Nico sat in the woods of Camp Half-Blood, picking at his fangs in his mouth. It was such a bad habit.

He huffed and leaned against a tree as he looked up at the moon before resting his hand across his chest. He was bored, that’s for sure.

This camp didn’t have anything to offer. If anything, he wanted to leave.

He wasn’t even aloud to satisfy his hunger with a little blood — and he was starting to grow paler with each day.