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The afternoon sun was beating down on the Long Island Sound, but in the shadow of the arena, the air felt ten degrees colder. Nico di Angelo was flickering—not literally, though his skin had taken on that translucent, greyish quality that usually meant he’d spent too much time in the Underworld.
Nico leaned on his Stygian iron sword, his breathing ragged. Across from him, a trio of older Ares campers were grinning, their bronze shields gleaming. They were partaking in a "friendly" sparring match, but they were pushing the Son of Hades hard, fueled by the competitive streak that ran through their blood.
"Come on, di Angelo," one of them, a brawny kid named Sherman, taunted. "I thought the Ghost King was supposed to be a one-man army. You’re looking a little... faint."
From the sidelines, Will Solace was organizing a first-aid kit. Usually, Will was the picture of tranquility—whistling a tune, cracked-surface jokes, and bright smiles. He was the camp’s human antidepressant. But as he watched Nico stumble, his movements became stiff. His eyes, usually the color of the summer sky, darkened.
Nico tried to summon a bone shard from the earth, but his knees buckled. He did not fall, but he was vulnerable for a split second. Sherman didn't see a tired kid; he saw an opening. He lunged with a practice spear, the blunt tip aimed right for Nico’s chest with enough force to crack a rib.
"Sherman, stop!" someone yelled, but the Ares camper was in the zone.
Before the spear could connect, the temperature in the arena did not just rise—it scorched.
A blur of orange and gold intercepted the strike. Will Solace wasn't holding a medical kit anymore. He had stepped between the spear and Nico, his hand gripping the shaft of the weapon with a strength that shouldn't belong to a healer.
The air around Will was shimmering with a terrifying, golden heat haze. He did not look like a "ball of sunshine" anymore; he looked like the sun itself—blinding, distant, and lethal.
"The session," Will said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, vibrating hum, "is over."
"Move it, Solace," Sherman grunted, trying to wrench the spear back. "He was fine. We’re just training."
Will did not move. He stepped forward, forcing Sherman back. The golden glow intensifying until the Ares campers had to shield their eyes. "He is trembling, his heart rate is over 140, and he is showing signs of shadow-flicker. I told you three an hour ago that he was at his limit."
"He said he was fine!"
Will let go of the spear and took a single step toward Sherman. The ground under Will’s feet began to smoke. "I don’t care what he said. I am the Head Healer. When I give a medical directive at this camp, it is not a suggestion. It is a command."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the other campers who had been lounging in the stands sat up. They had never seen Will Solace angry. It was like watching a golden retriever suddenly turn into a lion.
"If you touch him again while he is under my care," Will said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "you won’t have to worry about the Hades cabin. You’ll have to worry about why your skin is blistering and why you can’t see straight for a week. Do I make myself clear?"
Sherman paled, nodded once, and beckoned his siblings to leave. They didn't argue.
The glow faded, but the intensity in Will’s posture did not. He turned around, and for a moment, Nico actually felt a spark of genuine fear. Will’s eyes were still burning.
"Will—" Nico started, trying to stand up straight.
"Sit. Down."
Nico sat. "I’m fine, really, it was just a—"
"Nico di Angelo, if you say the word 'fine' one more time, I will literally sedate you," Will snapped. He knelt in front of Nico, his hands moving with surgical precision as he checked Nico’s pulse and pupils. His touch was usually warm and comforting, but now it felt authoritative, almost possessive.
"You pushed yourself too far. Again," Will muttered. He reached into his bag and pulled out a square of ambrosia, practically shoving it into Nico’s hand. "Eat. Now."
Nico chewed the ambrosia, watching Will cautiously. "You were... scary back there. The whole 'sun god's wrath' thing."
Will paused, his shoulders finally dropping an inch. He looked at his hands, which were still faintly glowing. He took a deep breath, the "sunny" Will trying to resurface, but the protective edge remained.
"I spend all day, every day, trying to put people back together, Nico," Will said softly, looking him dead in the eye. "I watch you specifically like a hawk because I know you don't know how to value your own life. So when I see people treating you like a target when you’re already falling apart... yeah. The switch flips."
He reached out, cupping Nico’s face. His thumb brushed over the dark circles under Nico’s eyes.
"I’m the healer, Nico. That means I protect my patients. Especially the ones I love."
Nico felt his face heat up—and for once, it wasn't because of the sun. He leaned into Will’s hand, the exhaustion finally winning out. "Okay. You win. Take me to the infirmary."
Will’s expression softened, the terrifying heat replaced by a gentle, steady warmth. He looped Nico’s arm over his shoulder, hauling him up with surprising ease.
"Good choice," Will said, his protective tone returning. "And just so we're clear? You're staying in that bed for forty-eight hours. If I see a single shadow in your room, I’m calling your dad and telling him you’re being a difficult patient."
Nico groaned, but he did not pull away. "You wouldn't."
"Try me, Death Boy," Will whispered, pulling him closer as they walked toward the infirmary, his eyes scanning the horizon as if looking for any other threat that dared to get too close.