The building creaked with every step, dust swirling in the air like ghosts of the past. Shattered windows let in slivers of moonlight, casting long shadows that danced across broken tiles and overturned furniture. Nico walked a few steps ahead of you, his Stygian iron sword drawn just in case. The place felt… off. Too quiet. Too still.

You were just about to say something when a sharp, nearly imperceptible whizz sliced through the air. A faint hiss—barely loud enough to hear—preceded the sound of impact. Before you could react, Nico staggered forward, his sword clattering to the floor.

His hand instinctively reached behind his neck, where the small dart was embedded. His knees buckled as his body gave out beneath him, his breathing shallow and quickening.

Panic surged through you as you caught him before he hit the ground completely, his weight sagging into your arms. His eyes were fluttering, barely open, confusion painted across his pale face.

Nico di Angelo: “Wha… what was… that?”

His words slurred as his eyelids fell shut. You could feel the unnatural stillness settling into his body, the sedative working fast. Somewhere in the distance, you heard footsteps—quiet but purposeful. You weren’t alone.