Miss Quinn

52 ~ C.C.'s Island

Percy woke up in the rowboat with a makeshift sail stitched of gray uniform fabric that Annabeth and Emma had rescued him in. Annabeth sat in between Percy and Emma, tacking into the wind. Percy tried to sit up, but Annabeth stopped him.

"Rest," she said. "You're going to need it."

"Tyson ... ?"

She shook her head. "Percy, I'm really sorry."

They were silent while the waves tossed the rowboat up and down.

"He may have survived," Emma said halfheartedly. "I mean, fire can't kill him."

Percy nodded, but Emma knew he had no hope. She felt the same way. She'd seen that explosion rip through solid iron. If Tyson had been down in the boiler room, there was no way he could've lived. He'd given his life for them.

Waves lapped at the boat. Annabeth showed Percy some things she'd salvaged from the wreckage—Hermes's thermos (now empty), a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia, a couple of sailors' shirts, and a bottle of Dr Pepper. She and Emma had fished him out of the water and found his knapsack, bitten in half by Scylla's teeth. Most of his stuff had floated away, but they still had Hermes's bottle of multivitamins, and of course Riptide. The ballpoint pen always appeared back in his pocket no matter where he lost it.

They sailed for hours. Now that they were in the Sea of Monsters, the water glittered a more brilliant green, like Hydra acid. The wind smelled fresh and salty, but it carried a strange metallic scent, too—as if a thunderstorm were coming. Or something even more dangerous.

Percy knew what direction they needed to go. He knew they were exactly one hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of their destination. But that didn't make Emma feel any less lost. No matter which way they turned, the sun seemed to shine straight into her eyes.

The three of them took turns sipping from the Dr Pepper, shading themselves with the sail as best as they could. And they talked about Percy's latest dream of Grover.

By Annabeth's estimate, they had less than twenty-four hours to find Grover, assuming Percy's dream was accurate, and assuming the Cyclops Polyphemus didn't change his mind and try to marry Grover earlier.

"Yeah," Percy said bitterly. "You can never trust a Cyclops."

Annabeth stared across the water. "I'm sorry, Percy. I was wrong about Tyson, okay? I wish I could tell him that."

Percy looked down at their measly possessions—the empty wind thermos, the bottle of multivitamins. Emma knew he was thinking about something important.

"Annabeth, what's Chiron's prophecy?" He asked.

She pursed her lips. "Percy, I shouldn't—"

"I know Chiron promised the gods he wouldn't tell me. But you didn't promise, did you?"

"Knowledge isn't always good for you."

"Your mom is the wisdom goddess!"

"I know! But every time heroes learn the future, they try to change it, and it never works."

"The gods are worried about something I'll do when I get older," he guessed. "Something when I turn sixteen."

Annabeth twisted her Yankees cap in her hands. "Percy, I don't know the full prophecy, but it warns about a half-blood child of the Big Three—the next one who lives to the age of sixteen. That's the real reason Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades swore a pact after World War II not to have any more kids. The next child of the Big Three who reaches sixteen will be a dangerous weapon."