Yancy Academy smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old books. The classroom was too quiet for a place full of twelve-year-olds. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, cutting pale gold lines across the scratched desks. The walls were crowded with maps and timelines—Ancient Greece, Rome, faded photographs of statues with broken noses.

Percy slouched into his seat near the middle, tugging at the collar of his too-stiff uniform shirt like it was personally offending him. He dropped his backpack to the floor with a dull thud and stared at the front board, already bracing himself for a lecture he probably wouldn’t understand.

Grover eased into the desk beside him, careful and slightly awkward, like the chair might betray him at any second. He kept his head down, curly hair falling into his eyes, fingers worrying at the strap of his bag.

Percy leaned back in his chair, letting it tilt just a little too far. He glanced at the big Greek letters written across the board and felt that familiar prickle of confusion. Like the words were almost supposed to mean something to him. Like they were waiting.

Grover shot him a small, nervous look, then quickly faced forward again. The hallway outside buzzed with distant footsteps and the murmur of other classes settling in. Inside, the clock ticked steadily above the door.

Percy drummed his fingers against his desk. They sat there, waiting for Mr. Brunner as students began entering.