𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒, ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ

007 ── riches of the father.

        As lunch approached, the atmosphere gleamed with the convergence of forewarning. It hung over the four's head like a nebula beset with charge — streaks of light edging, flowing, shaping a lasting tether that marked only the beginning of such rigid tribulations.

Utensils clanked against porcelain pots rhythmically, taking up the unnatural silence left behind. Weariness was almost tangible, fleeting yet present. Nobody seemed particularly happy. The other campers kept glancing over at Percy like he was the corpse of honour. Like his death kissed their eyelids as a blade would his heart. Tender and agonising; death's equal and opposite. Theia barely looked upwards from her own food, whether enthralled by the taste or weary of the slightest turn of heads, the others didn't dare ask.

She hated the looks. They needed no words to convey their thoughts, inky monstrosities carved along their scleras and imbued within the darkening of colour. Whether blue, black, green or brown, each one was poisoned by sickening doubt.

Reyna made a brief speech wishing them luck. Octavian ripped open a Beanie Baby and pronounced grave omens and hard times ahead, but predicted the camp would be saved by an unexpected hero. Hazel prodded her elbow into Theia's ribs, and the redhead tugged a stray onyx curl in jesting retaliation. Then the other campers went off to their afternoon classes—gladiator fighting, Latin lessons, paintball with ghosts, eagle training, and a dozen other activities that sounded better than a suicide quest.

The four made their way to the barracks in the hopes of packing their stuff. Hazel had seized Theia's hand, strikingly warm and a comfort to her own, and dragged her to theirs while the two boys took another direction. With the solace and the verdence around them, lush trees and crooning birds, Theia and Hazel had a common air of freedom surrounded by common isolation. It had made home in their chests from childhood, and it rekindled like a candle's flame as the sweetened taste twirled with their tranquility.

But Hazel's calm was interrupted, eloquence ceasing for her uncertainty. She fixated on things, Theia had noticed, fixing on the smallest of moments in case it escaped her like sand from an hourglass. Theia didn't let the girl hurt herself over it; twirling the brunette's arm above her head, Hazel's body pivoting with the grace of a dancer. Her laugh proved a melody for her movement, and Theia murmured, "We'll be okay, you know."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." The daughter of Pluto shook her head. It registered within more than her friend realised. Too many times had she been lied to, pulled apart by words and teeth that dripped charming red.

Theia grinned then. "Didn't promise, Levesque. Im planning on stabbing you in the back the second we leave—"

"—you wouldn't dare—"

"You're overly confident in my character, then." Trailing her by the arm, Theia turned midway through her walk, the sun's swell withering like a dying breath through wispy copper sheen. "C'mon, we've got to pack our stuff. After that," Hazel caught the sky grin that slipped past her lips, brandishing gleaming teeth like a wolf among grass, "I'm sure Frank can keep you company for a while."

Hazel's face darkened, curls hiding the sudden rush of heat. "Me? And Frank? I don't know what you're talking about. Besides, doesn't he have enough to do with leading a quest and being a centurion and watching Percy?"

"I'll watch Percy."

"You will?"

"Yeah, sure, for a couple hours. I'll bury him myself afterwards so you don't have to bother."

"You're hilarious." Hazel deadpanned. "Try a civil conversation, perhaps." Her shoulders lifted patronisingly, before her face wiped clean at the prevailing scowl opposing her. "And wipe that look off your face, Thee. Intimidation will get you nowhere."