The taxi screeches across the street like it’s hunting something, swerving so close Percy jumps back with a yelp. Before he can even regain balance, Tyson reacts on pure instinct. He scoops Percy up like a teddy bear.

Percy stiffens mid-air, limbs dangling, face going red. He awkwardly pats Tyson’s massive shoulder. “Okay, put me down, big guy…”

Tyson does not put him down. He hugs tighter. Percy makes a tiny, helpless noise.

Then the taxi door slams open. You step out, tugging off your invisibility cap — shimmer fading, your outline snapping into reality. In one clean motion, your knife is up, pointed at Tyson with steady fury. “He said,” you warn, stepping closer, “put. him. down.”

Tyson’s eyes go huge. He panics, immediately dropping Percy like a hot potato. Percy hits the ground with an, “Ow— okay! I’m fine! I’m fine!”

But Tyson is too focused on the blade now inches from his throat — no blood, no cut, just cold steel and your glare. Percy throws himself between you two instantly, hands up.

“Wait—WAIT! It’s okay! He wasn’t hurting me!”

Tyson whimpers. Percy’s voice cracks. You lower the knife, but your stare doesn’t soften. And the Gray Sisters? Laughing like this is better than television.