ENTRAPPED ₂

37

AFTER THE INITIAL ADRENALINE RUSH FADED, THEY ALL BUCKLED INTO THEIR SEATS. Hazel sat next to Frank, quietly consoling him while he wiped tears from his face. He kept his head down, like he was embarrassed to have been crying.

Percy and Madeleine sat across the aisle from them. Percy was gripping the armrests of his seat, white-knuckled and pale. Madeleine remembered: Percy wasn't afraid of heights, but he was terrified of flying. Pegasi or Madeleine weren't so bad, but airplanes were Zeus's territory.

The look on his face, though, reminded Madeleine of Ethan. Ethan hated all forms of flying. He would only really tolerate it when she was flying him around; and even then, he would panic. The memory of his arms around her shoulders made her ache.

She had figured out the leather jacket. It was Ethan's. She hadn't packed it, and she hadn't woken up with it. She didn't know how it had gotten into her backpack. Maybe Apollo had done that while she was sleeping on the road. Maybe it had just appeared. Maybe someone was still looking out for her.

A little selfishly, she wished her memories were still hazy. Not really. She needed her memories, and she valued each one. But it was all hitting her at once, and it was a little overwhelming.

Hazel had been right. Her memories weren't easing back in, like Percy's were. They were hitting her full force, in vivid imagery. Silena's armor bubbling under drakon acid. Clarisse's bared teeth. Chris Rodriguez, his arm resting on Clarisse's bicep. Drew carefully sitting between Madeleine's legs, doing her lipstick.

There were good moments. There were bad moments. There were almost no in-betweens. Madeleine felt like she was drowning. She was trying to stay anchored, to use the tactics she had learned between her panic attacks growing up, but it felt a little hopeless.

As they flew north, Frank explained about his conversation with the invisible Mars from the night before. Madeleine tried to listen, but she was having a really hard time of it. She got the basics: war, Frank's life being tied to a piece of firewood that Juno had prophesized when he was a baby. Madeleine had figured most of that out, but she was still a little stunned. No wonder he flinched whenever there was fire nearby. She couldn't imagine the way he must trust Hazel, to put his lifeline in her hands.

She glanced at Percy. This wasn't something she had ever considered, but if her life was tied to a stick like that, who would she trust with it? She always held her cards close to her chest. She trusted so few people. None of the gods, because despite their best, they were shifty and unpredictable. Madeleine and the gods used each other, and she was mostly okay with that.

Nico had too much turmoil within him. Drew hadn't been the same since Silena had died. Lee and Madeleine hadn't ever been that close, though she had jumped in front of a blade for him once. Trust was so hard.

Annabeth and Madeleine had too many differences. Rachel... maybe. Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Gods, Madeleine missed Rachel.

Ethan, then. She would put her life in Ethan's hands in a heartbeat. Her willingness to do so just made her ache all over again. She tasted blood in her mouth. She wanted to curl into his leather jacket and never come out.

Percy, too. She would be an idiot not to trust Percy Jackson. He was her number one confidant, her closest friend. They knew each other like their own hands.

"Frank," Percy said, shaking Madeleine out of her thoughts. "I'm proud to be related to you."

Frank's ears turned red. With his head lowered, his military haircut made a sharp black arrow pointing down. "Juno has some sort of plan for us, about the Prophecy of Nine."

"Yeah," Percy grumbled. "I didn't like her as Hera. I don't like her any better as Juno."

Hazel tucked her feet underneath her. She studied Percy with her luminescent golden eyes, and Madeleine was reminded of their conversation from that morning. There was something very bold and intent about Hazel that Madeleine was familiar with―both Bianca and Nico had the same quality. There wasn't an exact way to describe it, but it was intense and vicious. It was the way one looked when they had lost everything and were still living despite it.