The tea had smelled harmless.

Warm, floral, a little sweet—comfort in a chipped mug Annabeth had pulled from the pavilion shelves while Percy rummaged for snacks. The evening was quiet, camp settling into that rare lull where even the harpies seemed content to leave everyone alone. Nico sat cross-legged on the bench, shoulders relaxed, shadows behaving for once. He accepted the mug without thinking.

“Chamomile,” Annabeth said absently. “Helps with sleep.”

Nico nodded and took a sip.

For the first minute, nothing happened. The heat spread pleasantly through his chest, easing the lingering ache from training earlier that day. Percy was mid-story—something exaggerated, as usual—when Nico swallowed again and felt it.

A faint itch. Deep in his throat.

He cleared it once, then twice, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as if that might help. It didn’t. The sensation lingered, subtle but wrong, like something brushing against him from the inside.

“You okay?” Percy asked, pausing.

“Fine,” Nico muttered automatically, lowering the mug. His voice sounded… off. Thinner.

Annabeth’s eyes flicked to him. Sharp. Observant. “Nico,” she said slowly, “your face is red.”

He frowned, lifting a hand to his neck. The skin felt hot. Too hot. When he swallowed, it felt delayed—like his throat was lagging behind the motion, tightening instead of opening.

“I think—” He stopped, breath hitching. “I think something’s wrong.”

The pressure grew quickly after that. Not pain—pressure. Like invisible fingers slowly curling around his throat. Breathing took effort now, shallow and careful, each inhale scraping. His chest tightened, heart thudding too fast, too loud.

Annabeth was on her feet instantly. “Percy. He’s having an allergic reaction.”

“What? To what?” Percy demanded, already moving closer.

Nico shook his head weakly. He didn’t know. He just knew panic was creeping in, sharp and cold, shadows twitching at the edges of his vision. His hands trembled as he grabbed the edge of the table, grounding himself so he didn’t collapse.

Annabeth grabbed the mug, sniffed it once. “Chamomile,” she said, jaw tightening. “Some people are allergic. Throat constriction, skin reaction—Percy, we need Will. Now.”

Percy didn’t argue. He was already supporting Nico’s other side, one arm firm around his back. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he said, voice low and steady. “We’re going to the infirmary. You’re okay. Just breathe with me.”

Nico tried. The air felt thick. Uncooperative.

The walk felt endless. Every step made the world tilt, shadows pulsing in time with his racing heart. He focused on Percy’s voice, Annabeth’s hand gripping his wrist—solid, real—while fear threatened to drown everything else.

The infirmary doors burst open.

“Will!” Annabeth shouted. “Allergic reaction—throat involvement!”

Will Solace looked up from his work and froze for exactly half a second.

Then he was moving.

“Nico,” Will said, already at his side, hands warm and sure as they cupped Nico’s face, thumbs brushing along his jaw. His eyes scanned him rapidly—flushed skin, strained breathing, the way Nico clutched at his shirt. “Hey. Look at me. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Nico tried to answer. Nothing came out but a broken sound.

Will’s expression tightened—not panic, never panic—but something fierce and focused. “Percy, help me get him on the bed. Annabeth, ambrosia kit. Now.”

They obeyed instantly.

Will guided Nico down, keeping him upright. “You’re having an allergic reaction,” he said gently, voice anchoring. “I know it feels scary. I need you to keep your eyes on me, okay? Don’t try to talk.”

Nico nodded weakly, fingers curling into Will’s sleeve like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

Will squeezed his hand back. “That’s it. You’re not alone. I won’t let this get worse.”

As the medicine kicked in and the tightness began—slowly, mercifully—to ease, Nico finally drew a fuller breath. His vision cleared just enough to see Will’s face close to his, eyes bright with worry and relief tangled together.