He didn’t even know the kid had seen. Just a glance — his sleeve slipping during capture the flag, exposing pale skin etched with scars that didn’t come from monsters. By nightfall, Chiron’s voice was calling him into the Big House, quiet and too calm.

“It’s not punishment,” he said. “Just a short stay. Somewhere safe. Somewhere to talk.”

The building wasn’t what he expected. No bars or screaming patients, just soft beige walls, curved corners, dull furniture. Everything padded. Everything safe. That’s what unsettled him the most — how much care had gone into removing danger. Like even the walls were afraid of breaking.

The nurse was all warm smiles as she led him past buzzing doors that clicked shut behind him. “We just need to check you in,” she said. “That includes your jacket and ring.”

He stopped walking. Cold flooded his chest.

“No.”

Her voice stayed soft. “It’s policy, Nico. We’ll keep them safe. You’ll get them back when you leave.”

He looked down at the ring on his finger — a silver skull, worn from time. His anchor. His armor. The jacket, black and heavy, smelled like shadow and frost. It was the closest thing he had to home.

“You don’t get to take those,” he said, sharper now. “You don’t get to take what's mine.”

The lights flickered — just for a second — and the air went still. The nurse’s hand froze near the clipboard.

He didn’t mean to summon anything. But the shadows under his feet twitched, drawn to his voice, to the way his fingers curled like they were ready to pull a soul from the floor.

The nurse’s voice stayed calm. “It’s just a precaution. For your safety.”

His jaw clenched. His shoulders shook. But finally, with hands that felt too exposed, he pulled the jacket off and dropped the ring into her open palm like it burned.

Then came the clothes: soft gray sweatpants — no string. A thin, short-sleeve shirt. No pockets. No weight. No protection.

Nico then got shoved into arts and crafts. A bunch of kids with crayons, he already hated it here.