. His fingers loosened around Annabeth’s hand, the tightness in his grip relaxing. Even his head, which had been pressed painfully against his knees moments ago, lifted slightly, resting against the wall with less strain.

Annabeth kept her hand in his, murmuring reassurances, letting him sink into the calm she was creating for him. The flashes of dark visions, the gnawing pain, the sounds of the dead—all of it began to recede, leaving a fragile stillness in its place. Nico’s eyes fluttered open, clear now, and he blinked slowly, as though coming back from a long, harrowing journey.

Percy exhaled quietly, almost in relief, his jaw unclenching as he finally allowed himself a fraction of ease. He leaned against the wall beside them, watching Nico regain a semblance of composure. Annabeth’s thumb continued its soothing motion over his hand, her other hand resting lightly on his arm. 

Annabeth stayed crouched in front of him, still holding his hand, her eyes searching his for any sign of understanding. “Nico,” she began softly, “what just happened?”

Nico rubbed at his temples, still trembling slightly, trying to gather his thoughts. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, voice low and uneven. “It was… like—I was somewhere else… and the shadows… they were… loud. And the dead… everywhere. I couldn’t…” His words stumbled over themselves, the images and sensations he’d experienced refusing to form into coherent sentences.

Annabeth listened intently, her fingers tightening slightly around his. Even though his explanation was scattered and barely coherent, to her it made perfect sense. She recalled her research, the hours spent poring over books, and the subtle, quiet warnings she had found. She exhaled slowly. 

“Nico… listen to me,” she began. “This is the result of shadow traveling. You’re seeing things because your connection to the Underworld is stronger than anyone else’s. And with everything you’ve been through, especially all the time you’ve spent in the Underworld, your mind is… it’s… absorbing everything.”

Nico blinked at her, trying to make sense of her words. Annabeth continued, her voice quiet. “The act of shadow traveling can bring up past trauma and whispers from the dead. You felt the pull of all of it hitting you at once. You were overwhelmed because your mind couldn’t separate the here and now from what you’ve lived through and seen in the shadows.”

She paused, letting him process it, then added with a frown, “It doesn’t help that you suffered through Tartarus. The shadows… they hold memories.”

Nico’s eyes met hers, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, as if trying to comprehend the impossible. The horror on his face made it clear he understood.

Percy’s glare didn’t soften as he crossed his arms. “And how do you know that?” 

Annabeth closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, trying her best to keep her composure. “I read it in a book,” she said with an edge to her tone, “in Xenios’ library. It explains the dangers of shadow traveling, especially for someone like Nico.”

Percy tsked, shaking his head, and turned away. “So… you’re saying he can’t shadow travel?” His tone carried frustration.

Annabeth let go of Nico’s hand and stood. “He needs to slow it down,” she said firmly. “The effects aren’t permanent, but he needs to be careful how much he uses it. To answer your question… no. He can’t shadow travel recklessly, not unless you want him to die from insanity.” She fixed Percy with a glare. 

Nico pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for support. “That’s… that’s so fucked,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “I can’t believe my dad never told me this.”

Percy barked a short laugh, glancing at Nico. “Why would he?”

Nico’s eyes narrowed at Percy, but stayed quiet. Annabeth’s gaze softened slightly at Nico but didn’t waver from Percy. “We just have to be smart about this,” she said quietly, more to Nico than Percy. 

Percy’s jaw tightened as he glanced between Nico and Annabeth. “So… what are we gonna do now?” His eyes scanned the deserted street around them. The snow swirled in the dim light of street lamps, the cold biting through their jackets. 

Nico took a tentative sip from the water bottle Annabeth handed him. “Well,” he said finally, “we can’t walk. We can’t shadow travel.”

Percy did a quick 360, taking in their surroundings. A blue Jeep Wrangler sat down the street, parked haphazardly under a flickering streetlight. For a moment, he dismissed it as just another distraction, but the thought kept coming back, stubborn and logical. He shot a glance at Nico, who raised an eyebrow knowingly. Percy nodded slightly, silently confirming his suspicion. Nico sighed, knowing there was no changing his mind.

Annabeth, observing the exchange, stiffened. Her eyes narrowed as she pieced together their plan. “We are not stealing a car,” she hissed, leaning closer to Percy, her tone sharp with disbelief.

Percy threw his hands up in frustration. “What do you want us to do, Annabeth? Walk? Freeze our asses off?” 

Annabeth’s glare sharpened, arms crossing over her chest. 

“You wanted to tag along,” Percy jabbed, “doesn’t mean we have to do everything by the book.”

Annabeth clenched her jaw but didn’t back down. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, “but I’m driving.”

Percy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Like hell—”

Nico growled, cutting him off. “Let her fucking drive. I’m not doing this in twenty-degree weather.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, but he clenched his fists and didn’t argue further. 

Annabeth pulled out a small pin from her braid and approached the Jeep, thankful for the shadows that hid them. She crouched by the driver’s side and worked quickly, picking the lock. Percy kept watch, scanning the street, while Nico’s eyes followed her every move.

“Since when did you know how to pick a lock?” Nico asked with skepticism in his voice.

Annabeth smirked without looking up. “You forget I was living on the streets for a while before I made it to Camp.”

Nico nodded slowly, clearly impressed. The lock clicked open, and Annabeth grinned, unlocking the rest of the doors. She slid into the driver’s seat, Nico in the front passenger seat, and Percy tossed his backpack onto the floor in the back.

The interior smelled faintly of leather and warmth, surprisingly clean. Annabeth went to work on the panelling under the driver’s side, messing with the wiring until the engine roared to life.

She grinned at Nico, and then her expression faltered before turning serious. “Don’t tell anyone I just did that.”

Nico leaned back, shrugging. “Who am I gonna tell? The dead?”

Percy sat in the middle of the backseat, his shoulders back, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He stared out the tinted window, his reflection blending with the dark city lights outside, a scowl pulling at his features. He didn’t say a word as Annabeth clicked her seatbelt into place and shifted the car into drive.

For the first few miles, no one spoke. The hum of the engine filled the silence, mixed with the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers brushing away flurries of snow.  

Finally, Annabeth broke the silence. “Nico, open my backpack,” she said, her tone slightly tired. “There’s a map inside. The modern one.” 

Nico reached behind his seat, grabbed her backpack, and unzipped it. He rummaged through the contents before pulling out the folded map. Unfolding it over his lap, he frowned. The paper was creased and a thick red marker traced a path from the town they’d just left to somewhere miles away.

“Where are we going?” Nico asked, glancing up at her.

Annabeth tightened her grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s… hard to explain,” she answered.

Nico’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. After a moment, he found their spot on the map again and said, “Take the next exit on the right.”

Percy didn’t move or look up. He just watched the reflection of the exit sign glide over the glass. The road grew darker, framed by leafless trees and patches of snow. Annabeth’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror briefly — Percy still wasn’t looking at either of them. Nico kept the map open, tracing the line with his finger.

After another fifteen minutes of quiet driving, the road stretching endlessly ahead, Percy finally shifted. The leather creaked softly beneath him as he turned onto his back, stretching out across the backseat. One leg remained propped up on the seat while the other hung lazily toward the floor. He slipped an arm under his head as a makeshift pillow, the other coming to rest on his stomach.

The motion was slow, almost reluctant, like he was fighting off exhaustion but finally giving in. Within minutes, his breathing evened out. His face softened in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, the usual tension in his jaw fading as sleep took hold faster than he probably expected.

Annabeth noticed when his reflection shifted in the rearview mirror. For a moment, she kept her eyes on the road, pretending she hadn’t seen. But the quiet was so thick that her gaze flicked back again. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, and his fingers twitched slightly, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t quite rest.

Annabeth let out a quiet sigh. Without saying anything, she reached over and turned up the heater a little.

They’d been driving for nearly an hour and a half, the road stretching endlessly through the snowy dark. The heater hummed quietly, keeping the Jeep comfortably warm as the snow thickened outside. Nico’s head lolled slightly against the window, his eyes heavy but restless.

“Hey,” he muttered, his voice low. “Can we stop soon? I kinda need a break.”

Annabeth glanced at him. “A break?”

“Bathroom. And maybe an energy drink,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I need something after—” He cut himself off, not finishing the thought.

Annabeth hesitated, her grip on the wheel tightening slightly. But when she glanced in the rearview mirror, Percy was still fast asleep in the backseat, his head turned toward the seat. She nodded once. “Okay. Next gas station we pass.”

Five minutes later, the glow of fluorescent lights appeared up ahead — a small gas station surrounded by empty road and snow-covered fields. Annabeth turned into the lot, the tires crunching lightly over packed ice. She parked in front of a gas pump and shut off the engine. The silence that followed was almost too quiet.

Annabeth turned her head to look at Percy again. His face was relaxed, his hoodie slightly bunched around his neck, hair falling into his eyes.

“He’ll be fine,” Nico said, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Annabeth gave a small nod. “Yeah. I know.”

The cold air bit at them as soon as they stepped outside. The gas station lights buzzed faintly, and the warmth of the Jeep quickly vanished behind them as they headed for the convenience store’s glowing entrance.

Inside the car, the quiet lingered for a long moment until Percy’s eyes opened. He sat up slowly, rubbing one eye, trying to remember where they were. When he looked around, the empty seats and stillness hit him — they’d stopped at a gas station. Leaning forward, he squinted through the windshield until he spotted Annabeth and Nico inside the store, silhouettes under the buzzing lights. He sighed, sinking back against the seat before his gaze fell on the empty driver’s seat.

For a moment, he debated, then slid into the front seat, adjusting it so his legs fit comfortably. The leather was still faintly warm. He crossed his arms, let his head fall against the headrest, and shut his eyes again. Just for a minute, he told himself. Just until they came back.

Then a voice cut through the quiet—calm yet dripping with disdain.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Percy’s eyes snapped open. His muscles tensed instantly. 

Athena sat in the passenger seat like she’d been there all along, perfectly composed, a goddess draped in quiet authority. The dim light from the gas station outside reflected off her bronze armor, giving her an ethereal glow that didn’t belong in a mortal car. Her presence made the air feel heavier.

Percy stiffened, jaw tightening. “Of course,” he muttered bitterly, leaning his head back against the seat. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get five minutes of peace.”

Athena’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Peace,” she repeated, the word tasting like mockery. “You mistake destruction for purpose, Perseus. My daughter’s brilliance will not be wasted cleaning up after your recklessness.”

Percy turned his head, glaring at her. “Funny. You didn’t seem to mind when that ‘recklessness’ saved Olympus. Twice.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her gaze sharpened. “And what has it brought you since?” she asked evenly. “You think you’re acting with purpose, but I see only a boy dragging others down with him. If you insist on leading Annabeth toward ruin, then I will make sure you walk that path alone.”

Percy’s hands clenched in his lap. The word alone hit deeper than he wanted to admit. His throat felt tight, but his anger burned hot enough to mask it. “You don’t get to threaten me,” he said lowly. 

Athena tilted her head slightly, the faintest shadow of a smile ghosting across her lips. “You misunderstand,” she said softly. “This isn’t a threat. It’s a certainty.”

Her eyes flicked toward the gas station window, where Annabeth and Nico’s silhouettes still moved under the harsh fluorescent lights. “She is my legacy, Perseus. I will not see her buried next to yours.”

“I didn’t ask her to come,” he snapped. “I didn’t force her into this.”

“And yet she is here.” Athena studied him. “You were supposed to stay away from her.”

Percy stared straight ahead, jaw tight. “I know,” he ground out.

“You’ve already lost yourself to darkness once. Tell me—how many more times do you think she’ll chase you before she realizes there’s nothing left worth saving?”

Percy’s breath hitched, but he masked it with a scoff, staring out the windshield. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Athena regarded him for a long moment, the silence growing suffocating. When she finally spoke, her tone was almost gentle, but it chilled more than her anger. “No,” she said, “I know exactly what you are. A tragedy in motion.”

Percy turned to snap back—but the passenger seat was empty. He rubbed at his face with one hand, dragging it down to his mouth, whispering harshly to the empty air, “You don’t have to remind me.”

Outside, the gas station door chimed. Annabeth and Nico returned, unaware of the goddess who had just vanished into the night.

Percy rolled down the window as Annabeth approached. “Your turn to sit in the back,” he said, teasing. 

Annabeth stopped mid-step, her brow knitting. For a second, she looked like she might argue, but then she just let out a quiet sigh through her nose and shook her head. “Fine,” she muttered, opening the back door and sliding in without another word.

Nico didn’t say anything either. He walked around to the passenger side. The moment he climbed in and shut the door, though, his shoulders tensed. Something was off.

Nico cracked open his Monster energy drink with a hiss and took a sip. As the carbonation burned down his throat, his eyes flicked toward Percy. The older demigod had both hands on the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed straight ahead at nothing.

Nico frowned slightly. “You okay?”

Percy didn’t look over. “Yeah,” he said too fast. “Just tired.”

Nico leaned back in his seat, watching him out of the corner of his eye. He could still sense the faint echo of it in the air, the unmistakable chill that followed a god’s presence.

He glanced toward the backseat. Annabeth was adjusting her seatbelt, completely unaware. So it was just him who felt it. He looked back at Percy, who turned the car on and shifted into gear. Nico’s fingers drummed against the can. “Right,” he muttered under his breath. 

The hum of the tires filled the silence as the car rolled steadily down the dark stretch of road. Annabeth sat forward in the backseat, the map spread neatly across her knees, her small flashlight casting a soft white glow over the paper.

“Turn right up ahead,” she murmured, her tone focused.

He nodded without a word, turning the wheel smoothly. The headlights carved through the snow-dusted darkness. For the next several minutes, she guided him through the empty backroads — a left turn here, a short merge there. Percy listened, following every direction without question, without his usual comments. 

When they finally hit a long, straight stretch of highway, she let out a slow exhale. “Stay on this one,” she said, clicking off the flashlight. “It’s about sixty miles before we have to exit again.”

“Got it,” Percy muttered.

Annabeth sat back in her seat, folding the map carefully before setting it beside her. The faint hum of the car and the steady rhythm of the road filled the quiet. She turned toward the window, eyes tracing the ghostly outlines of trees and dark hills beyond the glass. The snow had finally stopped, leaving the sky wide and open — scattered with stars that barely glimmered through the winter haze.

She reached toward the dash vent beside her, twisting the knob until the heater blew directly on her hands. The car’s warmth fought against the cold that clung to her, but it still wasn’t enough. She crossed her arms and sank further into her seat, resting her head against the cushion.

Her mind drifted to the phone she’d left charging on her dorm desk at New Rome. She pictured the light blinking with dozens of missed messages. Reyna’s name flashing over and over. Her brows furrowed. She could already imagine the questions waiting for her: the reports, the demands for explanations, the disappointment.

She scoffed under her breath, staring at her reflection faintly mirrored in the glass. No one would understand. Not why she came. Not why she had to. Her fingers tightened slightly against her arms.

Percy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. The conversation with Athena still pressed against the back of his mind. His jaw tightened unconsciously as he stole a glance at Annabeth, the orange glow of the dashboard lights reflecting off her profile. He blew out a slow breath through his nose and focused back on the road ahead. 

The second time he stole a glance, their eyes met in the reflection, her gray eyes locked directly on him. For a moment, neither of them looked away. The headlights of an oncoming car passed, flooding the Jeep’s interior with a brief, white light. Percy’s grip on the wheel tightened once more before he turned back to the road, his jaw set.

Annabeth’s expression didn’t change, but she drew in a slow breath. Her jaw clenched, and she turned sharply toward the window again. 

After about another hour of driving, the dark stretch of highway ahead blurred slightly as Percy’s focus wavered. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to stay awake. His head tilted back against the seat, and for a heartbeat, he thought he could manage a few more miles. Then the world wavered, and the car jerked sharply.

“PERCY!” Annabeth’s voice cut through the fog of his exhaustion. Nico’s sharp gasp followed right after.

He snapped awake, eyes wide, gripping the wheel as the car swerved. Percy’s heart pounded as he straightened the car, breathing ragged. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. 

“Maybe we should find a place for the night,” Nico blurted from the passenger seat. 

“Albuquerque’s coming up in the next couple of exits,” Annabeth said quickly, her voice edged with panic. 

Percy exhaled, still gripping the wheel, and Nico nodded. “Yeah… yeah, let’s do that,” Percy said, voice tight.

Fifteen minutes later, they spotted a small, modestly lit motel. Annabeth guided the car into the lot, and Percy parked in front of the office. They stepped out into the cold. Snow dusted the pavement, and the chill bit at their faces, but they didn’t linger. Inside, they were shown to the last available room. Two queen beds, a couch, and a faint smell of bleach and carpet cleaner greeted them.

Percy dropped his backpack on the floor by the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You take the bed,” he said flatly to Annabeth.

She hesitated, adjusting her scarf. “You sure? I can take the couch—”

“Just take the damn bed,” Percy snapped. 

Annabeth muttered a quiet thanks and removed her jacket. 

Nico collapsed onto one of the beds immediately, adjusting his position until he was comfortable, his breathing evening out almost instantly. 

“How do you drink energy drinks and still manage to fall asleep?” Percy muttered, shaking his head.

Nico grunted, uninterested in answering, already halfway back into slumber.

Percy grabbed a pillow from Nico’s bed and a spare blanket from the closet, tossing them onto the couch. He laid down, stretching out as much as the narrow space would allow. His gaze flicked to Annabeth as she pulled off her sweater, settling in for the night in a simple grey t-shirt. Percy felt a strange pull to look away quickly.. He turned onto his side, back facing both Annabeth and Nico, silently wishing for sleep to claim him completely.

The morning light crept through the thin motel curtains. Annabeth stirred, eyes fluttering open to the faint glow of dawn. For a while, she lay still, cocooned in the warmth of the blanket, the chill of the air beyond it warning her not to move. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse through a narrow gap in the curtains. The world beyond was blanketed in white — fresh snow had fallen overnight, smoothing over the parking lot and dusting the edges of the cars. 

Annabeth sighed quietly, glancing toward the clock on the bedside table. 8:03 a.m. She might as well get up, she thought. She needed to find a store to grab a few last minute first aid items. The thought of trekking to the nearby store wasn’t appealing, but it was necessary.

She sat up slowly, pushing back the covers and wincing as the cold air bit at her exposed skin. Careful not to wake the others, she grabbed her bag and slipped into the bathroom. The faint buzz of the flickering light filled the space as she dressed, trading her sleep shirt for a thick sweater, jeans, and her snow jacket. She unbraided her hair, letting her curls fall loosely around her shoulders before wrapping her white scarf snugly around her neck.

When she emerged, the room was still dim and quiet. Nico hadn’t moved, his arm dangling off the side of the bed. Percy was on the couch, his back to the room, blanket half-slipped off him. She hesitated by the door, debating if she should leave without saying anything. She wouldn’t be gone long — twenty minutes, maybe thirty. Still, a small part of her knew it was better to let someone know.

Annabeth walked over to the couch and crouched slightly, reaching out to touch Percy’s shoulder. Her fingers pressed gently against the fabric of his hoodie. His muscles tensed beneath her hand, and his eyes barely open, unfocused.

“Hey,” she whispered softly, keeping her voice low. “I’m just going to the store. I’ll be back soon.”

Percy blinked slowly, eyes fixed on the couch cushion rather than her. “Whatever,” he mumbled, voice muffled and heavy with sleep.

She lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching him sink back into sleep before pulling her hand away. She exhaled quietly and straightened. She slipped on her gloves and shouldered her bag before quietly stepping outside into the cold morning air.

Annabeth stepped out of the small pharmacy, the bell above the door jingling faintly behind her. The blast of cold air met her immediately and she tugged her scarf higher over her nose. The thin plastic bag in her hand crinkled as she adjusted her grip. 

The snow had thinned into a dusting now, glittering faintly in the morning light as she made her way down the quiet sidewalk. She passed a corner newsstand and paused, her eyes catching on the bold black letters of the local paper. Sunday, February  5th. She blinked, realizing for the first time what day it was. Back at New Rome, she’d probably be in the library or having breakfast with Piper by now — not trudging through the cold streets of Albuquerque. 

Just beyond the newsstand, color caught her attention — a cluster of tents and canopies set up across the street, lively with movement. Curious, she crossed over, her boots crunching against the thin layer of snow. The closer she got, the more she could hear the hum of voices, laughter, and the soft strumming of a guitar somewhere in the middle of it all. It was a small market, just a few rows of tents set up along the block, but it was alive with warmth and chatter.

She moved between the stalls, the scent of roasted nuts and baked bread drifting through the air. Vendors called out greetings, offering her small samples — homemade jams, bits of cookies, hot cocoa in tiny paper cups. 

She paused by a tent selling handmade scarves, gloves, hats in every shade imaginable. Her fingers brushed over a dark blue beanie, soft and thick, the color reminding her faintly of the ocean. She hesitated only a second before buying it, slipping it on right there in front of the vendor. It fit perfectly, covering her ears and shielding her from the cold. 

Annabeth adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder as she left the market, the sound of chatter fading behind her. The sun had climbed higher, glinting off the snow that lined the gutters, but the air was still biting. Her breath fogged in front of her as she made her way down the quieter streets, retracing her steps toward the motel.

The roads were mostly empty now, the morning crowd still at the market. She didn’t mind the quiet—until she noticed the crunch of footsteps that weren’t hers.

At first, she brushed it off. The street wasn’t completely deserted; maybe someone else had decided to take the same route. But when she crossed to the other side of the street and heard the same pattern echoing behind her, her pulse picked up.

She glanced casually into a dark shop window, pretending to adjust her scarf. In the glass, she caught the faint reflection of two figures walking several yards behind her. One tall, broad-shouldered. The other, was wearing a hood pulled low. Her eyes narrowed. She kept walking, forcing her pace to stay even. A block passed. 

Okay. Play it smart.

She turned the next corner, pretending to be unbothered. Then she ducked sharply into the next alleyway, her boots slipping slightly on the slush as she pressed her back to the cold brick wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as she listened to the footsteps pass.

She let out a slow, quiet breath, her pulse still racing. For a moment, it felt like she’d shaken them. She adjusted her bag, ready to head back toward the main road, when a shadow fell across her path.

She spun, reaching instinctively for the celestial bronze knife she kept hidden in her coat. But before she could even draw it, a hand slammed into her shoulder, shoving her back against the wall with a grunt.

“Easy there, Chase,” a voice sneered.

Annabeth froze. The man in front of her wasn’t a stranger. His face was sharper now, and older, but she recognized the scar along his jaw. “Evan?” she breathed, disbelief cutting through the adrenaline.

He grinned. “Long time, no see.”

Before she could reply, three more figures stepped into the alley behind him—all men, both taller than she remembered boys at camp ever being. “What are you doing here?” Annabeth demanded, straightening despite the odds.

Evan tilted his head, that grin widening. “Same thing you are, I imagine. Following a trail.”

She didn’t like the way he said it. “You’re following Percy,” she said slowly.

“Following, hunting—call it what you want.” Her eyes snapped to the one in a leather jacket as he stepped forward. “Word is, the gods want the golden boy put down a peg. You can’t walk around free forever without paying a price.”

Annabeth’s stomach twisted. “You’re joking.”

“Do we look like we’re joking?” the third man drawled. “The gods have been quiet, sure—but they’re watching. And some of us? We’re done waiting for scraps of recognition. You think you and Jackson are the only ones who get to be heroes?”

“You’re delusional,” Annabeth snapped. “You think the gods care?”

That earned her a low laugh. “Maybe,” Evan said. “But at least we’ll go down remembered. The ones who finally took the sea brat apart.” He took a slow step forward, forcing Annabeth back until her shoulders brushed the cold brick wall. “So tell us where he is, Annabeth.”

Her pulse thudded in her ears, but her voice stayed even. “I don’t know.”

Evan’s grin faltered for only a second before turning mocking again. “You really expect me to believe that?” He leaned in slightly. “You? The girl who used to track monsters across continents? The strategist who could find him in Tartarus if she wanted to?”

“I said I don’t know,” she repeated, sharper this time.

Evan tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You were always a terrible liar.”

He braced a hand against the wall beside her head, the move too casual, too familiar. Annabeth’s expression hardened. “Don’t,” she warned.

He only smiled wider. “What? You think I’m gonna hurt you? Relax, Chase. We just want to talk—”

Before he could finish, Annabeth shoved his arm away with a sharp motion. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, stepping aside. Her muscles were tense now, her instincts screaming that this was about to turn bad.

She counted quickly—four of them in total. Evan in front, two blocking the exit to the street, one hovering near the dumpster behind her. She could probably take two if she were quick. Maybe three if luck was on her side. But four? She needed to think fast.

Annabeth straightened, forcing calm into her voice. “This is stupid. You’re wasting your time. If you’re looking for him, he’s not with me.” She made a move to step past them, but the two blocking her path shifted instantly, cutting her off.

Evan’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist tightly. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us where he is.”

Pain flared through her wrist, but Annabeth didn’t hesitate. She twisted and drove her fist into Evan’s face. His head snapped back, and he stumbled with a grunt, letting go.

Annabeth spun, trying to run for the open end of the alley, but Evan lunged at her from behind with a growl. She reacted on instinct, slamming her elbow into his stomach. The breath whooshed out of him as he bent forward in pain, and she spun on her heel, kicking him square in the chest. He hit the ground hard.

The other three stared in shock for only a moment before one of them cursed and charged at her. Annabeth’s dagger was already in her hand, the blade glinting in the light. He swung at her sloppily, fueled by ego more than skill. She sidestepped cleanly, brought the hilt of her knife up to block, and slashed low across his arm.

He cried out, clutching the bleeding gash, dropping to one knee. Annabeth didn’t give him a chance to recover. She stepped forward and drove her fist into his face, the hit sending him collapsing to the side.

She stood over him, breath coming fast, dagger raised, every nerve on edge. One down. Two more still standing—and one already getting back up behind her, wiping blood from his nose and glaring murder. How fortunate.

Nico was sitting up on the bed, one hand propping up his head as he flipped through channels on the TV. Percy came out of the bathroom, running a towel through his hair. He caught sight of the clock—10:15 a.m. They were ready almost half an hour ago.

“Where is she?” Percy growled. 

Nico barely glanced at him. “Why do you care?”

Percy shot him a look but said nothing, dropping the towel onto the back of the couch. The question lingered in the air anyway.

Nico sighed, turning off the TV. The room fell quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. “Maybe she got caught up in something. You know how she is.”

Percy sat down on the couch, tugging on his shoes with more force than necessary. “She left two hours ago. That’s not getting caught up,” he said flatly.

Nico frowned, sliding off the bed. “Are we leaving?”

Percy didn’t answer right away. He tied one shoe, then the other, jaw tight. “I don’t have all day,” he muttered finally. “If anything, this is a good thing. We can just take the car and leave—”

Nico scoffed, stepping closer. “Look, I know you didn’t want her here, but she has a point. We wouldn’t even know where to start without her. I’ve been thinking about that riddle for ages, and she solved it in five minutes. You really think that’s something we can afford to just walk away from?”

Percy’s expression flickered, but he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” Nico continued, crossing his arms, “I’d say I’d take her with me.” He turned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside slightly. The parking lot outside was half-buried in snow, sunlight glinting off the white.

“Maybe she’s still at the store,” Nico said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Percy stood, grabbing his jacket from the chair. “Or maybe she’s not.” He slipped it on and looked toward the door. “I’m going to find her.”

Nico blinked. “You don’t even know where she went.”

Percy was already zipping up his jacket. “She said she was going to the store. There are only a few within walking distance.” He picked up his sword, placed it over his back, and opened the door. He stepped out into the cold morning air, the wind biting at his face. Something in his chest was tight, a feeling he didn’t want to name, but one that pushed him forward anyway.

Annabeth’s lungs burned, her breath coming fast and uneven as she squared off against the group. Her new beanie lay crumpled and forgotten in the slush, curls sticking to her face with sweat and snow. Blood trickled from a split lip, but she barely felt it over the pounding of her heart.

Evan lunged again. She barely had time to twist out of the way before his arm caught hers, knocking her dagger from her grip. It skidded across the ground, clattering out of reach.

“You should just give him up,” Evan taunted. “Percy’s done nothing for you. He’d sell you out in a heartbeat if it meant saving himself.”

Annabeth didn’t answer. She swung her fist at him, but he ducked. Another one came at her from behind—she sensed the movement, spun, and kicked him across the jaw with all her weight. He dropped hard, hitting the concrete. She didn’t get a chance to breathe. Evan was already on her, slamming into her back, forcing her arms back, and pinning her against the wall.

Annabeth gritted her teeth, trying to twist free, but his grip was iron. He pressed closer, his face inches from hers, his weight pinning her in place. “You could join us,” he muttered, his voice low. “Forget Percy. He’s not worth it.”

She turned her face away, fury burning hot in her chest. Her mind raced, searching for anything—an opening, a weapon, a plan. But his grip only tightened.

He twisted her arm back sharpl,y and pain shot through her shoulder. She winced. “Just let me go,” she growled.

​​Evan only smirked. “You always were stubborn,” he said, and with a sneer, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it back so hard she cried out. “You should’ve stayed in your books, Chase—”

He didn’t finish.

Evan’s body jerked violently, the smirk dying on his lips as his grip went slack. Annabeth fell forward, stumbling, gasping for breath. For a split second, she didn’t understand why the pain had vanished. 

Then she turned.

Percy stood there. His chest rose and fell with quiet, contained fury, his sword angled low at his side. The blade dripped with something thick and dark, the drops hissing faintly when they hit the cold concrete.

The other demigods who’d cornered her froze, wide-eyed. Two bolted instantly; the third took one horrified step back before running. 

Annabeth froze where she stood, breath caught in her throat. Her mind tried to catch up with what she was seeing.

“Percy…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t look at her at first. His gaze was locked on Evan’s unmoving body. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, and when his eyes met hers, they were darker than she remembered.

Percy’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer before he crouched down and dragged the limp form slightly by the shoulder. He used the man’s torn jacket to slowly wipe the slick blood from his blade. The sound of fabric against metal was nauseating in the silence. When he was satisfied, he slid the sword back across his shoulder. 

He straightened and turned toward Annabeth. Her instincts screamed at her to move, to do something, but her body wouldn’t listen. When he reached her, he said nothing. He just raised a hand and tightly gripped her chin, tilting her face toward the light. His thumb brushed her cheekbone where a bruise was forming, then he turned her head to one side, then the other, his eyes flicking over the shallow cuts, the reddened skin. His touch was cold. 

Annabeth’s breath hitched. She felt like a deer trapped in headlights, her heart pounding against her ribs. His expression was unreadable, empty in a way that terrified her more than the attack had.

“Percy…” she whispered again.

He let her go, his hand falling away, but his stare didn’t waver.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” she said hesitantly.

 “Or what?” he asked flatly. “Let him put his hands on you?”

Her stomach twisted. She blinked hard, angry at the sting behind her eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” she snapped. “You don’t just—”

But he didn’t seem to hear her. His jaw clenched, and the darkness in his eyes flickered like a storm about to break.

Something inside her cracked. Annabeth shoved him hard, the anger finally breaking through the fear. “What is wrong with you?”

He barely stumbled back, eyes narrowing. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t you dare—” she started, stepping toward him. “Don’t you dare act like this is some heroic—”

“I just saved your life!” he shouted. “You think he was just going to walk away?”

“You think this is normal?” she snapped back. “You think killing someone fixes anything? Look at yourself, Percy!”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This isn’t about what you think.”

“Then what is it about?” she barked back. 

“You don’t listen. You’re not supposed to be here! None of this would have happened if you had just stopped following me!” he yelled, his voice cracking.

She shoved him again, hard enough to make his jaw clench. Her voice came out raw, shaking with rage. “Then stop saving me!” Annabeth’s vision blurred as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Percy’s chest rose and fell, his expression unreadable. Annabeth stood there, her fists trembling at her sides, the echo of her own voice still ringing in her ears.

Nico’s shadow slipped along the cracked pavement before his form emerged from the dark at the mouth of the alley. He picked up the abandoned bag of supplies, cleaning up anything that spilled out. 

Silent as a ghost, he walked past them without a word, his eyes fixed on the body lying motionless on the ground. He knelt beside Evan, placing a gloved hand on his chest. A faint vibration rippled through the ground. The concrete trembled, then cracked, splitting beneath the corpse in jagged lines. Dust fell between the fractures as the earth itself opened up.

Annabeth flinched at the sound, a low, grinding rumble as the ground swallowed Evan’s body. Within seconds, the crack sealed shut again, leaving nothing but a faint line of disturbed dust where the body had been.

Nico stood slowly, brushing his hands off, his expression unreadable. Then he turned toward them. His dark eyes flicked between Percy and Annabeth. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You two done screaming at each other?” he asked flatly.

Neither of them answered. Percy’s shoulders tensed; Annabeth wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, trying to steady her breathing. 

Nico sighed, his tone somewhere between irritation and weary understanding. “Because in case you forgot,” he said, glancing toward the mouth of the alley, “you just killed a demigod in broad daylight.”

Percy didn’t move. Annabeth swallowed hard, staring at the ground where the body had been, then back at Percy—his clothes flecked with blood, his expression distant.

Finally, Percy turned away first, his voice low. “Let’s go.”

Nico gave one last look at Annabeth and followed.

Annabeth stayed frozen for a few seconds longer, her pulse still hammering in her ears. Then she forced herself to move, her footsteps echoing faintly as she trailed after them, her mind spinning with everything she couldn’t bring herself to say.

Chapter Text

Percy shoved the keycard in the slot harder than necessary. The lock beeped, and he pushed the door open hard. Nico muttered under his breath as he followed him in, shutting it more quietly behind them.

Annabeth didn’t meet Percy’s glare. She brushed past him without a word and headed straight for her bag. Her hands shook slightly as she rummaged through it. She pulled out a change of clothes, then disappeared into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the silence.

Percy exhaled sharply, more of a growl than a sigh. He unzipped his jacket and pulled it off, tossing it carelessly onto a chair before unclipping the sword from his back. The blade caught the dim light as he set it against the wall. He threw himself down on the couch, elbows resting on his knees. 

Nico moved across the room. He grabbed the curtain and pulled it shut, casting the room in a dim, uneasy half-light. Then he peeked through a small slit, scanning the street below.

“See anything?” Percy asked, his tone clipped.

“No,” Nico replied. He hesitated, then added quietly, “But they’ll find this place eventually.”

Percy leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Let them.”

Nico turned his head slightly, studying him. “You think that’s a good idea?”

Percy didn’t respond. 

Nico finally stepped away from the window and dropped onto the bed, arms crossed. “You didn’t have to kill him,” he said after a moment.

Percy didn’t look up. “You saw what happened.”

“I saw you lose control,” Nico countered. He leaned backward slightly. “That’s not the same thing.” 

Percy scoffed. “He put his hands on her,” he said, low and even, like he was trying to keep his voice steady.

Nico studied him for a moment. Percy’s fingers were still tapping restlessly against his knee, a quiet tension that matched the muscle ticking in his jaw.

Finally, Nico said, “Then why save her?”

Percy’s fingers stopped.

“If you hate her so much—if you don’t want her around—why didn’t you just walk away?” Nico pressed. “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want her here. So why step in?”

Nico thought he might actually respond. He could see it in the subtle shift of Percy’s expression. But then the sound of the shower shutting off cut through the room. 

Percy’s head turned slightly toward the bathroom door, that faint, defensive edge snapping back into place like armor. Whatever was about to come out of his mouth vanished.

Nico waited, watching him carefully. “Percy—”

“Forget it,” Percy muttered, cutting him off. He sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Nico frowned, not satisfied. “You can’t just keep pretending you don’t—”

Percy’s cold glare found him instantly. It was enough to make Nico stop mid-sentence. After a long pause, Nico exhaled through his nose and turned away, leaning back on the bed. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Whatever.”

Percy didn’t respond. He shifted to lie on the couch, pulling one arm over his eyes.

Steam clung to the bathroom mirror, clouding Annabeth’s reflection in a hazy blur. She ran a towel through her damp hair. The warmth of the shower had done little to chase away the chill. Her hands were still trembling. She noticed it when she reached for her clothes, and when she tried to steady them, they wouldn’t stop shaking. Gods, how could she have been so stupid? She replayed it over and over—the way she’d walked right into it, how she hadn’t noticed the footsteps behind her until it was too late. She’d let her guard down. 

She gritted her teeth, yanking on her jeans, her New Rome sweatshirt, and then her jacket over it. She should’ve known better. Years of quests, years of surviving monsters and gods and wars—and she’d still fallen for something so simple. But what unsettled her more than anything was the way Percy had stepped in. He’d killed Evan, just like that. She’d seen him fight before, seen him angry, desperate, even ruthless when it came to survival. But this was different. There’d been no hesitation. No mercy. 

She pressed her palms to the sink, staring at herself in the fogged-up mirror until her reflection came into focus. Her cheek was bruised, a thin cut along her temple. She reached for the small bag she’d brought, pulling out antiseptic wipes and bandages. 

She frowned. Why had he even saved her?

She hated that the thought crept in at all, but it did. Percy didn’t owe her anything. He’d made that perfectly clear. So why had he come for her at all? Annabeth tied her hair into a braid and wrapped her scarf snugly around her neck before exiting the bathroom.

The room was dim. Percy sat slouched on the couch, staring up at the ceiling; Nico sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Both of them looked up when she stepped out.

She cleared her throat quietly. “I’m ready.”

Percy’s head lifted. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before he stood abruptly, grabbing his bag. He didn’t say a word as he brushed past her, heading for the door. The cold air that rushed in when he opened it made her shiver, but she stayed where she was, her heart thudding against her chest as she watched him leave.

Annabeth slung her bag over one shoulder, doing a quick sweep of the motel room to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. Satisfied, she took the key off the counter, stepped into the chill, and made the short walk to the front desk to drop it off. The clerk gave a sleepy nod; she offered nothing in return.

When she came back out into the parking lot, the Jeep sat where they’d left it, tires rimmed with snow. Percy was leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, hood up, jaw set. He watched her approach with that deliberate attention that always felt like judgment. The cold made tiny clouds of breath between them.

She didn’t meet his eyes. At the back door, she paused, then pulled it open and dropped into the seat without giving him a word. Percy followed, legs folding into the driver’s side. He slid behind the wheel, fingers worrying the edge of his seatbelt for a second before finding the ignition. 

Nico settled into the front passenger seat, pulling his black scarf up to cover half his face, leaving his eyes exposed. The heater kicked on, and warm air hissed across the dashboard. Snowflakes freckled the glass, and no one spoke. Percy’s fingers found the wheel; Annabeth fastened her seatbelt. Percy idled for a beat longer, then eased the Jeep into the quiet street. The tires crunched over packed snow, and the motel’s neon sign receded in the rearview. Whatever unspoken things hung between them remained as they pulled back onto the road and headed for the desert.

Annabeth leaned forward just long enough to give Percy the directions he needed — which turn to make, which ramp fed back onto the highway, which fork to avoid. Her voice was clipped, neutral, nothing more than the bare minimum. Percy gave a short nod at each instruction without looking back. 

Once the road stretched ahead in a straight line, she settled back in the seat and let the silence swallow her. Nico flipped through radio stations like he was testing the air for something tolerable, finally landing on a low, static-soft classic rock station. He hummed once, satisfied, then sank deeper into his seat and reclined it. His breathing evened out within minutes, his scarf slipping from his jaw.

Annabeth wished she could shut off her brain just as easily. Her arms folded across her chest. She pressed herself closer to the window, cheek nearly against the cold glass, as the desert rolled by in pale winter colors. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Evan’s face—saw the moment his smirk twisted into fear, the second before he hit the pavement—the crack of bone, and the smell of metal in the air.

And behind all of it: Percy. She hated the way he treated her like she was an inconvenience. A problem. Something he was forced to tolerate instead of someone he once—

No. She cut that thought off before it could hurt her. She clenched her jaw, staring harder at the horizon. He looked at her like she was a burden, like her existence was a personal insult. He barely spoke to her unless it was to snap. He saved her life and then resented her for needing saving. And after everything they’d been through—everything they’d lost—he couldn’t even manage a fraction of softness. Not even humanity.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to be angry. Anger made sense. Anger was clean and easy to carry. But underneath it all was this ache she couldn’t shake, this awful hollowness that made her feel stupid for even being here. Stupid for still caring what he thought.

Why did he always have that power?

Why did part of her still wait for him to look at her like she wasn’t a mistake?

She sucked in a breath, and her eyes burned before she could stop it. She blinked hard, willing the sting away, but a single tear broke loose anyway, sliding warm across her cheek.

“Damn it,” she barely whispered under her breath, swiping at it with her sleeve before it could fall all the way. Another threatened to follow; she wiped that one, too, angrier now at herself than anything outside the car.

Up front, Percy’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror just long enough to catch the movement of her wiping at her face. His expression didn’t change, but something in him went still, the same way the ocean pauses just before a wave breaks. He watched her for a heartbeat. Then he looked back at the road. 

Three hours later, the monotony of the drive finally broke into something new. The highway narrowed, the terrain shifted from flat to textured, and Annabeth leaned forward to double-check they were heading toward the right turnoff. Percy followed her directions without comment, eyes narrowed at the empty road stretching into the distance.

Ahead, a wooden sign appeared, faded by sun and wind:

VISITOR CENTER — 1 MILE

Annabeth pointed. “Turn there.”

Percy did, the tires crunching over gravel as the road curved into a wide, nearly empty parking lot. Not a single other car was parked in visitor spaces—just a park ranger truck in the distance, probably belonging to someone doing rounds. Winter, remote location, off-season… it made sense. But it still felt eerie.

He shut off the car. Percy exhaled sharply and eyed Nico, who remained slumped in the front seat. He opened the door and got out, stretching like he’d been trapped too long. The cold air hit him instantly, making him wince. Annabeth stepped out next, pulling her jacket tighter, taking in the wide-open sky and red-brown cliffs.

He turned to Annabeth, expression flat. “So where the hell are we?”

Annabeth hesitated—longer than she meant to. His tone alone made her want to shut down, but she knew he’d demand answers anyway. She pulled out the map, letting it unfold with a soft crackle, more to buy time than anything.

“We’re here,” she said finally, pointing at the circled region. “Chaco Culture National Park.”

Percy stepped closer to peer at the map, then glanced around at the empty landscape—the sandstone walls rising in the distance, the pale winter light casting long shadows across the ground. He frowned. “And we’re here, why?”

Annabeth let out a slow breath. She could give him the full explanation—the part she’d pieced together carefully and wasn’t sure Percy was ready to hear. So she stuck to the surface-level truth.

“The riddle gave this part away,” she said, folding the map halfway. “‘Northwest winds will guide you where the sun kisses sand… New Mexico.’ That was the easy part.” She tapped the paper. “Then: ‘Where walls rise in circles, made by careful hand.’ That has to be Chaco.”

Percy stared at her, confusion flickering across his features. She continued before he could interrupt. “This place is ancient. Thousands of years old. The structures are built in perfect circles and align with solstices. No other site in New Mexico fits better.” She folded the map and shoved it into her back pocket. “Only problem? There are multiple sites inside the park it could be referencing. Great Kiva, Pueblo Bonito, Casa Rinconada… we might have to check them all.”

Percy huffed, annoyed but resigned. “Of course.”

Annabeth crossed her arms, bracing against the cold. “This is where the trail leads. Whether we like it or not.”

Percy’s gaze lingered on her a second too long, like he was trying to decide whether to argue or walk away. His stare was so sharp it made Annabeth’s skin prickle. She shifted her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of the cold wind cutting across her face. His eyes tracked every mark on her face: the cut on her forehead, the bruise blooming beneath her cheekbone, the split in her lip she hadn’t been able to clean properly.

Percy’s brows knit together. He said nothing as he crouched down and scooped a handful of snow into his palm.

Annabeth blinked, confused. “What are you—?”

He stepped toward her. She instinctively backed up a single step, shoulders tensing. “Percy—”

But before she could finish, he lifted his hand and pressed the cold snow gently to her cheek. Annabeth froze. Percy was healing her.

The snow melted instantly, glowing faintly blue—his power flickering through it like light under ice. She inhaled sharply as the cold spread through her skin, the ache easing, the sting fading. The glow sank into her skin, and the bruise dissolved as if it had never been there. The cut on her lip tightened, sealed, vanished; the one on her forehead knit itself together in seconds.

By the time her brain caught up with what was happening, he was already pulling his hand back. She touched her cheek, shocked. “Percy…”

Percy exhaled sharply, dropping his hand. He stepped back, turning away from her. “Don’t read too much into it,” he muttered, his tone impersonal, already pulling his wall back up. “If we’re going into unknown territory, I need you at full health.”

Annabeth swallowed, words catching in her throat. She hadn’t decided whether to thank him or yell at him. But Percy didn’t give her the chance. He circled the car and pulled open Nico’s door. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Nico groaned without lifting his head. “Five more minutes…”

Percy rolled his eyes and tapped the roof. “Now.”

Nico groaned again, louder this time, and shoved Percy’s hand away as he finally swung his legs out of the car. “I heard you the first time,” he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Percy stepped back with a scoff. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Nico planted his boots on the ground and immediately pushed Percy back a step. “Don’t hover.”

Percy lifted his hands in surrender, though irritation flickered across his face. He walked to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and grabbed his sword. He slung it over his back, then stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

Nico, meanwhile, dug into his backpack. Annabeth was still gathering herself, pulling her jacket tighter, when Nico walked around the car toward her.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Annabeth looked up and gasped when she saw that he was holding her deep blue beanie. Her eyes immediately brightened. “Where did you—? Oh my gods, where did you find this!” Her grin spread across her face before she could stop it. She reached out and snatched it from his hands, turning it over like she couldn’t believe it was real.

Nico shrugged, a little awkward. “You dropped it uh,... during the whole Evan situation. I grabbed it. Figured I’d give it back when things weren’t… You know. A disaster.” 

Annabeth laughed and tugged the beanie onto her head. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Nico froze, eyes going wide, his body stiff as a board. His backpack straps creaked under the sudden pressure. After a stunned second, he lifted one hesitant arm like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, but Annabeth pulled away before he had to decide.

“Thank you,” she said softly, still smiling.

Nico cleared his throat and looked anywhere but her face. “Yeah.”

Across the car, Percy watched from where he stood by the trunk. His expression was unreadable, then his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed just slightly, and a slight frown creased his face before he turned away sharply, slamming the trunk door shut. 

Annabeth didn’t notice. But Nico did. He shot Percy a quick, questioning look, but Percy ignored him.

“So why can’t we use the car going in? It’d be faster.”  Percy asked, irritated. 

Annabeth’s small smile from Nico’s gesture faded instantly. “No, actually, it wouldn’t.” She hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. “We don’t know what we’re looking for or where it might be. If we drive, we limit ourselves. Being on foot means we can feel it out.”

Percy frowned, clearly wanting to argue, but then stopped himself. His breath came out in a long, irritated huff. He sniffed, stuffing his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Fine. Lead the way, Miss Know-It-All.”

Annabeth stiffened at the insult, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She brushed by him, boots crunching in the thin crust of snow.

Nico lingered just long enough to shoot Percy a pointed look—equal parts disapproval and knock it off. Percy met it with a flat, challenging stare. He fell in line behind them, leaving a few feet of distance between them.

The air was thinner at this elevation. The wind bit at their faces. Annabeth pulled her hood up, her breath visible in front of her. She glanced behind her, Nico trudging patiently, Percy brooding and silent, before turning her focus back ahead.

When she was sure they weren’t paying attention, she slipped a hand under her jacket and pulled out the compass. The metal was cold against her palm as she flipped it open. The needle didn’t waver, steadily pointing northeast. Annabeth followed its direction, her pace slowing just enough to give herself time to think. After a few minutes, she closed the compass and tucked it back under her jacket, hidden from view.

The wind shifted as they crested a small rise, carrying with it the dry scent of sandstone. The terrain dipped into a narrow wash, then rose again, opening into a wide, quiet clearing.

Annabeth slowed first. The structure emerged from the pale winter light, stone walls weathered smooth by centuries, stacked in precise patterns. Nico lifted his gaze, his expression hardening. Percy stopped beside them, scanning the ruins. The three of them approached the wooden sign posted near the faint trailhead:

UNA VIDA
Chacoan Great House
Occupation AD 850–1250s
Sacred Site. Enter with Respect.

Annabeth exhaled. Una Vida wasn’t as large as some of the other great houses Annabeth knew they’d eventually reach, but it still carried a quiet, commanding presence.

Annabeth stepped ahead of the boys, brushing her fingers along the outer wall. The sandstone was smooth from centuries of sun and wind, cool under her touch. She let her eyes track the Chacoan patterns, alternating thin and thick courses of stone, fitted with precision.

Percy lingered a few feet behind her, scanning the area with restless suspicion, his hand never straying far from his sword. “This place is… tiny,” Percy muttered after a moment. “Compared to the map, I mean.”

“It’s one of the earliest great houses,” Annabeth replied without looking back. “They were still experimenting with layout, building methods, ceremonial space. It’s significant, just not sprawling.”

“So it’s a warm-up ruin,” Percy said dryly.

Nico rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Annabeth ducked through a small doorway, stepping into what would’ve once been a room. The walls were intact up to her shoulders, the ceiling long gone, letting the pale blue sky flood the space. Snow had blown in and settled in the corners, leaving patches of exposed dirt and old stone floor.

She crouched down and ran her hand across the floor, half-listening—half hoping—for the faint hum of something magical. She stood again, brushing dust from her knees. “Nothing.” 

Percy leaned against the outer wall, breath puffing white in front of him. “So we’re done here.”

“Not done,” Annabeth corrected. “Just moving on.” She stepped past him and pointed toward a narrow trail winding north along the canyon. “Hungo Pavi is next on the route. It’s bigger. If the riddle is pointing anywhere in this direction, that site would make more sense.”

She turned and began walking the trail. Percy fell into step beside her with a flick of his hood, not bothering to hide his impatience. Nico followed closely behind, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, scarf pulled up high over his face. 

The trail curved north, the wind sharper now.  After about twenty minutes of steady walking, the outline of another structure appeared. It was larger, broader, and unmistakably grand even from a distance. Hungo Pavi.

Annabeth slowed as they approached, her eyes already scanning the architecture. This great house rose more dramatically than Una Vida, its remaining walls taller, its layout sprawling in a long shape that stretched across the gentle slope of the land. 

Percy stopped beside her, his gaze following the length of the structure. A small wooden post stood at the trailhead, half-buried by snow, the sign weathered but legible:

Hungo Pavi
Chacoan Great House
Occupation AD 1000–1250s
Sacred Site.

Percy gave a low whistle. “Bigger.”

Annabeth nodded. “It was one of the major construction projects here. Over a hundred rooms. A massive central wall. And—if the records are accurate—a great kiva somewhere nearby.” She crossed her arms against the cold. “This is more likely to have… something.”

She turned to face them. “We’ll split the perimeter. Nico, you can stay central and check the deep-set rooms.”

Percy arched a brow. “You want to split up now?”

Annabeth deadpanned. “We’re six feet apart, Percy. If you scream, we’ll hear you.”

Nico snorted behind them. “He will absolutely scream.”

Percy shot them both a glare, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped toward the eastern wall, brushing snow from the stone. “Fine. I’ll take this side.”

Annabeth nodded and turned toward the western arc of the structure. Percy moved parallel to her on the opposite side of the long central wall, running his hand over the meticulous masonry—stone fitted like puzzle pieces, no mortar, no gaps large enough for even a blade to slip through.

Annabeth heard Percy shuffle something on the other side of the wall, the sound of stone grinding against stone.

“What is it?” she called.

“Just a loose rock.” His voice echoed faintly. “Nothing behind it.”

Annabeth exhaled through her nose. “What are we even looking for?” She asked. “You still haven’t told me, and the riddle gives less information.” She moved along the curve of the great house, checking another doorway, another recessed space. 

Just as Annabeth thought he wouldn’t answer, Percy spoke. “A scroll.” 

Annabeth frowned. “What kind of scroll? Why does Python want you to find it?”

Percy tsked. “None of your business. Just help me find it, and we can part ways.” 

Annabeth’s frustration simmered in her chest, but she stayed methodical. She bit her tongue and continued searching for whatever it was they needed to find this ‘scroll’. All three circled the structure in their own patterns until the great house narrowed toward its rear, where the walls curved inward. Annabeth quickened her pace around the bend and collided straight into Percy as he rounded the same corner from the other side.

Her breath caught as a hand instinctively grabbed her arm, steadying her before she slipped on the icy ground. Percy’s breath puffed white in the cold, brushing her cheek. His eyes flicked down briefly to the spot where his hand held her before jerking back up to her face. 

Annabeth’s pulse spiked, and Percy dropped her arm.

“Watch where you’re going,” he muttered, stepping back. 

Annabeth frowned, trying to mask her embarrassment. “Maybe don’t lurk around corners.”

He scoffed. “It’s a wall, Annabeth. I’m not lurking.”

“You move like you are,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “I could say the same about you.”

Heat rose in her chest. She stepped around him, and his shoulder brushed hers. It was hardly anything, but it sent every thought in her head off-balance. He turned when she did, like he expected another hit or another argument. Instead, she exhaled hard.

“We’re wasting daylight,” she said tightly. “Let’s just keep moving.”

Percy didn’t answer, but he lingered half a second before following, his footsteps syncing with hers in a way that made her skin prickle. 

“Guys,” Nico called from somewhere behind the wall, “There’s nothing here.” He emerged from around the corner, brushing snow off his jacket. “Anything on your end?”

“No,” Annabeth said.

“Just ruins,” Percy added. 

“So, where to now?” Nico asked, looking at Annabeth. 

Annabeth stared at the ground for a moment, frustration flaring in her chest. She finally forced herself to speak. “Casa Rinconada should be next. It’s farther, but it’s the biggest ceremonial structure in the canyon.”

Percy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Good. Maybe this time it’ll be worth the hike.”

Annabeth didn’t answer as she began their next trek on the trail. 

They followed the dirt path as it cut through the open expanse of the canyon floor. The land stretched wide and uneven, dotted with pale sagebrush and the occasional spine of exposed sandstone. The wind was harsher here.

Casa Rinconada appeared slowly, its circular depression growing clearer with every step. Even from a distance, the site commanded attention. The great kiva sat sunken into the ground like an enormous stone bowl carved into the earth. Low walls ringed its circumference, steps descending to its center, the whole structure open to the winter sky.

A sign stood near the entrance:

Casa Rinconada
Chacoan Great Kiva
Occupation AD 1075–1250s
Sacred Site.

Nico let out a long, slow whistle. “Now this,” he murmured, “is dramatic.”

Annabeth paused at the top of the slope, her breath visible as she looked down into the kiva. “It’s one of the largest in the entire region. Ceremonies, rituals, alignments with solstices—everything here meant something.”

Percy walked to the edge. “This has to be it.”

Annabeth shook her head almost instantly. “I thought so too, but now I don’t think it is.” 

Percy shot her a look. “Annabeth, it’s literally a giant cult circle in the ground. What else could the riddle mean?”

“Because the riddle can’t be that literal,” she snapped. “Not everything that looks ritualistic is the thing we’re looking for. These sites had dozens of purposes—religious, astronomical, social—”

Percy huffed. “And a giant death-bowl isn’t at least worth checking?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

The wind cut between them. Annabeth tried to hold his gaze and tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, yet failed. “Percy, this isn’t it,” she insisted. “We’ll waste time.”

“And we’ll waste more if we skip something important,” he shot back, stepping past her toward the descending stone steps. “I’m going.”

“Percy!” she called after him, annoyance threading through his name. “Will you just—”

He didn’t stop or glance over his shoulder. Nico exhaled like someone already tired of the argument. “It’s easier to just go with it,” he muttered, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t thrilled either. Still, he shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged after Percy.

Annabeth’s teeth clicked together as she swallowed a not-so-PG Greek curse. Fine. Fine. She reached into her jacket and slipped out the compass as she shielded it with her hand and cast a glance at the boys’ retreating backs. The needle pulled hard to the right. Away from Casa Rinconada. Away from the giant ceremonial pit Percy had just marched into.

She closed her eyes for a single, furious second. Then she snapped the compass shut, shoving it back underneath her jacket, and stalked after them.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered as she followed the two idiots she apparently cared about enough to chase across a desert.

Annabeth caught up to them, falling into step beside Percy while Nico drifted behind. The wind was quieter here, the canyon walls muffling it into a low hum. 

Nico’s hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, but every few seconds, his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach for something. A sudden chill swept down his spine, unnatural and cold enough that it made his steps falter.

His brow creased, dark eyes lifting toward Percy and Annabeth. He stopped breathing for a second. Something was wrong. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it.

It’s probably nothing, he tried to convince himself. He picked up his pace to follow them more closely, though a knot had already formed in his stomach. 

Annabeth kept glancing around, studying the terrain, the ridges, the sandstone cracks that spiderwebbed across the flat earth. Even with irritation simmering under her skin, her brain couldn’t stop mapping. 

Percy silently walked beside her. He kept kicking at small stones as they walked, sending them skittering ahead. She matched his pace, though she refused to look at him. 

Annabeth slowed down and frowned at the terrain. Something wasn’t right here. The ground didn’t match the erosion patterns of the rest of the trail. The sandstone was too smooth. 

Another sharp chill cut through the air. Nico froze. “Do you feel that—” A low crack echoed beneath their feet. 

Annabeth gasped. Percy’s head snapped toward her. A jagged line zipped out from beneath Annabeth’s boots like lightning, spiderwebbing across the trail before widening. Percy jerked sideways, trying to regain footing, but Annabeth’s foot hit the edge wrong, and she slipped first.

Her scream tore through the canyon. A gut punch of terror yanked Percy forward. He lunged with everything he had, knees hitting the stone hard as he threw himself toward the chasm. 

He reached out, stretching so far it felt like his shoulder would tear. Their fingers brushed before her hand slipped from his. 

This was all too familiar. 

A broken sound left him, something between a gasp and a snarl of pure panic. Then the ledge beneath him gave way, and the earth crumbled, collapsing outward. Percy had no chance to regain his balance or time to grab anything. Gravity seized him, yanking him forward and down. And without a single moment of hesitation—without fear for himself—Percy dove into the chasm after her.

“PERCY—!” Nico shouted after them. The earth sealed shut with a heavy, echoing thud, leaving a spray of dust in the air where they’d been.

Below, Annabeth’s scream echoed into a darkness so vast it swallowed the sound. Percy fell fast, the air roaring around him, his stomach twisting. She was just ahead of him, a flash of blond hair and wide, panicked eyes. He reached for her blindly, stretching his arm so far it burned. There was no room for thought, just instinct and the memory of another fall. 

Her cold fingers brushed his, but the contact slipped. Percy’s heart free-fell harder than his body. He shoved himself downward, angling his body through sheer will, reaching again just as the cavern floor surged toward them in a terrifying rush.

Their eyes locked on each other. Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, everything else went quiet. Annabeth’s breath caught. She reached back for him. His hand finally locked around her wrist, fingers burning with effort. Then he grabbed higher, pulling her full weight into him. She choked on a sob of relief. Her body collided with his chest, her face pressed against the fabric of his jacket. 

Percy wrapped his arms around her and twisted his body midair with his back toward the ground. He braced for impact. And then right when he thought this was it, everything stopped.

A sudden, invisible force slammed upward like a powerful cushion catching them midair. Their bodies jerked, suspended in place, the momentum bleeding away. They hovered just a foot above the cavern floor, and for a second, neither of them breathed.

Then the force gave way, and Percy’s back hit first with a hard thud. Annabeth lay frozen on top of him. Her fingers were still twisted painfully in his jacket, as if her body hadn’t yet accepted they were alive.

Percy looked up at the darkness above them, chest heaving with his arms still clamped around her as if the ground might open again. Annabeth slowly pried her eyes open, vision blurry with tears she hadn’t even realized had escaped. 

She blinked down at Percy. He stared up at her, equally stunned. His pupils were blown, adrenaline lingering behind them with an echo of another near-loss he had never truly recovered from. 

She gasped and quickly pushed herself off him, breaking the contact as if it burned her. She scrambled upright, smoothing her clothes, wiping at her face, trying desperately to piece herself back together.

Percy didn’t move, still feeling the phantom rush of the fall pounding in his chest. Finally, he forced himself up, palms pressing into the cold stone as he sat up. His spine protested, but compared to what he’d braced for, it was nothing. He dragged in a shaky breath, trying to steady the adrenaline still tearing through him.

Annabeth stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, her back to him as she tried to calm her trembling. Her breath shook as she exhaled, forcing her nerves down, her mind already trying to catalog what she was seeing. 

Percy observed her for a moment, but looked away before she could sense him staring. He glanced around the surrounding area. The cavern floor was uneven but solid. The walls were covered in etchings—spirals, overlapping circles, branching lines, symbols that looked half-kiva design and half something older and washed away. Percy staggered to his feet, bracing a hand against the nearest wall. The bioluminescent streak flickered briefly under his touch. 

Annabeth swallowed hard and finally spoke, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “These are… underground passageways.” She turned just enough for Percy to see the side of her face, calmer than before, but refusing to meet his eyes. “They must’ve connected the great houses. I don’t think anyone’s ever documented something like this.”

Percy wiped his palms on his jeans, still half-convinced that if he blinked, the world would drop them again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Well. We documented it.”

Annabeth huffed under her breath. She stepped toward the nearest wall, fingers hovering centimeters from the etched spirals. “Look at this,” she murmured. “The designs up top are consistent with Chacoan iconography. But this—” her finger traced a deeper line where the symbols shifted shape “—this isn’t. This is older. Or… different.” She frowned. 

Percy approached slowly, leaving space between them. The faint blue glow from the mineral streaks painted Annabeth’s curls, her hands, and the shadow of her outline on the wall.

“Do you think it’s related to the quest?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at first. She cast a side glance at him before responding. “I think it’s related to something,” she said.

Percy glanced up at the ceiling, the perfectly sealed stone where they’d fallen through. Not a crack remained, and no sign there had ever been an opening. “Yeah. That’s… concerning.”

Annabeth wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “We need to find a way back up to Nico. Let him know where we—” But she stopped.

Percy felt it too. A faint pulse under his feet, like the cavern itself exhaled. A low hum threaded through the walls, making the hair on his arms prickle. Annabeth stepped back instinctively, her shoulder brushing Percy’s before she immediately pulled away.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like whatever that was.

He turned, scanning the chamber. Two tunnel entrances gaped on opposite sides, arched and dark.

“Annabeth,” Percy said slowly, taking a step back.

She stiffened. “I know.” Only her eyes moved, tracking the shadows. 

Percy’s breath fogged faintly in the air. His hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword, the weapon humming faintly at the edge of consciousness, reacting to his spike of unease.

“We need to pick a tunnel,” Annabeth said. “One has to lead deeper. Or probably loops back toward the main plaza.”

Percy nodded once. “Then let’s move.” But he paused just for a second and looked at her. Her hands still shook and her breathing was still uneven. He wanted to say something. He didn’t know what, but maybe it wasn’t his place anymore. 

So he just asked, “You okay to walk?”

Annabeth’s jaw tightened. She didn’t look at him as she responded. “I’m fine.”

Percy gestured toward the left tunnel, the one that sloped upward faintly. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The tunnel swallowed them as they walked. The air cooled, the walls tightened, and their footsteps were the only sound in the dark. The bioluminescent streaks faded the farther they went, leaving the cavern in a dim blue haze. 

Annabeth followed just behind Percy. She reached into her jacket and pulled out the compass. Even in the faint glow, she could see the needle frozen, pointing nowhere. Something was blocking it from working. A bitter exhale escaped her.

Percy’s head turned slightly and caught a glimpse of something in her hand. “What’s that?”

She didn’t answer quickly enough, and that made Percy stop. He turned and caught the faint shine of the compass. Again, with narrowed eyes, he asked, “What is that?”

Annabeth jerked her hand behind her back. “Nothing.”

Percy blinked at her, confused, then annoyed. He took a step toward her. “Annabeth.”

She took a step back automatically. 

His frown deepened. “What are you hiding?”

“It’s none of your business,” she muttered, shifting her stance so he couldn’t see around her.

Percy reached out quickly, fingers brushing her arm as he tried to grab whatever she was holding. Annabeth spun and turned her back to him sharply, keeping the compass out of reach.

“Come on—what is it?” he pressed, irritation creeping into his voice.

“I said it’s not your business,” she snapped.

He stepped around her, taller and faster than she anticipated. When he reached for her hand again, she lifted it into the air in a last-ditch attempt to keep it out of sight.

“No—Percy!” she barked. But he reached over her, long arm stretching easily, and plucked the small metal locket from her hand.

“Hey!” she shouted, launching forward as if she could wrestle it back.

Percy held it away from her and flipped it open before she could stop him. He stared at the compass face, the needle unmoving. Not even a twitch. He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have a broken compass…?”

Annabeth’s eyes flashed. “It’s not broken. It works fine.”

“It’s literally not moving.”

“It usually works fine.”

Percy gave her a look. 

Her jaw clenched hard enough that he could hear her teeth grind. She inhaled sharply through her nose, shoulders tight. “It was a gift,” she said finally. “From Xenios.”

Percy blinked. “And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning? Like, at all?”

She glared at him. “I didn’t tell you because I knew exactly what you’d do.”

Percy’s brows furrowed. “What, Annabeth—”

“You would have taken it from me!” she exploded, voice ricocheting off the stone. “You would have ripped it right out of my hands the second you thought it could help you. And then you’d ditch me again!”

Annabeth’s words kept coming, the dam breaking all at once. “You always leave!” she shouted, voice cracking. “You left! You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t explain anything. You just vanished, Percy! Do you have any idea—any idea—how it felt to wake up every day wondering if you were dead?”

Percy opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak. “And then when I did see you, you weren’t you!” Annabeth shoved him hard in the chest. “You were cold. And distant. And angry at everything. Angry at me.” She pushed him again.

“And somehow it was still my job to chase you. To understand you. To fix you.”

Another shove. “But you never gave me anything back. Not one answer. Not one apology. Nothing.” Her voice broke completely, tears sliding down her cheeks. 

“You chose Hades over us. You chose Python. You chose death, Percy. Over and over. And I—” Her breath hitched painfully. “And I can’t believe I ever loved someone who could walk away that easily.”

Percy didn’t move. He just stood there, breathing slowly, letting her vent every drop of poison she’d held down for a year. When she finally stopped, trembling and furious and exhausted, the tunnel felt too small to hold the silence.

Percy cleared his throat quietly. “Feel better?”

Annabeth’s rage snapped back like a whip. She let out a strangled scream of frustration, snatched the compass from his hand, shoved him harder than before, and stormed past him. 

“Go to hell,” she snapped.

Percy watched her push ahead into the darkness. She stormed forward, the tunnel narrowing around her as if trying to swallow her anger. She didn’t care where she was going—she just needed space. Anything that wasn’t Percy Jackson looking at her. 

She hated that he could still get such a reaction out of her. Hated that one stupid argument could unleash a year’s worth of bottled-up fury. And still, some stupid part of her wanted to understand him.

Gods, what is wrong with me?

She dragged her hand over her face, the cave’s cool air against her heated skin. Her fingers trembled, brushing away tears she refused to acknowledge. In the dim light, she could pretend they weren’t there. 

Her pace slowed. Eventually, her anger burned itself out. Shame crept in, mixing with exhaustion. Her breathing steadied as she leaned back against the cold wall, arms crossed. She stared into the nothing ahead of her. After a moment, she frowned and turned her head slightly, listening past the thudding of her pulse.

She waited for Percy’s steps. But the tunnel behind her remained silent. She was sure he’d follow her, eventually, if not immediately.

“Percy?” she called quietly. Only her voice came back to her faintly.

She pushed off the wall and retraced her steps, listening for his tread, his breathing, anything. Nothing. Her pulse quickened. The tunnel suddenly felt too massive, too labyrinthine.

She turned forward again and started walking faster now, following the path she thought she’d taken—but the shape of the tunnel had changed. Her chest tightened as she started to jog.

“Percy!” she yelled again. 

A cold prickle traveled up her spine. She stopped in the middle of the tunnel, palms pressed to her thighs as she tried to steady her breathing. 

Idiot.

She dragged a shaking hand back through her hair. Despite how much she wanted to punch him, they still needed to stay together. She dug her nails into her palms. She knew better than to let emotions overtake logic in a place designed to exploit exactly that. She paused, swallowing hard as the realization sank into her like a stone.

Separating was exactly what this tunnel wanted.

Percy stopped walking for maybe five seconds, just long enough to rub a hand over his face and breathe through the lingering adrenaline of her meltdown, before he turned forward again.

“Annabeth—” Empty tunnel. His stomach dropped. He spun, expecting her to be right behind him, still fuming, still muttering under her breath. 

A sharp chill swept down the corridor, raising goosebumps along his arms. Percy’s jaw tightened.

“Annabeth!” he barked louder, voice echoing hard against the stone. Still no reply. His pulse spiked so violently he almost swayed. He forced it down, grinding his teeth.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “Great.” 

He drew his sword. The blade hummed, as if sensing the wrongness in the air. Percy’s grip tightened around the hilt. The tunnel stretched in both directions, equally dark and equally silent. He tried to replay her footsteps, where she’d turned, how far ahead she’d gotten, but the more he thought about it, the more wrong everything felt. It was like the corridors had shifted the moment he looked away.

He walked forward, blade at his side. The bioluminescent veins pulsed faintly in the cracks of the stone, though he couldn’t tell if that was real or just his heartbeat distorting his vision.

“Annabeth!” he tried again, louder. He swallowed hard. Frustration and panic ran through him, feeding off each other.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered. “You seriously had to run off now?”

He took another few steps, and the atmosphere shifted like crossing an invisible boundary. The air dropped a few degrees, and his breath fogged out in front of him. Percy stopped walking.

A prickling sensation crawled up his spine. Someone was behind him. He didn’t hear anything. Didn’t see anything. But every instinct he had, godly and mortal, screamed at him that something stood just out of sight.

He turned slowly—no one—just an empty tunnel. But the feeling didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened, as if he were being measured. Judged. Percy inhaled through his nose, forcing his pulse to steady. 

Percy kept walking. Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder. Corridors he’d just passed seemed to warp, narrow, or slope differently when he looked back. He tried not to let the irritation show, but his grip on his sword tightened anyway.

He took another turn. And another. He didn’t know how long he’d been moving, but the air was getting thicker. He soon realized the sound of his footsteps echoed wrong, as they belonged to more than one person. He tried to ignore it, but the longer he walked, the more his chest tightened.

He kept his sword hand loose, but his palm was sweating. His skin started to crawl. He could feel something trailing him. Like a breath on the back of his neck or fingers grazing the air behind him. Every instinct he had screamed at him to keep moving and not look back at the same time. 

Ahead, the tunnel bent sharply. He turned it. Then the next. Then the next. Each corner felt identical, but the air kept changing— colder sometimes, warmer others, constantly shifting like a living thing. The panic buzzing through him sharpened into something nearly manic, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

He needed to get out.

He needed to find Annabeth.

A soft scrape whispered behind him. Percy stopped so suddenly that the air seemed to slam into him. His skin crawled from the inside out. Panic spiked so hard he saw black at the edges of his vision. And then, from behind him, a voice spoke.

“Miss me?” 

Percy didn’t dare move. He stared at the empty corridor in front of him, chest heaving while something old and deeply unwelcome crawled up his spine. 

Not possible. 

His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword. He shut his eyes tight, breath shaking for half a second. “No,” he whispered under his breath. “No, this isn’t real.”

A soft laugh answered him. “Oh, I’m real alright.”

Percy’s eyes snapped open. His heart plummeted, and his fingers went numb. He sharply turned around. 

Theseus stood in the center of the tunnel as if he’d been waiting there for him. His hands were tucked loosely into the pockets of a dark jacket Percy didn’t remember, his shoulders relaxed, posture annoyingly confident. The bioluminescent streaks along the walls lit him from the side, casting a faint, eerie glow over features Percy knew far too well.

Not a mark on him. Not a scratch. Not even the faintest sign of the violent end Percy had given him. Something hot and bitter twisted in Percy’s gut. Theseus was dead. He’d watched the life leave his eyes. There was no way he was still alive. Unless— He remembered Poseidon taking his body with him. A slow burn lit Percy’s chest.

“You’re dead,” Percy said quietly, his voice low with a shaking restraint. “I watched you die. I killed you.”

Theseus tilted his head, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. “And yet,” he said lightly, “here I am.”

Annabeth came across a new corridor splitting off to the left and took it. Turn after turn blurred together. Each path looked nearly identical, yet she knew she hadn’t been here before. She forced herself to stay calm, counting her steps, trying to track direction. But the tunnel twisted unexpectedly, breaking the pattern she thought she’d memorized. Within minutes, she was completely disoriented.

Annabeth stopped, pressing a hand to her forehead as she tried to quiet her breathing. You’re smarter than this. Anger flickered in her chest, but it burned out fast, leaving only cold dread behind. Minutes passed—or hours. Annabeth couldn’t tell. Every direction looked the same. Her compass stayed cold and useless against her chest. Panic crawled up her throat. 

“Okay,” she whispered shakily. “Think. Think. You’re fine. Just—just backtrack. Look for—look for anything—”

“Annabeth.”

She froze. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe the tunnels were playing tricks on her senses. Then it came again — clearer this time, and beckoning.

“Annabeth.”

She reached slowly for her dagger. Her fingers trembled just enough to irritate her more. She curled her grip tighter to hide the shake. She swallowed and inched toward the turn in the corridor. The voice hummed through the air as it came from everywhere at once, all too familiar. Her stomach twisted.

She leaned just enough to look around the corner, and felt her heart sink.

Her father stood in the corridor, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Clothes crisp and impossibly clean for a place that had swallowed them whole. Annabeth nearly dropped her dagger.

His eyes met hers, and he lifted a hand, beckoning her forward.

Annabeth’s knees weakened, a cold wave rushing through her chest. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. For a split second, hope flared inside her.

“Dad…?”

This wasn’t possible. She knew it wasn’t possible. But the tunnel, the air… something curled around her mind like a gentle hand, soothing. Her thoughts blurred at the edges. 

“Annabeth,” he said again, softer. “Sweetheart.”

Her chest tightened. That was his voice. Her legs moved without permission. She walked toward him slowly, each step feeling detached like she was watching someone else’s body get closer and closer to something she knew she shouldn’t trust.

He opened his arms, and she broke. With a trembling breath, Annabeth stepped into the embrace, pressing her face into his shoulder. He smelled like his study—faint coffee and old books.

“Dad…” Her voice cracked. “Dad, I-I’m so sorry.”

His arms wrapped fully around her. Warm and heavy with the kind of stability she’d been craving without wanting to admit it. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her hair. Words that hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Annabeth’s breath hitched. Tears burned her eyes. “I should’ve called. I should’ve written. I just—things were happening, and I didn’t know how to—” She tried to pull back to look at him, but the arms around her tightened.

His breath changed. It came out in a harsh whisper near her ear. “Why did you leave, Annabeth?”

A chill ripped down her spine. She twisted slightly, and his grip locked.

“Why haven’t you called?” His voice vibrated low and distorted.

Annabeth’s pulse spiked. She didn’t understand what was happening. “Let me go.” But the figure only pulled her closer, his voice twisting deeper and angrier.

“You abandoned your family. For what?” His face was inches from her ear, breath turning cold and foul. “To chase after a boy who doesn’t even love you anymore?”

She choked back a sob. Her muscles tensed, instincts screaming to run away. “Dad—stop—” But the thing’s fingers dug into her back with bruising force.

“You left us,” it growled. The voice warped mid-sentence, layering into something inhuman. “You left me. You chose him. And look where it got you.”

Annabeth’s panic surged. She thrashed, trying to break free. “LET ME GO!” she yelled, voice cracking. Her hand reached for her dagger and drove it into its side.

The scream that came from the creature wasn’t her father’s. It stumbled back, its form shuddering violently, flickering between her father’s shape and something warped and hulking beneath the skin. Its limbs bent wrong. Its face stretched. Its eyes sank into shadows.

“Why don’t you love me?” it wailed, voice breaking into multiple layers, childlike, adult, monstrous. “Why did you leave?”

Annabeth stumbled back, horror clawing up her throat. It reached for her with an arm that was half-human, half-nightmare, shaking as if trapped between forms. It gripped her wrist tightly, pulling her back. Annabeth screamed as she stabbed its hand with her dagger. It let go instantly, and she turned and ran.

She didn’t look back as the corridor behind her erupted with its shrieking grief, the walls vibrating with the sound. The wails followed her, echoing and twisting, growing louder until it felt as if the whole tunnel system were mourning.

Annabeth kept running, dagger still slick in her hand, breath shaking violently as she fled the thing that wore her father’s face.

Percy couldn’t look away. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “You died.” 

“Maybe,” Theseus said casually. “Or maybe death works differently than you think.” His shoes made no sound as he approached, stopping directly in front of Percy. He scoffed softly. “You should know better than that.”

The tunnel seemed to shrink by the second. Percy took a step back without meaning to. “Stop,” he growled.

Theseus hummed, as if Percy hadn’t spoken. “Do you know what the worst part was? It wasn’t dying.” He smiled. “It was watching you believe you had to do it.”

Percy’s chest tightened. “You attacked me.”

Theseus’s expression fell into pity.  “Is that really what you remember?” he asked softly. “Because I remember you swinging first.”

 “No,” Percy snapped. “No, you—you were trying to kill me. You were—”

“Was I?” Theseus stepped closer. “Or did you decide I would betray you, so you saw everything through that lens? You’ve always been good at rewriting your own memories. It’s almost impressive.”

Percy pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Shut up!”

“You look terrible,” Theseus said almost sympathetically. “Worse than when I saw you last. Have you been sleeping?”

Percy stiffened. “Don’t,” he warned.

Theseus ignored him. “When you close your eyes, is it still the same?” he asked, tapping Percy’s temple with two fingers. “The drowning nightmares? Or has it gotten worse?”

Percy’s eyes flashed with anger, swiping Theseus’ arm away from him. 

Theseus grinned, shaking his head. “It’s sad, really.”

“You really need to learn how to stop talking.”

“Or what?” Theseus glanced back at him with amusement. “You’ll kill me again?”

Percy’s jaw tightened.

Theseus continued, conversational. “Those little… episodes. The blackouts. Losing minutes or hours. The spikes of rage you can’t explain, and suddenly you want to hit something—break something—destroy something.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Do you think that’s normal?”

Percy felt something inside him snap. 

“And the sword Hades gave you,” Theseus went on. “Heavy one moment, eager the next. Feeding off every dark thought in your head. You feel it, don’t you? How much easier it’s getting to be cruel.”

“I swear to the gods—”

“And the scroll,” Theseus whispered with a gasp. “The things you’ve imagined doing with it.”

Percy froze. He hadn’t even said that out loud in his own head. “I don’t—”

“You do.” Theseus’s voice shifted, no longer gentle. “You’ve thought about it.” He paused. “You like the idea.”

Percy lunged forward, grabbing Theseus by the front of his jacket and slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the glowing stone.

“You don’t know me,” Percy snarled. “You don’t know what I think or what I want—you’re a dead man talking like you crawled out of my head—”

Theseus grinned, all too knowing. “Percy,” he whispered, “I am in your head.”

Percy’s muscles faltered. In that exact moment, pain bloomed across his chest. He staggered back in confusion, hands instinctively flying to his sternum, and hit the blade of a sword buried halfway into his chest.

For a moment, his brain failed to process it. He just stared, dumb and frozen, as warm blood spread down his shirt in a slow, blooming patch. Then the pain really hit— a blinding spike tearing through his ribs, stealing the air from his lungs. His knees buckled. 

Percy choked on a gasp, then on blood, spitting it onto the ground. He looked up, and Theseus wasn’t in front of him anymore. He was behind him. One hand gripped Percy’s shoulder. The other curled around the hilt. Percy’s vision blurred as he gasped. 

“See?” Theseus murmured. “You can’t even trust yourself.” He twisted the blade.

Percy cried out. “None of this is real,” he gasped, desperate. “This isn’t—this can’t be—”

“Then stop treating it like it is,” Theseus snapped. “Wake up.”

Percy blinked, and the pain vanished. 

The sword vanished. The blood. Gone.

He stumbled forward, hands shaking violently, gasping for air that finally went into his lungs. The world steadied just enough for him to realize Theseus was gone.

Percy fell to the ground alone and pulled himself up against the wall, shaking violently, clutching his chest as if the sword were still there. His mind swore he still felt the wound, but when he dragged in a shaky breath, there was no pain. 

He let out a harsh, uneven exhale as he brought his knees up. He gripped his hair and tugged at it. “I’ve officially gone insane.”