Sleep didn’t come easily to Nico di Angelo.

It never really had.

Even when he was exhausted—after training, after long nights spent wandering the edges of the camp where shadows stretched the longest—his mind had a habit of staying awake long after his body gave in. Memories lingered too close to the surface. Voices, faces, things he tried not to think about in the daylight.

But today… today was different.

The Hades Cabin was quiet, wrapped in its usual cool stillness. The stone walls held onto the faint chill of the Underworld, a kind of silence that most campers avoided but Nico had long since learned to find comfort in.

He lay sprawled across his bed, half-buried in blankets, his oversized skull shirt slipping off one shoulder and pajama pants twisted around his legs. One arm was tucked under his pillow, the other draped loosely across his chest. His breathing had finally evened out, dark lashes resting against pale skin as sleep—real sleep—claimed him.

For once, there were no dreams.

No shadows pulling at him. No echoes of the past whispering in his ears.

Just quiet.

And then—

Something shifted.

Not loud. Not abrupt.

Gentle.

The air in the room changed, like the moment before a memory surfaces. A soft warmth threaded through the cold, unfamiliar in a place like this.

Two figures stood just inside the cabin.

They didn’t belong there.

Not anymore.

Bianca di Angelo stepped forward first, her movements careful, almost hesitant, like she was afraid the moment might break if she moved too quickly. Her eyes immediately found Nico, and something in her expression softened—relief, love, and a quiet ache all at once.

“He’s sleeping,” she whispered.

Behind her, Maria di Angelo pressed a hand lightly to her chest, her gaze fixed on her son. For a moment, she couldn’t move at all.

This wasn’t how she remembered him.

Not the small boy she had last seen, clutching at her hand.

He was older now. Taller, even like this, curled slightly in his bed. Thinner, too. There was something sharper about him, something the world had carved into his edges.

But it was still him.

Her Nico.

Maria took a slow step forward, then another, as if drawn by something deeper than thought. “He looks so grown,” she murmured, her voice barely more than breath.

Bianca nodded, though her eyes never left Nico. “Yeah… he does.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They just… looked at him.

As if trying to memorize every detail.

Maria was the first to move again. She approached the bed slowly, sitting carefully on the edge, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. Nico didn’t stir.

Carefully—so carefully—she reached out.

Her fingers hovered for just a second before brushing against his dark hair.

Soft.

Real.

A small, shaky breath escaped her.

“Nico,” she whispered, though she knew he wouldn’t wake. Not yet.

Gently, she slid her hand beneath his head, lifting it just enough to guide him closer. With a tenderness that came as naturally as breathing, she settled his head into her lap, smoothing his hair back from his face.

Nico shifted slightly, a quiet sound escaping him, but he didn’t wake. If anything, he seemed to relax further, leaning into the warmth like it was something he recognized, even in sleep.

Maria’s hand stilled for a moment, her expression breaking just slightly at that.

“He remembers,” she whispered.

Bianca swallowed hard, blinking quickly before moving to the other side of the bed. She hesitated only for a second before lying down beside Nico, careful not to disturb him.

For a moment, she just watched him.

Then, slowly, she reached out, resting her hand lightly against his arm.

“I missed you,” she murmured.

Nico didn’t answer.

But he leaned closer.

Just a little.

The three of them stayed like that, wrapped in a quiet that felt almost sacred. No rush. No urgency. Just the simple, impossible comfort of being together again.