The world didn't end with a bang or a whimper. It narrowed to the space between two of Chiron’s heartbeats, the quiet porch of the Big House, and the scent of lemon polish from his bow. Percy felt the centaur’s words land not in his ears, but in his bones, like a chill that sets in for a long winter. *She chose you, Percy.*
He opened his mouth, then closed it. What was there to say? *No, thank you? Sorry, I’m retired from being the gods’ personal errand boy?* The protest died before it could form. You don’t say no to a goddess, especially not one who could turn you into a jackalope for looking at her sideways. And you don’t say no when the request comes from Chiron, whose kind eyes were now filled with a heavy sort of sympathy that made Percy feel like a specimen pinned to a board.
“Why?” Percy finally managed, the single word sounding frayed.
“I told you, my boy,” Chiron said, his voice gentle. “Trustworthiness. Discretion. And…” He hesitated. “You have a habit of succeeding at impossible tasks. Artemis values results.”
Every compliment felt like another link in a chain being fastened around his neck. He wasn't Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, Annabeth’s boyfriend. He was a tool, a reliable, sea-scented Swiss Army knife the gods passed around when they had a problem they couldn’t be bothered to solve themselves. The hum behind his temples pulsed, a frantic, trapped bee.
“Annabeth…” he started, the name tasting like a foreign country.
Chiron’s expression softened further, which only made it worse. “Annabeth is dedicated to a monumental task, one that will define her legacy. I imagine she would be proud that you, too, have been recognized for your unique capabilities.”
*Recognized*. It was a pretty word for *conscripted*. He was being given a brand new, high-stakes job precisely because the person he wanted to build a life with was too busy for him. The irony was so thick he could have choked on it. He stood up, the wooden step creaking under his weight.
“When does it start?” he asked. His own voice sounded distant.
“The Hunt is currently tracking a rogue chimera in the Adirondacks. I suspect Lieutenant Grace will be in touch soon to brief you.” Chiron picked up his bow again, a sign the audience was over. “This is an honor, Percy. Try to see it as such.”
Percy gave a tight, jerky nod and turned away, walking down the path without looking back. An honor. Right. It felt more like a sentence.
The vibrant life of camp seemed muted, a show playing behind a pane of thick glass. He saw Clarisse barking orders at new Ares campers by the arena, their wooden swords clashing. He saw Will Solace and a few of his siblings tending the strawberry fields, their laughter carrying on the breeze. Each normal, happy scene was a fresh twist of the knife. This was what he fought for. A world where kids could just be kids. A world he was no longer fully a part of.
His feet carried him toward the cabins, his own sea-green and abalone-crusted building a lonely monument to a father who rarely called. He thought about going inside, collapsing on his bunk, and staring at the ceiling until the conch horn blew for dinner. But the cabin felt too empty. It was just a bigger version of the stables—a quiet place to hide. But hiding was a luxury he’d just had revoked.
He saw Nico then. Not up close. The son of Hades was sitting under the shade of a large pine on the edge of the woods, the one that used to be Thalia. An odd, half-sacred spot. He was hunched over that same leather book, so engrossed he didn’t seem to notice the world around him. For a second, Percy considered walking over, asking what was so interesting. But the space around Nico felt private, a deliberate circle of solitude Percy had no right to breach. Besides, what would he say? He didn’t have the energy for Nico’s particular brand of intensity right now. He skirted the green, heading for the one place he could think of that was neither a chore nor a hiding spot: the canoe lake.
The water was calm, a perfect mirror of the blue sky. He sat on the end of the dock, letting his sneakers dangle just above the surface. He could feel the pulse of the water, the lazy drift of the naiads in the cool depths, the slow, steady rhythm of the lake’s life. It was a part of him. Or he was a part of it. Sometimes he couldn’t tell the difference. He trailed his fingers in the water, watching the ripples spread out, distorting his reflection.
He should Iris-Message Annabeth. He had a few drachmas in his pocket. He should tell her. It was the right thing to do.
He imagined the shimmering image. Her face, smudged with soot or marble dust, brow furrowed in concentration. Her gray eyes, sharp and brilliant, but tired. So, so tired. And he’d say what? *Hey, Annabeth, hope the Parthenon 2.0 is going well. Just wanted to let you know Artemis gave me a job that’s probably going to involve me trekking all over the country with a bunch of girls who hate my entire gender. So, I guess I’ll see you at Christmas?*
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t add another burden to her shoulders. And he couldn’t bear the thought of her saying, “That’s great, Percy!” with that distracted, well-meaning tone she used when he tried to tell her about his day. The pride would be there, but it would be the pride of a distant monarch for a loyal subject, not… not his Wise Girl.
The thought was so sharp, so painful, he physically flinched, pulling his hand from the water. He was a coward.
“Figured I’d find you here.”
Percy didn’t jump. The voice was too familiar, a piece of his own history. He looked up. Thalia Grace stood a few feet away on the dock, her arms crossed. She wasn’t wearing her usual punk rock t-shirt and ripped jeans. She was clad in the silvery parka of the Hunt, muted in the bright sun but still radiating a faint luminescence. Her silver lieutenant’s circlet gleamed in her spiky black hair. Her electric-blue eyes were just as intense as he remembered, but the familiar playful annoyance was gone, replaced by something more formal. More guarded.
“Thalia,” he said. His voice was rough. “Or should I say Lieutenant?”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Don’t be a smart-aleck, Kelp Head. It doesn’t suit you.” The old insult was comforting, a lifeline to the way things used to be. But her posture didn’t change. She was here on business. “Chiron filled you in?”
“He called it an ‘honor,’” Percy said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.
Thalia’s eyes scanned his face, and for a moment, the lieutenant was gone and his cousin was back. “Look, Percy… I was surprised, too. When Lady Artemis said your name, I thought she was joking.” She sighed, the sound lost in the rustle of leaves from the nearby woods. “But she was serious. She said… she said you understand sacrifice. And that you don’t seek power.”
“Great. My primary qualifications are that I’m good at getting screwed over and I don’t want the promotions.”
“Something like that,” she agreed, her tone unreadable. She walked to the edge of the dock and sat down, a careful foot away from him. “This isn’t a punishment, Percy. It’s a problem. We have one. Artemis thinks you can help us solve it.”
“What problem?”
“Things are… unsettled,” she said carefully. “Since the war, with all the resurrections and the shifting of power. Minor gods are getting bolder. Old monsters are waking up that were supposed to stay asleep. The usual chaos, but more of it. We’re stretched thin.” She looked out over the lake. “We’re tracking a chimera in the Adirondacks now. It’s killed two satyrs and a nymph. But every time we get close, it vanishes. Not just runs away. It vanishes. Into thin air.”
Percy frowned. “Chimeras don’t do that.”
“Exactly.” She turned to him, her gaze sharp. “There’s a pattern. These flare-ups, they’re happening near old demigod ‘safe houses.’ Places that fell off the map centuries ago. We need someone who can go into these places, ask questions, without a dozen girls in silver parkas causing a panic. Someone who can move between worlds. Our world, and theirs.”
“And that’s me,” Percy said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
“That’s you.” Thalia reached into a pocket of her parka and pulled something out. It was a silver disk, smooth and cool as moonlight, with a stylized bow and arrow etched into its surface. “This is a denarius. An old Hunter token. Keep it on you. If you’re in trouble, or you find something, press the arrow. It will alert me. And…” she looked uncomfortable, “…it works both ways. If we need you, it’ll grow warm.”
She held it out. It was a tether. A collar. He took it. The metal was unnaturally cold, a shock against his warm palm. It felt heavier than it looked.
“First assignment?” he asked, his voice low.
“Get your bearings,” Thalia said, standing up. “Pack a bag. This chimera is our priority, but the next time something pops up on the grid, you’re on deck. I’ll be in touch.” She paused at the end of the dock. “And Percy? Try not to get yourself killed before we even put you in the field. It’d be a lot of paperwork.”
She gave him a small, tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and then she was gone, melting into the trees as silently as she’d arrived.
Percy was left alone, the silver denarius cold in his hand. He looked down at it, then back at his own wavering reflection in the lake. The face staring back was his, but it felt like a stranger’s. The buzzing in his head was gone. In its place was a quiet, cold dread that was somehow worse. It was the feeling you get right before the roller coaster drops. The world wasn’t offering him peace. It was offering him a purpose he never asked for, a path leading away from everything he thought he wanted. And the first step had just been taken for him.