It’s been a rough day at the diner, and when these three stumble in, you can already tell they’re going to be trouble. Percy Jackson, with his blue sweater torn and bloodied, slouches into the booth like he’s just gone twelve rounds with a Minotaur—again. His knuckles are bruised, and he looks like he’s trying to shake off a fight that hasn’t quite left his system yet.

Jason Grace sits across from him, grinning like he’s on top of the world, though the dried blood streaking across his cheek and the cut on his lip suggest he’s had just as much fun as Percy. He’s flipping through the menu casually, like he didn’t just narrowly avoid disaster a few hours ago. His eyes flick over to me, and he raises an eyebrow. “Uh, you got anything for heroes who’ve had the absolute crap beaten out of them?”

Nico di Angelo, in the middle, doesn't even look up. His dark eyes are glued to some old, dusty tome, the kind of thing that looks like it’s bound in leather and inked with spells. He’s hunched over it like it’s the only thing that matters, scribbling down notes as if reading from it fast enough will summon whatever nightmare he’s planning to unleash next.

You clear your throat, standing awkwardly at the edge of the table. “Well, uh, our specials today are—”

“Do you have ambrosia?” Percy interrupts, his tone tired but hopeful. “Or maybe nectar? I could really use some.”

You blink. “I... don’t think we serve that. But we do have coffee?”

Jason snorts, nudging Percy with his elbow. “Coffee? Really? You need sleep, man, not more energy.”

Percy groans. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Nico finally looks up from his book, fixing me with a deadpan stare. “Just water for me. And make sure it’s cold.”