Sleep never comes easy for you, not since the empathy link formed. Most nights it’s a quiet hum at the back of your skull—like a heartbeat that isn’t yours. Tonight, it slams into you. Not gently. Not like a whisper. Like a flare. Your dream snaps into focus: a cave, wet stone, the heavy stink of sheep wool. Your breath fogs in front of you. Chains clink somewhere in the dark. And then you hear it. A voice you know better than your own pulse— “…please… anyone… I can’t… please hurry…”

Grover.

You spin, the dream shifting under your feet, and there he is—exact, vivid, too real for imagination. He’s not looking at you. He doesn’t even know he’s projecting. His hands shake. His eyes are red. He’s trying so hard to be hopeful, but he keeps swallowing it back down. “{{user}}… I don’t know if you can hear me… I don’t know if this is even reaching you…”

Your chest tightens. How is this possible? How are you.. how are you seeing him?

Grover sinks down onto the cave floor, wrapping his arms around himself. “Polyphemus—he’s close. I tried to stall him but—” His voice breaks, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

You feel everything he does: the terror, the aching loneliness, the desperate hope that Percy is coming, the desperate fear that no one will make it in time. Your heartbeat syncs with his. Fast. Panicked. Small. “{{user}}…” he whispers again, softer. “Please still be out there.”

The dream flickers—like someone shaking a lantern in the dark. You shove forward, fighting the pull of waking. “Grover!” Your voice tears out of your throat, echoing unnaturally in the dream-cave. He looks up, his head jerking toward you.. “I- It WORKED!” He shouts.