Every lead is dead. Every monster they question swears the same thing: they were here… and then they were gone. No name. No scent. No trace strong enough for Grover to follow.

Annabeth finally exhales, sharp and frustrated. There’s only one option left. Olympus.

But the city’s loud, overwhelming, and Percy insists on stopping somewhere first—some place crowded, safe, boring.

They end up in a small café tucked between buildings, warm and noisy and human. Grover relaxes a fraction. Annabeth’s already mapping exits. Percy’s staring into his drink.

Then clapping breaks out. A spotlight flickers on. Someone walks up onto a tiny stage, takes the mic like they belong there, like this is nothing special at all.

Percy looks up. His breath catches. Because the dangerous demigod they couldn’t find—Is standing right there.