𝓓𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓮

𝑳𝑽...𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑲𝒊𝒍𝒍

"ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀᴘᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪɴᴛᴀɢᴇ"
-ᴊᴏʜɴ ꜱᴛᴇɪɴʙᴇᴄᴋ

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭑
‧₊˚ ⋅ જ⁀➴๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭

The metal door was half hidden behind an overflowing laundry bin of hotel towels. Nothing about it looked unusual-until Rachel brushed back the fabric and revealed a faint blue symbol etched into the steel.

"It hasn't been used in a long time," Annabeth said, her voice low.

"I tried once," Rachel admitted. "Just out of curiosity. It's rusted shut."

"No," Annabeth corrected, stepping closer. "It just needs the touch of a half-blood."

Elara moved forward before anyone else could. She pressed her palm to the mark, and the symbol flared to life-a sharp, brilliant blue. The lock gave way with a hiss, and the door creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase descending into shadows.

Rachel blinked in awe. She'd changed into a ratty Museum of Modern Art T-shirt and her marker-colored jeans, her plastic blue hairbrush sticking haphazardly out of her pocket. Stray flecks of gold glitter still clung to her face, catching in the light when she shifted. "Wow," she breathed. "So... after you?"

"You're the guide," Annabeth said, her voice dipped in mock politeness. "Lead on."

Adrien shot her a sharp look, arms crossing. "Would it kill you to be nice for once?" he muttered. Rachel had been nothing but helpful, and Annabeth's clipped tone was already grating on him.

The stairs plunged into darkness, the air growing colder as they descended. At the bottom, their flashlights flicked on, beams cutting through dust. Rachel's sudden yelp echoed against the brick walls, and Elara instantly saw why.

The tunnel opened before them, and blocking the way was a massive skeleton, strung up with iron chains at its wrists and ankles, forming a grotesque X across the corridor. Its frame was monstrous-easily ten feet tall-but worse than its size was its skull. Empty sockets stared down at them, except for one black hollow set directly in the center of its forehead.

Elara's breath caught, a chill seeping into her bones. "Tyson..." she whispered, dread curling in her chest.

"A Cyclops," Annabeth said, more thoughtful than afraid. "It's very old. It's not... anyone we know."

Not Tyson. Elara's hands tightened into fists.

Rachel swallowed, eyes darting to Percy. "You have a friend who's a Cyclops?"

"Tyson," Percy said softly. "My half-brother."

Rachel blinked. "Your half-brother."

"Hopefully we'll find him down here," Percy said quietly. "And Grover. He's a satyr."