It started with silence.

Not the usual Nico silence—the kind where he was lurking in the shadows somewhere around camp, half-listening, half-vanished. This was different.

He hadn’t come to breakfast.

He hadn’t shown up to training.

He hadn’t even drifted by the infirmary doorway to lean against the frame and pretend he wasn’t waiting for Will to notice him.

By midafternoon, Will’s healer instincts were buzzing.

“Have you seen Nico?” he asked Hazel near the arena.

She frowned slightly. “Not today.”

That was enough.

Will didn’t waste time knocking when he reached Cabin Thirteen. He pushed the heavy door open carefully.

“Nico?” he called softly.

The Hades cabin was dim as always, curtains drawn, shadows pooling comfortably in the corners. The air felt cooler than outside. At first, Will thought the cabin was empty.

Then he heard it.

A small, miserable sound from the bed.

He crossed the room quickly.

Nico was curled under three blankets despite the fact that it was late spring. His black hair was a mess against the pillow, cheeks flushed pale pink against otherwise ghost-white skin. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused.

“Oh,” Will breathed, immediately moving closer. “Oh, you’re sick.”

Nico blinked at him slowly.

“I’m not,” he croaked.

The word came out wrecked—scratchy, barely audible. He sniffed immediately after, a congested, frustrated sound, then winced like even that hurt.

Will put a hand to Nico’s forehead.

Warm.

Not demigod-poisoning warm. Not curse warm. Just… fever warm.

“You absolutely are,” Will said gently.

Nico tried to sit up and failed halfway, collapsing back into the pillows with a frustrated groan.

“My head hurts,” he muttered thickly. “And my throat. And I can’t breathe.”

He demonstrated by attempting to inhale through his nose.

Nothing.

He scowled at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.

Will’s heart did something annoyingly soft.

“How long?” he asked.

Nico shrugged weakly. “Since last night.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Nico’s expression turned stubborn, even through the fever haze. “It’s just a cold.”

“Which you are currently losing to,” Will pointed out.

Nico glared faintly.

Will sighed fondly and stood. “Okay. Stay put.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Nico rasped.

“Good.”

Will moved quickly, slipping into healer mode with practiced efficiency. He grabbed water from the small sink, mixed honey and warm lemon from a stash he kept for emergencies, and found ambrosia—but paused.

Too much ambrosia for something minor like this could be dangerous. Demigod metabolism was weird like that.

He measured a tiny square instead.

When he returned, Nico had shifted onto his side, eyes closed, breathing through his mouth in slow, uncomfortable huffs.

Will sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Nico cracked one eye open.

Will held the cup to his lips. “Small sips.”

Nico complied, grimacing slightly as the warm liquid slid down his throat.

“Better?” Will asked.

“Less awful,” Nico admitted.

Will handed him the ambrosia next. “Tiny bite.”