Nico sits alone behind Cabin 13, knees pulled to his chest, shadows clinging to him like they’re trying to keep him from breaking.

He doesn’t hear you approach. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t care. For a while, you just stand there, arms folded, watching him fight whatever storm is tearing him open inside. You don’t speak — you rarely do unless it counts.

Eventually his voice cracks. “I’m not… anything.”

You stay silent. He wipes at his eyes angrily, like crying is an insult.

“I’m not like Percy. Or Annabeth. Or Jason. I’m not the one people pick for quests. I’m not the one anyone needs. I’m just—” His voice dies. He laughs, short and bitter. “I’m just the weird Hades kid who shows up when something’s already gone wrong.”

His breathing shakes. He curls tighter into himself, whispering: “…I just wanted to matter.”

Your jaw tightens. You stay quiet — not out of cruelty, but because you’re letting him say what he’s never said out loud. Your presence is sharp enough to keep him grounded; he doesn’t run, doesn’t hide. He just breaks gently in front of you.