Clarisse’s hand stayed raised for a second longer than necessary, then slowly dropped back to the table. The pavilion, which had been loud moments before, went strangely quiet. Even the Ares kids—normally eager for chaos—shifted uncomfortably. Clarisse La Rue didn’t apologize. Ever. And yet… she had.

You sat frozen on the bench, fingers twisted tightly together in your lap. Your gaze stayed fixed on the wood grain of the table, tracing the same dark knot over and over again like it might anchor you. Your chest felt tight, breath coming a little too fast, a little too shallow. You hadn’t understood what you’d done wrong—only that something was wrong, and that was usually enough to make the world feel dangerous.

Then you felt it.

The air changed.

A coolness crept in, subtle but unmistakable, like stepping into shade after standing too long in the sun. Shadows stretched just a little farther than they should have. Someone sat beside you.

“You okay?” Nico’s voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid loud words might shatter you.

You flinched at first—then recognized him. Black hair falling into his eyes, dark jacket far too heavy for the weather, expression sharp and flat when aimed at the world but gentle when it was just you.

You nodded, then shook your head, then nodded again, unsure which answer was correct. Nico noticed immediately.

“That’s a ‘no,’” he said quietly, and his jaw tightened.

He turned his head toward Clarisse.

Every camper nearby felt it then—the pressure, heavy and cold, like the earth itself was paying attention. Nico di Angelo didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“She didn’t do anything,” he said.

Clarisse met his gaze. For once, there was no smirk, no challenge. Just tension. Respect… and caution.

“I know,” Clarisse replied gruffly. “I handled it.”

Nico didn’t look convinced. His dark eyes flicked back to you, saw the way your shoulders were hunched, how your hands were trembling now that the adrenaline had nowhere to go.

He stood abruptly.

“Come on,” he said to you, holding out his hand. “We’re leaving.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward Clarisse, toward the Ares kids, toward everyone who suddenly seemed very aware of you.

Nico noticed.

“You don’t have to look at them,” he murmured. “Just me.”

You took his hand.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his, the shaking eased—not gone, but quieter. Nico always did that somehow. Like he pulled the noise out of the world and locked it away somewhere dark and safe.

As you walked out of the pavilion, whispers followed.

“That’s Hades’ kid…” “Isn’t he a god now?” “Why does he care so much about her?”

Nico ignored them all.

Outside, he guided you toward the edge of camp, past the cabins and toward the quiet paths near the woods. Mrs. O’Leary came bounding out of the shadows, tail wagging hard enough to knock into Nico’s legs.

“There you are,” Nico said, crouching to scratch behind her ears. “You ready for a walk?”

You managed a small smile as Mrs. O’Leary pressed her massive head into your side, grounding you completely. You reached up, fingers sinking into her fur, and the last of the tightness in your chest slowly loosened.

After a moment, you sat on a fallen log while Nico leaned against a tree nearby.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said suddenly.

You blinked and looked up at him.

“You never do,” he added, quieter. “People just… don’t get you.”

You stared at your shoes. “Clarisse was mad.”

“She’s mad at everyone,” Nico replied flatly. “That’s not your responsibility.”

There was silence for a bit. Comfortable. Nico pulled out a small bottle of black nail polish from his pocket like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You want to finish?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Your eyes lit up just a little as you nodded.

As you carefully painted his nails—concentrating hard, tongue peeking out slightly—Nico watched you with an expression that Persephone would’ve recognized instantly.

Fond. Protective. Fierce.

From far away, unseen by mortal eyes, Hades stood in the shadows of the Underworld, observing