𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, PJ2

𝟎𝟎𝟔.𝟒

When they reached the ledge, Annabeth was sure she'd signed their death warrants.

The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian crevasse, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces.

Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn't left Annabeth's bones, but now her face felt raw and sunburnt. Every breath took more effort, as if her chest were filled with styrofoam peanuts. The cuts on her hands bled more rather than less.

Annabeth's ankle, which had almost healed, now seemed to be broken again. She'd taken off her makeshift cast, but now she regretted it. Each step made her wince.

"Let me help," Juliet coughed out, crouching to heal her but nothing happened and she only coughed more.

"No sunlight," Annabeth dragged her up, "It won't work."

Juliet leaned on her for a second before straightening up and looking down, "So we jump this cliff and then move to the river?"

Assuming they could make it down to the fiery river, which she doubted, her plan seemed certifiably insane.

"Uh ..." Juliet examined the cliff, shaking her head as if she was hallucinating before she pointed to a tiny fissure running diagonally from the edge to the bottom. "We can try that ledge there. Might be able to climb down."

Juliet didn't say they'd be crazy to try. She managed to sound hopeful. Annabeth was grateful for that, but she also worried that she was leading the girl to her doom.

Of course if they stayed here they would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on their arms from exposure to the Tartarus air. The whole environment was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone.

Juliet went first. The ledge was barely wide enough to allow a toehold. Their hands clawed for any crack in the glassy rock. Every time Annabeth put pressure on her bad foot, she wanted to yelp. She'd ripped off the sleeves of her T-shirt and used the cloth to wrap her bloody palms, but her fingers were still slippery and weak. A few steps below her, Juliet squealed as she reached for another handhold.

"Getting serious deja vu that I've been here before.'' Juliet panted, looking around.

"The Phlegethon?" Annabeth asked, grunting above her.

"The cliffs, the fire, the whole feel of it. Like I've been here in a dream or... another life." She glanced up at Annabeth, her eyes clouded with something between confusion and dread. "You ever get that? Like you're retracing your own steps, but you don't know why?"

Annabeth didn't answer right away. She couldn't afford to—her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the glassy obsidian, and for a terrifying moment, she slipped, her body lurching against the cliff face. A sharp gasp escaped her, but her fingers found a crack at the last second. Her heart pounded in her ears as she steadied herself. "Not sure I've got the bandwidth for existential crises right now, Juliet," she muttered.

Juliet didn't press the issue, though her words lingered in Annabeth's mind as they descended.

They kept going, one step at a time. Annabeth's eyes stung with sweat. Her arms trembled. But, to her amazement, they finally made it to the bottom of the cliff.

When she reached the ground, she stumbled. Juliet helped her. Annabeth was alarmed by how feverish Juliet's skin felt. Red boils had erupted on her face, so she looked like a smallpox victim. Her own vision was blurry. Her throat felt blistered, and her stomach was clenched tighter than a fist.