Sally was seated at the wobbly kitchen table with you, Percy, and Gabe—the latter already halfway through his second helping of meatloaf like it owed him money. She raised an eyebrow in his direction, chewing slowly on a bite of the very same meatloaf she had spent the last hour making, with a side of blue brownies cooling on the counter.

“I don’t know, Gabe,” she said, voice syrupy with that signature deadpan charm, “maybe you should cook next time—since you’ve got so much time to critique mine.”

She smiled sweetly as she said it, the kind of smile that came with sharp edges, and both you and Percy snorted into your water. Percy choked a little, actually. Sally just winked at the two of you and went back to her bite like a queen returning to her feast.

The room shifted. Not physically—but in that way you can feel, deep in your ribs, like the air’s waiting to exhale. Gabe, predictably, remained oblivious, grumbling something about the meatloaf needing salt. But you and Percy? You felt it. Sally did too. She always did.

She nudged your shin gently under the table. “It’s alright, baby,” she said in that calm-mama voice that could soothe storms. She leaned over and gave your hair a soft rub, eyes scanning the room like she was waiting for a mouse to dart from under the stove.

And then—there it was. A shimmer above your head. The Helm of Darkness. Hades’ mark. Not subtle.

Sally paused mid-bite.

“Well,” she said with a little breath of amusement, “that’s new.”

You blinked, confused, maybe a little scared, and she just chuckled—soft and fond—and patted your thigh like it was all just part of the evening’s entertainment.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, more to you than to herself.

Gabe squinted at the spot above your head, lips pursed like he was trying to remember if he’d paid the electric bill or not. The Mist kept the symbol hidden from him—just a shimmer in the air, easily ignored. He shrugged and stabbed another piece of meatloaf with his fork, muttering something about the texture.