When you first see the Princess Andromeda, it doesn’t look like a threat.

It looks… nice.

White decks gleaming in the sun. Railings polished. Music drifting faintly across the water like something out of a vacation brochure. Compared to the monsters and ruins you’ve been dealing with, it feels almost ridiculous—like you’ve accidentally wandered into the wrong story.

Percy squints at it, confused but relieved. Annabeth’s cautious, of course, but even she can’t deny it looks harmless enough. Tyson beams, already enchanted by the sheer size of it.

A cruise ship. That’s all it is. Or so you think.

You climb aboard expecting tourists, deck chairs, maybe someone offering drinks with tiny umbrellas. The halls are wide and clean. The carpet is plush. The air smells faintly of salt and something sweet—too sweet.

No monsters. No alarms. No obvious danger. Just silence.

The deeper you go, the quieter it gets. Too quiet for a ship this big. No laughter. No footsteps. No voices echoing down the corridors.

“We should choose the biggest room,” Percy says.