ENTRAPPED ₂

66

ETHAN KNEW PAIN. That didn't mean it ever stopped hurting him.

As he and Annabeth fell, he knew better than to land on his feet. He wasn't a cat, and he couldn't afford losing his ability to walk.

So instead, he did something supremely stupid: he angled his body so he would land on his shoulder.

Later, he would blame it on his panic. In the moment, it seemed like a good idea right up until he hit the ground.

He immediately knew he had broken it, probably shattered it in some places. Pain like a hot steel wire jabbed its way through his entire arm, down to his fingertips, all the way through his collarbones. He hissed out a few sharp curses, stifling an awful whine. He heard Annabeth inhale sharply and knew she had fared about as well as he had.

Truthfully, Ethan almost blacked out. His head spun. He angled himself away from Annabeth and retched up their lunch.

In terms of scale, Ethan would compare this with having his eye cut out. That had fucking hurt. This hurt in a different way. Every time he shifted, pain shivered up his arm.

"Fuck," he cursed. Why his arm? What a stupid decision to make. He needed his arms. He fought on both sides for a reason. He had broken his left shoulder, which was the side his good eye was on.

Annabeth let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "I thought there would be another floor underneath the last one."

"I hate your mom," Ethan snarled. He sat up, trying to breathe through the pain. His arm hung limply by his side.

He looked around, assessing their situation. Annabeth's dagger had skittered a few feet away. Their packs were still securely on their backs, which was good; though the strap was digging into Ethan's shoulder horribly. The lighting was dim, but Ethan could see enough. They were lying on a cold floor of sandstone blocks. The ceiling was two stories tall. The doorway through which they'd fallen was ten feet off the ground, now completely blocked with debris that had cascaded into the room, making a rockslide. Scattered around them were old pieces of lumber―some cracked and desiccated, others broken into kindling.

"I'm so stupid," Annabeth cursed herself.

"You got us out of there," Ethan said. "Shut the fuck up. We're the first of all of our ancestors to make it this far."

She turned her head to look at him. Ethan could see tears gleaming on her cheeks, probably from the pain. Her ankle was twisted an awful amount, much worse than Piper's had been back in Detroit. Oh, how Ethan longed for problems as simple as those.

Annabeth took a deep, shaky breath. She reached for a piece of lumber, wincing at the movement, and the board crumbled in her hand.

"Okay," she said. "Think. Prioritize." She sounded as if she were talking to herself more than Ethan, but it helped Ethan sort through things all the same.

"I don't see any threats," Ethan said. "That's always the first step: make sure you're safe. The Lares couldn't follow us. The room looks pretty stable."

Annabeth nodded. She looked toward their only exit, which was on the far wall―an arched doorway that led into darkness. Between them and the doorway, a small brickwork trench cut across the floor, letting water flow through the room from left to right. If the water was drinkable, that was good.

Piled in one corner were some broken ceramic vases, spilling out shriveled brown clumps that might once have been fruit. In another corner were some wooden crates that looked more intact, and some wicker boxes bound with leather straps.

"So, no immediate danger," Annabeth said. "Unless something comes barreling out of that dark tunnel." She glared at the doorway, as if daring their luck to get worse. Thankfully, nothing happened.