Forgotten memories

ITS THE COPS! RUN!

I never really paid much attention to mortals. Maybe that sounds cold, but... honestly, what was the point? The only interactions I had with them lately were either the pizza delivery guy who knew our camp's address a little too well or the occasional field trip into Manhattan, like that one time we went to see Olympus. Even then, I ditched the group with the Stoll brothers. They went off to pull whatever ridiculous prank they'd cooked up, and I—well, I wandered into this open culture house where some "paint 'n greet" was happening. I figured, why not? So, while everyone else was marveling at godly architecture, I just... painted for the afternoon.

But now, here in Seattle—a city that didn't feel as forgiving as New York—I didn't have the luxury of blending in. I was sprinting toward the train station when the sharp sound of a voice stopped me dead.

"Hey, kid. Got any ID on you?"

I froze. The man asking was a broad-shouldered cop, late forties or maybe fifties, with a face that looked like it had been carved out of stone. Authority radiated off him, heavy and suffocating.

And that's when the panic set in.

Why? Oh, just a few tiny reasons: one, I was a fourteen-year-old running around a major city completely unsupervised. Two, I didn't have any identification on me—kind of hard to carry ID when you've just been burned to a crisp in a volcano. And three, not exactly a U.S. citizen. So yeah... panic.

"Uh... not right now, sir," I managed, trying to sound calm even though my heart was punching against my ribs like it wanted out.

The cop narrowed his eyes. "Where are your parents?" His voice carried that commanding weight, and suddenly it felt harder to breathe. My throat tightened.

Before I could fumble out an answer, another officer stepped out from behind him. A woman this time, maybe late thirties, her tone immediately softer, less like I was a suspect and more like I was just... a kid.

"Steven, relax. He's just a kid." She crouched down a little so her eyes met mine. "Hey there. Where are your parents? And where exactly are you headed?"

Her calm voice was like water dousing the fire of panic in my chest. I let out a shaky breath, scrambling for a story.

"Uh... my parents are, um... dead." The silence after those words was suffocating, and I realized too late how heavy that sounded. I rushed to cover it with babbling. "I got on the wrong train. Started in New York—was supposed to go to San Francisco—but I got on the wrong one, fell asleep, and then when I woke up I thought I was in San Francisco. But, uh, turns out I was in Seattle, and then I walked out of the station and got lost and—"

The lies tumbled out so fast even I had trouble keeping up, but somehow... it worked. The cops exchanged a glance, and neither of them seemed ready to call me out.

"Do you even know where the station is?" the female officer asked gently.

I pointed confidently in some random direction, and she chuckled. "Nope. Not even close." She shook her head with a smile. "Tell you what—why don't we give you a ride back to the station? But first, we need a name. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Relief washed over me so hard I almost sagged in place. "Orion. Orion Pierce."

Her face lit up like I'd just told her a secret. "Orion Pierce? That's beautiful. Sounds exotic." She straightened up proudly. "Well, I'm Officer Yen. And this—" she thumbed toward her partner—"is Officer Grumpypants Rodriguez."

"Grumpypants?" Rodriguez muttered, but Yen ignored him, grinning at me like she'd cracked some great joke.

And just like that, I was sitting in the back of a police cruiser. Strange, sure, but also... safe. They didn't handcuff me or anything, and after a few minutes of weaving through Seattle traffic, we pulled up in front of the station.