They’ve been hunting you for weeks.

Rumors. Burned footprints. Monsters turning to ash without a fight. A demigod so dangerous even the gods won’t name them out loud—and somehow, you keep slipping through every net they cast.

By the time they regroup, they’re exhausted. Jason’s had enough. Annabeth admits the trail’s gone cold. Percy’s quiet in that way that means he hates giving up—but even he knows it.

Olympus is next. Ask the gods. Force answers. But first—just one break.

They duck into a small café near the harbor, dim lights, low music, mortals everywhere. Somewhere harmless. Somewhere normal. Then the lights dim further. Applause ripples through the room. Someone steps onto the small stage, fingers brushing the mic, posture relaxed—unassuming.

And Percy freezes. Because it’s you.