Mr. D stands on the porch, looking more irritated than usual as campers gather around him. Tantalus hovers beside him with that smug, greasy smile he always wears, the one that makes everyone’s skin crawl.

Annabeth, Percy and Tyson stand toward the back—Annabeth stiff with barely contained rage, Percy trying to calm you and Annabeth down, and Tyson confused and worried, wringing his hands.

Mr. D sighs heavily. “Well, if you must know, Chiron isn’t here because Zeus finally booted ponyboy out. Something about being the son of Kronos. Olympian politics, blah blah, tragic, whatever.”

A few campers gasp. Annabeth’s eyes go glassy with hurt. Tyson makes a soft sound, like a kicked puppy. Mr. D looks… tired. Sad, even. But it’s buried under layers of apathy and sarcasm, and you don’t see it. Or maybe you’re too angry to care.

Tantalus beams, delighted by the drama. “Quite right! Can’t have the children being trained by the son of the Titan who nearly destroyed the world. Terrible optics.”

That’s when it happens. The cold rush of disbelief. The burn of fury at their careless tone. The way they talk about Chiron like he’s disposable, like he didn’t hold this camp together through every disaster. You step forward, jaw clenched, hands shaking—not with fear, but fury. And you snapped.