The rhythmic *thwack* of the broom against the stable floor was a balm, a dull counterpoint to the insistent hum behind Percy’s temples. He meticulously swept the hay, pushing it into neat, fragrant piles, his gaze fixed on the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams slanting through the high windows. It wasn’t just a chore; it was a ritual. Ever since the war, he’d found himself drawn to repetitive, low-stakes tasks, especially those involving cleaning. He’d scrubbed the Argo II’s mess hall so thoroughly Frank had wondered if he was trying to erase the ghost of every meal, and now here he was, tending to the pegasi. His mother always said a tidy space was a tidy mind, and while his mind felt anything but, the *act* of tidying offered a fleeting, fragile peace.
Mrs. O'Leary, a massive shadow against the stable’s far wall, snored contentedly, her paws twitching as she chased dream squirrels. Blackjack nudged Percy’s shoulder, whickering softly, and Percy automatically reached up, scratching the pegasus’s poll. “Easy, boy. Almost done.”
“Jackson! Didn’t think you were on stable duty today.”
Percy didn’t jump, but the broom's *thwack* paused. He turned to find Nico di Angelo leaning against the doorframe, looking, for once, not entirely like a refugee from a grave. He was still pale, still favoring dark clothes, but there was a flicker of something almost content in his eyes. He held a small, leather-bound book, spine cracked, that Percy didn’t recognize.
“Just helping out,” Percy said, resuming his sweeping. “Had some free time.” The lie tasted flat. He had all the time in the world, and none of it felt free. Annabeth was… occupied. Always occupied.
Nico raised an eyebrow, a familiar, skeptical expression. “Right. ‘Helping out.’ Or avoiding the rec room. Or the mess hall. Or… well, most places with more than three people.”
Percy grunted. “It’s quiet in here.” He appreciated that Nico didn't push. Some people, like Piper, would have tried to psychoanalyze him. Leo, if he were here, would have made a joke. Nico just observed, then accepted.
“Heard anything from Annabeth?” Nico asked, his voice carefully neutral.
A fresh wave of heat prickled under Percy’s collar. “She’s… busy. With Olympus, you know. Rebuilding and all that.” He finished sweeping the last stall, leaning the broom against the wall. The stables were spotless, smelling of fresh hay and horse. For a moment, the hum in his head receded.
Nico nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to Mrs. O’Leary. “Yeah. Hermes said the architects are pulling all-nighters. Something about structural integrity on the new Senate hall.” He paused, then looked back at Percy, his eyes unexpectedly sharp. “She’s good at what she does, Percy. Best, probably.”
“I know,” Percy said, a little too quickly. He knew. Of course he knew. He was proud of her. He was. So why did the words feel like ashes in his mouth? Why did he keep finding himself in empty stables, scrubbing things that didn't need scrubbing, while the girl he’d almost died for, multiple times, was a ghost on Olympus?
“Well, Chiron wanted to see you,” Nico said, finally pushing off the doorframe. “Said it was important. Don’t think he specified *where*, but probably the Big House.”
Percy sighed. “Great. More important stuff.” He slapped Blackjack’s flank, a final gesture. “Stay out of trouble, guys.” As he walked past Nico, he noticed the book again. It wasn't a modern paperback. The leather was worn smooth, the pages thick and creamy. "What's that you're reading?"
Nico clutched it a little tighter. "Just an old book. About… mythology." His eyes flickered away. "See you around, Percy." He turned and melted away into the shadows of the path, leaving Percy with a lingering sense of unasked questions. Nico never read anything that wasn't a strategy guide or a comic book, not unless it was important. And he definitely hadn't *had* an "old book about mythology" before. But Percy didn’t press. Not now. He had Chiron to face.
The Big House felt ancient, quiet. Chiron sat on the porch, polishing his bow, the sunlight glinting off the polished wood. He looked up as Percy approached, a soft smile gracing his features. “Percy. Thank you for coming.”
“No problem, Chiron,” Percy said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. He took a seat on the step below, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.
Chiron set his bow aside, his gaze paternal and knowing. “You’ve been… keeping to yourself lately, my boy.”
Percy shrugged. “Just decompressing. War was pretty intense.”
“Indeed it was.” Chiron nodded, his expression growing serious. “But this isn’t about that, not directly. Percy, as you know, Artemis and her Hunters have been reinstated. And thanks to Hades’s rather grudging cooperation, all those lost to her service have been returned.”
Percy felt a genuine wave of relief. “That’s amazing. So Thalia’s got her full team back?”
“Precisely. And with that, comes… expectations.” Chiron sighed, picking up a stray leaf from his lap. “Artemis is rebuilding her ranks, but more importantly, she’s reorganizing. She’s found herself in need of a new… liaison, shall we say. Someone to bridge the gap between her unique organization and the general demigod population. Someone who understands both sides.”
Percy blinked. “A liaison? Between the Hunters and… us?” He couldn't imagine it. The Hunters kept to themselves, wary of males.
Chiron met his gaze directly. “And the council of the gods, of course. She needs someone who has proven trustworthiness, respect for her cause, and… discretion. Someone who won't be tempted to meddle with her internal affairs, nor be swayed by external pressures from other Olympians.”
A cold knot began to form in Percy’s stomach. He didn’t like where this was going. He’d spent years fighting for a life *with* Annabeth, a life where he could finally just… be. The hum in his head returned, louder now, a buzzing alarm.
“She chose you, Percy.” Chiron’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Artemis herself. She believes you are the only one who fits the criteria.”
Percy stared at the centaur, the knot in his stomach tightening into a painful coil. This wasn’t a suggestion. This was a decree. His first thought wasn't about the job, or the Hunters, or even Artemis. It was a flash of Annabeth’s face, etched with exhaustion and the fierce pride of her new commissions. And he suddenly knew, with a certainty that stole his breath, that this new responsibility would take him further from her than any rebuilding project ever could. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to run back to the stables, to the simple, clean task of sweeping away the dust. The world had just offered him a peace offering, and it tasted like another war.