By Inferno's Light [ Percy Jackson OC ]

NINE | Alex

DOING THIS ALONE MEANT NO ONE saw the silent tears streaming down his face as Alex looked out over Camp Half Blood beneath the full moon.

He'd done this before. He'd left alone, without warning and without a clear sense of direction. Last time, Alex had left a note for Kitty. This time, he'd left one for Chiron. Not an invitation. This time he'd left an apology.

Sorry for leaving. Sorry for sneaking away. Sorry for stealing supplies. Sorry for doing this all over again.

A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He'd zipped his black leather jacket all the way, obscuring the orange camp shirt. On his back, he had a plain backpack stocked full with arrows, ambrosia, nectar, a map and compass, rations, and the money he'd won in ping pong and poker games.

Only a few lights twinkled around the camp. But Alex didn't need to see to know what he left behind. An ache filled the pit of his stomach. These kids looked up to him. Hecate's cabin relied on him. With Annabeth distracted and Percy MIA, at least CHB had Clarisse to prepare for war.

A shiver ran down his spine. War. Every day, he tried to convince himself it wasn't inevitable. Chiron hesitantly believed in peace. Jason Grace firmly believed in it.

Alex did not.

Thunder rolled in the distance. A surprisingly cold wind blew his loose bangs into his icy blue eyes. Last time he'd left, war had followed.

Chris had left the week before, disappearing during a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He'd just faded into the crowd. Chris melted away, following the little tug in his mind that led him to Luke.

Alex had followed that pull, the subconscious mental compass that had guided towards his destinations more times than he could count. He'd broken into the Big House, stuffed a backpack with supplies, and walked to his brothers.

The tangled thickets that he'd snuck through over five years ago still provided a shielded escape. The cleaning harpies could cackle, grumble, and groan all they wanted up in the sky. For all their bluster, he'd yet to see them eat a camper.

The darkness closed in as he pushed through the brambles. His leather jacket and jeans deflected most of the thorns, but a few passed through the crude armor. They bit into him like teeth. Thundered reverberated around him once more.

Alex stopped at the edge of the brambles, just before the makeshift tunnel. Cool air filled his nose as he took a deep breath. Just a few more steps. A few more steps and he'd leave Camp Half-Blood behind again.

He'd leave Kitty behind again. He would face the monsters alone. One demigod against an army of chaos and destruction.

If only Ophelia were there. She would wrap them in shadow and the scent of a smoking fire would comfort him.

But she wasn't there. Alex felt the sting of a thorn digging into his arm, through the leather to his bare skin.

Kitty wasn't there. He had no right to drag her into a quest, a debt to a goddess, to the queen of the Underworld. She deserved happiness. She had Sienna.

He focused on the shadows. Alex closed his eyes. She had Sienna. It was time for him to find Ophelia.

The tug in his brain that always guided his footsteps, somehow he knew she would be there. The fates of the bow of Hercules, the son of Proserpina, and his lost girlfriend were tied together in ways he couldn't understand.

As lightning split the sky, Alex forced himself free. The bramble hedge gave way, growing over and around a pathway made by many years of campers who wanted to sneak into the real world. He stepped through.

Rain had drenched his clothes by the time he reached Manhattan. He'd flagged down a car three hours into his walk but the damage had been done. He didn't know if Zeus was enjoying making his life miserable or if spring simply brought the rain. April showers bring May flowers, after all.

He stood tucked away in the shadows of Times Square. The flashing billboards lit up the streets, reflecting back their strobing colors in the puddles. But it only darkened the shadows where the light couldn't reach.

Three in the morning on a Saturday meant drunks. Prime pickpocketing. If he could secure a bit of cash before catching a bus to Buffalo, he'd feel a bit better.

Alex watched a group of guys dressed for a rooftop party ambling down the side walk towards him. Five at once could be tricky. His fingers trailed over Vindication, rubbing the caduceus like some sort of rabbit's foot. They'd obviously been pregaming for a while. None of them could walk straight.

They moved past him. Alex took a deep breath. He slowed his breathing. Focus. He was a son of Hermes, after all. He could do this.

With one last rub of Vindication, he stepped out of the shadows, 'accidentally' bumping into the smallest of the men who couldn't have been much older than him.

"Dude, what the fuck?" the man slurred.

Alex threw his hands up. "Sorry, man. I'm sorry."

"Watch where you're fucking going," said another.

Alex took the opportunity to lower his hands to his side. He rounded on the new speaker, a tall, white, gangly kid with a brown paper bag wrapped around his alcohol. Alex just huffed.

The man Alex had bumped just shook his head. He turned to his friend and told him to calm down, that he was fine. They argued. Alex seized the moment.

With nimble fingers blessed by the god of thieves and tricksters, he slipped the man's worn brown wallet from his jeans into Alex's jacket pocket.

"Hey man, I'm sorry. I'll let you guys go," Alex said. He slipped away into the shadows, leaving the drunk young men to argue amongst themselves.

The rain started up again. Alex ducked into a McDonalds. With a plate of fries and way too much ketchup, he looked through his prize. Sixty in cash and three credit cards. Not bad.

Sixty plus his stash would give him more than enough to catch transit to Buffalo. He didn't know what he would find there, but that was his destination. He just knew it. When he saw the signs at the Amtrak station, it clicked. Buffalo was not the end, but it was a stepping stone.

A yawn escaped him mid fry. Gods, he needed sleep. He needed a long rest. Maybe this guy's credit card would come in handy.

The hotel room had quite a view. Twenty-eight stories up, overlooking Times Square, Alex almost felt bad about the charge that Mr. Philip Mason would wake up to after his party.

But as Alex settled on the white sheets of his bed, it took time to calm his nerves. He needed sleep. Real sleep. Good sleep. Not ravens.

Rain pounded on the windows. He took a deep breath. Anything but ravens.