JAWBREAKER

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚

"A Cyclops," Percy said. He stared dumbfounded at Tyson.

"A baby, by the looks of him," Warren nodded. "It's probably why he couldn't get past the boundary line as easily as the bulls. He must be one of the orphans."

"One of the what?"

Annabeth glared distastefully at Tyson, finally taking notice of him. "The homeless orphans," she said. Her voice was full of venom that Percy didn't understand.

"They're mistakes," Annabeth continued. "Children of nature spirits and gods. Well, one god in particular, usually...and they don't always come out right. No one wants them. They get tossed aside. They grow up wild on the streets, like savages."

"I don't know how this one found you, Percy," Warren said. "But he obviously likes you. We should take him to Chiron, let him decide what to do."

"But the fire. How—"

"If you'd just listened to me earlier! I was trying to explain," Warren said. "Cyclopes are immune to fire. They have to be, since they work in the forges of the gods."

Percy was still in shock, but he didn't have much time to process it. The whole side of the hill was burning. Wounded heroes needed attention. And there were still two banged-up bronze bulls to dispose of.

Clarisse came back over and wiped the soot off her forehead. "Warren, if you can walk, I need you. We've gotta carry the wounded back to the Big House, let Tantalus know what's happened."

"Tantalus?" she asked.

"The activities director," Clarisse replied.

"But Chiron is the activities director," Warren said. "And where's Argus? He's head of security. He should be here."

Clarisse made a sour face. "Argus got fired. You've been gone too long. Things are changing."

"But Chiron...He's trained kids to fight monsters for over three thousand years. He can't just be gone. What happened?" Percy insisted.

"That happened," Clarisse snapped. She pointed to Thalia's tree.

Warren's stomach dropped. It was exactly like her dream. The once mighty pine looked sickly. Its needles were yellow, a huge pile of dead ones littered the base of the tree. In the center of the trunk, three feet from the ground, was a puncture wound oozing vivid green sap.

Thalia's tree was dying. Someone had poisoned it.

Warren felt strange as she walked through the camp. On the surface, things didn't look all that different. The Big House was still there with its blue gabled roof and its wraparound porch. The strawberry fields still baked in the sun. The same white-columned Greek buildings were scattered around the valley. And nestled between the woods and the creek were the same twelve cabins as always.