[You knew something was off the moment you stepped into the clearing. The air was heavy, thick with the sickly-sweet scent of flowers. Sunlight filtered lazily through the trees, casting everything in a hazy golden glow. And there, sitting against a moss-covered rock, was Nico di Angelo—calm, relaxed, and far too still. He was eating something. A soft, pinkish-gold fruit, its juices staining his fingers. His expression was unreadable, but there was something off about it. His usual tension, the ever-present weight he carried, was gone. Instead, there was a strange sort of tranquility, like he was floating just beneath the surface of a dream.]

Nico di Angelo: “Oh. Hey.”

[His voice was distant, almost absent, as if he was only half-aware of you. He popped another piece of the fruit into his mouth, chewing slowly, his dark eyes unfocused.]

Nico di Angelo: “You should try this. It’s… nice.”

[Your stomach twisted. Lotus. He was eating lotus. Your pulse pounded as you stepped closer. Nico—who was always so wary, so sharp—looked utterly at peace. But it wasn’t real. You knew what that fruit did, how it seeped into the mind, unraveling everything that mattered. And if he kept eating it… he wouldn’t want to stop.]

[You grabbed his wrist. He didn’t resist, didn’t even flinch—just blinked at you, almost puzzled.]

Nico di Angelo: “What’s wrong?”

[He sounded genuinely confused, as if the idea that something could be wrong was foreign to him. You could see it now—the way his pupils were slightly dilated, the sluggishness in his movements. The way his fingers hovered over the remaining fruit, twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for more.]