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𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪
AS SOON AS PERCY'S FEET touched down on the terrace and Blackjack let go of him, he spun on Annabeth, who was climbing off of Porkpie.
"What the fuck, Annabeth?" he spat. He felt like he'd been bathed in ice water, then dunked in lava— everything was burning and awful, the pit of dread in his stomach wide enough to swallow him whole. He couldn't think straight, panic flooding his veins and leaving him useless.
The daughter of Athena swallowed. "Percy—"
He cut her off. "No. Why the fuck would you—"
Jake Mason, who was helping Lucia get Michael to a chair with Will trailing close behind, spoke up carefully. "Woah, Percy, man—"
Percy silenced him with a glare, but it died immediately, all the fight leaving him in a breath. He tore his hands through his hair, tugging like he could rip the memory of all of it right out of his head. "We left her," he whispered, something desperate cracking the words in half.
"We don't know where she ended up," Annabeth murmured, but there was fear behind her gray eyes, in the fumbling of her fingers as she tugged at her armor.
"And we won't know now!"
"We couldn't have stuck around a collapsing battlefield, and Michael was hurt," Annabeth countered, always so matter-of-fact, so logical. Percy hated it sometimes. How could she turn to logic when Elia was gone?
He stared at her, glancing at Michael, who was being tended to by a trembling Will. "You could have left me."
Annabeth just crossed her arms, a challenge in her eyes. "To do what?"
Percy's face dropped. "You know what, Annabeth? Go fuck yourself."
A quiet voice spoke up. "Where's Elia?"
When Percy turned, a boy was staring at him with Elia's wide blue eyes. Jack, he remembered from the winter. There was something soft about him that Percy didn't see much, but something he knew Elia felt responsible for protecting. For some reason, so did he.
Lucia was frozen, unable to speak, and Michael was teetering on the brink of consciousness, so Percy took a slow, careful breath.
"She, uh—" he paused, then swallowed. His hands were shaking now, he realized, and he curled them into fists to try and stop them. It didn't work. "We don't know."
Jack looked around, clearly registering the looks on everyone's faces. "She's not dead." His voice was soft but firm. Final.
That, Percy could agree with. He stepped closer to the younger boy, carefully. "She's not," he nodded, glaring at Annabeth as if daring her to disagree.
