JAWBREAKER

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤

Warren ditched the car out back of a motel about a block from the airport. Luckily for her, but not for the big spender who owned the vehicle, he'd left his wallet in the passenger seat.

She held up his driver's license, reading it over and examining the photo of a balding man wearing too many gold chains.

"Sorry Larry," she said, tossing it aside and taking the handful of bills folded in the clip- all hundreds. Enough for the red-eye to New York.

Warren pocketed the cash and hurried off before anyone could see her. As she walked she shook the residual glass shards from her hair and wiped her bloodied palms on her jeans. Her shoulder throbbed where the hydra had slashed her, but her clothes were dark enough that no one would notice the red stains. Still, she grabbed a hoodie off a drying line and threw it on just in case.

Warren got weird looks all through the airport and on the plane. She was twitchy, on edge, and always looking over her shoulder. People probably thought she was strung out, but no one said anything. Warren wasn't the "approachable" type at the best of times.

It wasn't until Warren landed at JFK that she finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

First things first, she thought to herself. Get to camp.

Warren stepped out to the street to hail a taxi, but thought better of it. She couldn't trust anyone. But she also couldn't stay out in the open; if there was another attack Warren didn't want to have it in front of a bunch of mortals. There had already been too much collateral damage for one night. Instead, she jogged between gridlock traffic and made her way to a shopping plaza a few blocks over.

It was fairly unpopulated given the time of night, almost all of the storefronts had closed for the evening. But Warren wasn't there to shop. She was there for the oversized water-feature in the middle of the square. The fountain was beautiful; it shot illuminated streams of water into wide arcs and dazzling fanning mists. And right now it was exactly what she needed.

Warren reached down her shirt and retrieved the emergency drachma she'd started keeping in her bra. She glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then tossed the gold coin into the mist.

"O Goddess, accept my offering. Show me Percy, please."

The mist glowed white, then a form shimmered into view. Broad shoulders faced her and black hair rustled in the wind.

"Perce-" she started, then stopped. Something wasn't right.

The first thing Warren noticed was Riptide clenched in Percy's fist. At his side was the hulking form of Charles Beckendorf, senior counselor for Hephaestus cabin. And then she saw the gleaming white deck of a cruise liner- the Princess Andromeda.

Her mind raced with questions. Why were they on the Princess Andromeda tonight? They had been scouting an ambush of the ship for weeks, but they were waiting for the right time to strike. Warren and Beckendorf had drafted plans to blow the thing sky high with enough explosives to put Krakatoa to shame. They were supposed to wait for her to get back. Warren was supposed to be on that mission.