𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

22 - we don't cope with anger very well

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

THE PANIC SET IN AS SOON AS THE ADRENALINE DIED DOWN. Rachel led the four demigods through the dusty tunnels, the only sound being the pound of their feet and their heaving breaths. Elia wasn't sure if Kronos had even followed them into the Labyrinth, but safe is certainly better than sorry.

They ran and ran, all the while Elia's ribs ached and her head was pounding and her hands were flickering anxiously. The shadows trailed after her heels as if they were trying to keep up. Hot panic was threatening to burst from her chest, either in the form of a shout or a sob, but she swallowed it down, stifling the feeling for the time being.

After what felt like hours, Rachel stuttered to a stop in a corridor that looked like some kind of natural cavern, collapsing to the ground with a groan. "I can't go any further," she gasped, bright curls stuck to her sweaty face.

Elia stumbled, bracing her weight against the stone wall as her shoulders heaved with every gasp, her lungs fighting for breath like the air was still knocked fresh out of her. Percy's hand was warm in her own as her palm flickered, the light fading as she sank to the floor beside him, free arm clutched over her ribs.

Sobs echoed through the cave. Elia's head lifted weakly and she glanced around; was she the one crying? She wouldn't be surprised. Her eyes landed on Annabeth, who had her head pressed between her knees, shoulders shaking and tears streaming across her dark skin.

Pushing herself from the dusty ground, the daughter of Apollo pulled her hand from Percy's gently, eyes tracking over Nico for a second, just to check on him before she stumbled over to her best friend, kneeling beside her. She placed a gentle palm on Annabeth's back, brushing a loose braid from her face and wiping away the trails of tears, though they were soon after replaced with new ones.

Luke, what have you done? It ran like a broken record in her mind, the needle scratching at the space behind her eyes. She had a growing migraine.

Luke. Luke, what did you do? Again and again. He was supposed to be a hero; he was supposed to save them. He promised.

She could hear Nico's sword clatter against the ground. "That sucked," the son of Hades muttered.

"You saved our lives," Percy nodded appreciatively, but the words felt distant to Elia, as if he was miles away from her. Though, maybe she was the one who was far away— Percy seemed rooted to the ground, his fear feeding into focus. Elia wanted to follow Annabeth's lead and collapse, maybe hold her ribs and cry. But no— they had to move on. No time to dwell on it all.

Annabeth's head fell to the side, her nose pressing into Elia's neck as tears fell from her face onto the daughter of Apollo's shoulder. Elia took a slow breath, two, testing the ache in her ribs. They didn't have time for this; they needed to go. They needed to find Grover and Tyson and they needed to save the camp. 'Need' was such a stange word. It carried such obligation, such haste. But debating Luke's unfortunate Fate would have to wait for later.

It keeps running in her head, though. Luke, what have you done?

"What... what was wrong with Luke?" Annabeth whispered, her hoarse voice echoing in the quiet cavern. "What did they do to him?"

Elia blew out a breath. "I don't think they did anything to him," she muttered. She didn't mean for her voice to have such a hard edge, but her eye wanted to twitch every time her sister said Luke's name with such care. She's so tired of people defending him; she's so tired in general. You have to get up, you have to keep fighting. "He did it to himself."