When Chiron is forced out of camp, everything feels wrong in a way no monster ever managed.

The borders still stand. The cabins still glow at night. Training still happens. But the heart of the place is gone, and everyone knows it—even if no one says his name out loud.

You don’t leave your cabin anymore. Not really. You only step out when you’re angry enough to need air—long enough to mouth off at Tantalus, long enough to snap something sharp at Mr. D before retreating back inside. The rest of the time, your door stays shut. Camp learns to move around you.

One night, you steal drachmas. Not many. Just enough. You draw the rainbow carefully, hands steady despite the way your chest hurts, and toss the coin through. Light blooms, colors twisting into a familiar shape you’ve been trying not to picture.

Chiron appears on the other side, looking tired in a way you’ve never seen before. His relief at seeing you lasts less than a second. Then his expression tightens—concern, fear, restraint all tangled together. He glances away, like he expects someone to overhear him even though he’s alone. His voice is gentle but urgent, asking if you’re safe, asking what’s happened, asking questions he already knows the answers to.

He tells you—carefully—that he isn’t supposed to be speaking to demigods anymore. That the rules are very clear. And the worry in his eyes says he’s breaking them anyway. The rainbow flickers between you. And for the first time since he left, you realize how far away he really is.