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The cramped elevator shudders upwards, smelling faintly of stale popcorn and desperation. Percy Jackson leans heavily against Nico di Angelo’s narrow shoulder, his sea-green eyes glassy with poison-induced fever and encroaching panic.
"Monsters... inside Athena's temple?" Percy rasps, each word scraping his throat raw. "How?"
Annabeth Chase adjusts her Yankees cap, her gray eyes scanning the elevator’s flickering lights. "My mother let them in." Her voice is flint striking stone. "Punishment." She kicks at a discarded soda can wedged near the door. "For mailing Medusa's head to Olympus."
Percy jerks upright, swaying dangerously. "That was my id—" A violent cough cuts him off. Nico’s small hand presses firmly against his spine, grounding him.
"Doesn’t matter," Annabeth snaps, brittle as dried seaweed. "Mom’s always been... *xenophobic* about respecting divine boundaries. Half-bloods breaking rules? We’re lucky she didn’t flood the Mississippi."
Grover bleats softly, his crutches trembling against the metal floor. "So Echidna just... strolled in?"
"Like she owned the place," Annabeth confirms, knuckles white on her dagger hilt.
The elevator groans, slowing—Percy’s breath hitches. Walls press closer—steel ribs, wiring snaking behind panels, tourists’ damp winter coats brushing his arms. Sweat beads on his temples. Too small. Too dark. His vision tunnels. He gags, doubling over as bitter bile splatters the polished floor. Tourists recoil, muttering about stomach flu and poor parenting.
"Shhh," Nico murmurs, softer than Hades’ shadow. He doesn’t flinch from the vomit’s sour tang. Tugging Percy’s sleeve, he guides the older boy’s forehead against his own shoulder—a bony but steady anchor. Percy’s knees buckle; Nico braces, taking his weight without protest. Twelve-year-old limbs trembling, yet holding firm. "Lean," Nico orders, voice thin but unwavering. "Don’t look at the walls. Look at me."
Percy focuses on Nico’s dark eyes—pools of calm in the suffocating dark. The doors ding open. Cold January wind whips across the Arch’s observation deck, scattering popcorn kernels and tourist maps. Sunlight glares off snow-dusted windows framing St. Louis far below. Dozens of people jostle for selfies, oblivious.
Annabeth acts. One sharp yank on the red fire alarm handle. Klaxons blare, earsplitting and urgent. "Grover, Percy—blend!" she commands, already scanning for threats. "Nico!"
The boy nods sharply. Like a spider scaling ivy, he scrambles up exposed maintenance scaffolding, vanishing into girders near the curved ceiling. Percy fumbles Riptide from his pocket—the pen cold against his palm.
"Take it," he gasps, thrusting it at Annabeth. "You’re better with—"
She reaches for it. Percy seizes her wrist instead. With a surge of seawater strength he shouldn’t possess, he shoves her backward into the elevator. Tourists scream as he slams the emergency lock button. The doors shudder closed.
"Percy, NO!" Annabeth’s fist pounds the glass, her scream muffled. Grover batters the door with his crutch, panicked oaths lost in the alarm’s wail.
Percy stumbles against the locked doors, breath ragged. Beyond the glass, Echidna’s serpent tail whips around a corner, her lion claws scraping marble. Above, Nico freezes mid-climb. Terror floods him—sharp as a Stygian blade. Percy’s gray-tinged face, the tremors in his limbs, the way the poison gnawed his strength... Claustrophobia weakened him, Nico realizes. He can’t win alone. Below, Percy raises empty hands toward the advancing monster. Nico’s heart plummets. He’s going to die.