The elevator doors slid open with a hiss that sounded too much like a sigh.

Percy stepped out first, eyes darting around the black marble lobby. It was enormous—columns rising into darkness, chandeliers dripping with lights that weren’t quite gold. The walls pulsed faintly, like they were breathing.

Grover tugged his cap lower over his horns. “This place gives me the creeps,” he muttered.

Annabeth’s hand brushed the hilt of her dagger, every inch of her body tense. “Stay sharp. We’re not here to sightsee.”

They crossed the room slowly, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the endless hum beneath the floor. The sound wasn’t machinery—it was souls. Thousands of them. Whispering, laughing, begging, singing.

The line to the gates snaked ahead—spirits in every form, each one shimmering faintly under the pale blue light. Some smiled blankly. Others wept. None of them looked up.

And then—Percy stopped walking.

At first, he couldn’t explain why. It was just… something. A pull.

Across the lobby, standing apart from the rest of the dead, was you.

Not a ghost, not exactly. You didn’t fade like the others. You were too still. Too clear. The air bent strangely around you, like you weren’t supposed to be there but the world didn’t know how to fix it.

Annabeth noticed the way he froze. “Percy?” she whispered.

He blinked, shaken. “Do you… see them?”

Grover followed his gaze. His ears twitched. “Yeah. But—their not on the list.”

The soul next to you flickered out completely, vanishing into the dark. You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, eyes fixed somewhere beyond them, the faintest light catching against your face.

Something in Percy’s chest twisted—recognition, maybe. Or guilt.

“It’s them, we need to talk to them to get your mom’s soul back.” Annabeth grabbed Percy’s hand.