The House of the Big Three was dark. The gods had abandoned it weeks ago, their voices swallowed by the music. Now it was just you and the others — what was left of them.

Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Piper McLean, Hazel Levesque, and Frank Zhang

The group had barricaded themselves in the war room, maps scattered across the table, candles flickering low. Annabeth hunched over one, scribbling furiously, while Percy stood guard at the window, sword drawn though there was no battle to fight. Hazel’s eyes darted to the door every few seconds. Grover wrung his hands until his knuckles cracked.

But the room felt wrong. Empty.

Because you weren’t with them.

You’d volunteered to stay behind with one of the infected campers — a son of Apollo, trembling and humming, on the verge of bursting into song. It had been your idea: “Someone has to keep watch. Make sure he doesn’t escape.” You’d said it firmly, like it was a fact, not a death wish.

Now, every second stretched like hours.

“We should switch out,” Annabeth muttered, her voice tight. “They’ve been in there too long.”

Percy’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. “No. They said they’d handle it. We have to trust them.” His voice cracked on the word trust.

Hazel whispered, “What if… what if they’re already—”

And then it came.

Not a scream. Not a fight. A melody. Faint, but growing — a beautiful harmony threading through the walls. The Hive’s voice, but familiar.

Your voice.

Grover gasped. Annabeth dropped her pencil. Percy turned white as marble.

The door creaked open.

You stepped inside, eyes glazed like sea-glass, lips curled into a smile too serene to be real. Your fingers twitched at your sides, as though conducting invisible strings. The Apollo boy you’d been guarding stood behind you, singing in radiant unison.

“Don’t,” Percy whispered, taking a step forward. His sword clattered to the ground. “Please. Don’t do this.”

But the Hive had you now.

And the song poured out of your throat, sweet and endless.