Goodnight Moon ↣ P. Jackson + A. Chase

2.09

Kassandra itched to trade a finger over the smooth, dulled metal of the Apollo space capsule, wanted to take in the thing that had been named after her father with care and gentleness. She also wanted to shove it as hard as she could to knock it over. There was no in-between.

From the moment that she had woken before dawn, woken before her father could even try to annoy her awake, she had felt on edge more so than she normally would on the days that she had to leave camp.

It didn't help that her siblings had been the ones to help her pack the night before. She was far overprepared as they kept insisting that they just knew she had to bring extra things, that she just needed to find a little more room in her backpack until she finally put her foot down when it came to finding a place to fit a tent.

(Last summer, the things that she had prepared herself had been fine, but she was still missing everything that she couldn't prepare for.)

(Somehow, her bag ended up stocked with food and water, a few changes of clothes, more medical supplies than her first aid kit needed, ambrosia and nectar from their own stash, cash, and a bundle of throwing knives that she was prevailed upon to pack knowing that she would never get them back.)

(Of course, she had a set of dagger lining the inside of the pocket of her normal jacket and another strapped to her thigh, having learnt her lessons since Polyphemus and Chris.)

(Another issue was, perhaps, the heirloom bow that was slung across her back, with the quiver. They had argued over her taking it until Christa went and cut the string of her personal bow leaving her with no choice but to take that one unless she wanted to spend the night looking through the ones available at camp that would suit her well.)

(When Kassandra was ten, almost eleven, and had first decided that she was ready to go home, she had snuck out nearly every night that week leading up to her leaving day in the arena or on the archery field.

She wanted to make sure she knew her weapons, wanted to make sure that she had the right one's to keep herself safe.

A dagger was perfect for her small size and abrupt yet fluid, boxer, brawler style of attack. It made it easy for her to glide in and out, to manage quick redirects and desperate blocks while dodging like a dream.

The bow and arrows were different. They made her feel sturdy, ready and complete, but she couldn't and wouldn't use them when she heard the whispers of campers that guessed at her parentage, that acted as though they knew and so did she and she hated it.

Luke had found her late in the night but too early to be considered morning. He had told her that no god alone could dictate her weapon or her right to defend herself. Had thrust into her hands a bow that had become hers.)

(She still had that smaller bow hung on the wall above her head of her bedroom at home.)

"Grover, are you sure this is the place?" Thalia asked the satyr.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The trail definitely came through here."

Kassandra looks away from the space capsule, twisting so that she was fully facing them. The hunters were looking around the room as if to find a trace of the lost goddess.

She flits her gaze over the room as she searched for any clues herself, taking a few steps forward because she just knew that she should.

"We should get going," she says quickly. "I feel like we should keep moving."