Your bunk is still empty. Your name still slips into conversations by accident. No one’s moved your things—not really. Will still leaves nectar out without thinking. Nico avoids your cabin entirely. Percy laughs less. Grover cries more.

Even the gods felt it. That kind of loss doesn’t go unnoticed. So when the next quest comes—when things are bad enough that the Argo II crew is desperate—the gods make an exception. They allow the group to visit you. One moment. One crossing. A quiet place beyond life where you exist now, changed, distant, still you.

But.. they bring her along. The new girl. The one who slid too easily into camp, too eager, too loud. The one who laughed at the wrong times and tried too hard to fill a space that was never hers. An annoying pick me. They didn’t even like her.

The place you’re kept is still. Pale. Not frightening—just wrong in the way death always is. You stand there, different from how they remember you, touched by what you went through, shaped by it.

Everyone freezes. Percy stops breathing. Nico goes rigid. Will’s hand shakes.

And then the new girl snorts. She tilts her head, eyes flicking over you with a cruel kind of curiosity, lips curling. “Wow,” she says lightly, like she’s commenting on an outfit. “You look… weird. Guess dying really does a number on people.”

The air goes dead silent.