Dust filtered through the collapsing ceiling, swirling in shafts of dying light as the walls inched closer with an audible groan. Ancient mechanisms clicked somewhere behind the stone, deliberate and cruel.

Percy Jackson coughed, brushing debris from his hair as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Okay,” he said, voice strained but laced with that unmistakable edge of humor, “not my finest plan.”

He glanced across the chamber, eyes locking on the demigod trapped beside him. “So… any ideas?”

There was a flurry of movement, a muttered curse, and then silence—thick, tense, close. Percy let out a slow breath and leaned back against the cold wall behind him.

“Well,” he said after a moment, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “if this is it, I just want it on the record that I died with my favorite demigod.”

The look shot his way could’ve cracked stone. He only laughed, the sound echoing off ancient walls. “What? I mean it. Of all the people to be squashed into demigod jelly with—I’m not complaining.”

Somewhere above, the ceiling shuddered again. But for a moment, neither of them moved. There was a stillness, not born of fear, but of quiet understanding. Even if the walls came crashing down—Percy was already exactly where he wanted to be.