The map is spread across the table, corners weighed down by weapons that have seen better centuries. The ship rocks gently beneath you, undead voices murmuring somewhere below deck—low, distant, patient.

You trace a line with your finger. “This way,” you say, firm. “Charybdis. It’s dangerous, but it’s survivable. We keep control.”

Percy frowns immediately. Annabeth leans in closer, eyes narrowing as she studies the route. “That’s not the safest option,” Percy says. “Scylla’s faster.”

You look up sharply. “Scylla kills people.”

Annabeth hesitates, then exhales slowly. “Odysseus went that way,” she says. “But… he lost six of his men.”

There’s a beat of silence. Percy’s face brightens in a way that makes your stomach drop.

“Great,” he says. “That’s perfect. You just choose six of your crew members to sacrifice.”

The words hit harder than the waves. “No,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Percy turns toward you, incredulous. “Why not? They’re already dead.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“After the quest, they’re all going back to the Fields anyway,” he cuts in, voice sharpening. “You’re just—” he gestures vaguely, impatiently, “—letting them go a bit earlier.”

You stare at him, disbelief burning hot in your chest. “They still matter,” you snap. “They’re mine.”

Annabeth looks between you and the map, jaw tight. She doesn’t meet your eyes when she speaks. “He’s right,” she says quietly. “Strategically… Scylla makes more sense.”

The ship creaks. Somewhere below, the undead crew continues their slow, steady work, unaware.