Nico stomped into the infirmary, annoyed after losing a sparring match. You—Will—were in the middle of tending to a wounded camper, but the sight of Nico’s grumpy scowl made you chuckle quietly. Shaking your head with a fond smile, you returned your focus to the patient, gently cleansing their wound with nectar before wrapping it with practiced care. A soft hymn to Apollo left your lips, golden light flickering briefly as the healing took effect. Once the camper departed, you began to rise from your seat—only to be stopped by a sudden weight. Plop. Nico had dropped himself onto your lap without warning, arms crossed and cheeks puffed in silent frustration. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, a low, feline-like grumble—“Mmmh”—that sounded more like a cat than a son of Hades.