▃▃▃ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴏꜰ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀᴅ-ᴊ ɪʀᴏɴ ᴡᴏʀᴅ
▃▃ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1 ▃▃ In which the only daughter of Persephone sneaks on a quest to see the world for the first time since she's been at camp. The daughter of wisdom...
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𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭑ ‧₊˚ ⋅ જ⁀➴๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑
It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and bustling with people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard, sporting sunglasses and an earpiece.
Percy turned to his friends. "Okay. You remember the plan?"
"The plan." Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan!"
Elara had her own strategy: exude confidence and declare her title as Princess of the Underworld.
Annabeth asked, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"
"Don't think negative!" Percy rolled his eyes at her.
"How are we supposed to think positively when we're walking into a lobby full of the undead?!" Elara asked in a hushed tone.
"By banking on the fact that your mom lives down there, so maybe they'll be lenient. Now come on!" Percy insisted, gesturing towards the door with a sharp tilt of his head.
Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. Annabeth placed her hand on his shoulder, her touch steady and reassuring.
"I'm sorry, Percy. Elara's right, we'll make it. It'll be fine." Annabeth's voice was calm, and Percy could tell she was starting to trust Elara's instincts more and more. Elara's right, we should listen to her.
The security guard's desk was a raised podium, towering above them. They had to crane their necks to look up at the guard, who seemed to scrutinize them from behind his dark sunglasses.
He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved in a precise military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair perfectly. A black rose was pinned to his lapel beneath a silver name tag.
Percy read the name tag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"
The man leaned across the desk, his smile sweet yet cold, reminiscent of a python's right before it strikes. Elara couldn't see the details of his expression, but the tension in the air was palpable.
"What a precious young lad." His accent was peculiar—British, perhaps, but also tinged with the nuances of someone who had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"
