Percy’s sprawled on the rug in your cabin, using one of your pillows as a backrest even though he knows you hate when he does that. Tyson braided seashells into it last week. He’s trying to distract both of you—talking about anything except how scared he is for Grover.

Then it hits. The surge of the empathy link slams you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your hands fly to the blankets. Tears spill over before you even feel them coming. Percy sits up instantly, confusion flashing into alarm.

You tumble off the bed, legs giving out beneath you as the vision crashes through—Grover’s fear, his location, the echo of his plea for help. Percy scrambles across the floor to reach you.

“Whoa—hey, hey! What’s wrong?!” His voice cracks, and he cups your shoulders with shaking hands. “What did you see?”

You can’t answer—your chest is too tight, your breathing too fast, tears streaking down your face.

But Percy gets it. His expression shifts from panic to raw, fierce dread.

“You know where Grover is,” he says quietly, terrified and grateful all at once.