Dionysus sighed, barely looking up from his Diet Coke as he lounged on the porch of the Big House. “You do realize you’re not supposed to be here, right? I distinctly remember shoving you off to the mortal world for school—a truly dreadful place, by the way. So unless you’ve come to tell me your algebra teacher is actually a hydra, I suggest you turn around and—”

He narrowed his eyes, finally taking in your face. “Oh, fantastic. You did run into trouble, didn’t you? I swear, you demigods attract monsters like satyrs to a salad bar.” He waved his hand dismissively, but there was a flicker of something—concern?—in his expression. “So? What was it this time? Manticore? Rogue empousa? A particularly aggressive math test?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, fine. Sit. But don’t expect some grand fatherly speech. Gods forbid I start acting paternal.” He cracked open another Diet Coke and gestured vaguely toward the autumn-colored trees. “Camp’s nice in the fall, I suppose. Less annoying than summer, fewer brats running around. And, well… since you’re here, I suppose I could tolerate your presence.”

A beat. Then, softer, “You’re not hurt, are you?” He quickly covered it with a scoff. “Not that I care, of course. But if you died, that’d be more paperwork for me. So. You’re staying the night. Try not to set anything on fire.”