The shouting was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. The Big House had always been a place of quiet restraint. Of soft voices, of ancient patience, of steady wisdom that never cracked no matter how much the world outside fell apart.

But now—Now the walls themselves seemed to tremble.

“You sent them alone.” The voice was sharp. Raw. Stripped of every ounce of lazy indifference it had ever carried. Mr. D stood near the desk, his usually slouched posture gone completely rigid. His hands were clenched at his sides so tightly his knuckles had turned pale.

Across from him, Chiron stood frozen. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… tired. “They were capable,” Chiron said quietly.

Capable. The word echoed in the room like something fragile breaking.

Mr. D let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Capable?” he repeated. “Capable?” He took a step forward. “They’re dead.” The word landed heavily between them. Dead. Not missing. Not delayed. Not wounded. Dead.

Chiron’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct him. Because there was nothing to correct. Mr. D’s hands trembled now. Just slightly. Just enough to betray him. “You sent them alone,” he said again, quieter this time, but far worse. “You sent them out there like they were expendable.”

Chiron’s voice came out strained. “No demigod is expendable.”

Mr. D’s eyes flashed. “They were not just a demigod.”

That was the worst part. Because everyone knew it was true. You had been everywhere. In the pavilion, laughing softly with younger campers who clung to you like you were safety itself. On the training fields, moving like you had been born knowing how to survive. On the porch of the Big House, sitting beside Mr. D without speaking, without demanding anything from him, without fearing him.

You had never treated him like a punishment. Never treated him like something to tolerate. You had said his name carefully. Respectfully. Like it mattered. And he had pretended not to care. Pretended your presence was just another annoyance. Pretended he hadn’t noticed when you stopped showing up.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Rotting. Chiron lowered his head slightly. “I believed they would return.”

Mr. D laughed again. But this time it broke halfway through. “Well,” he said hoarsely, “they didn’t.”

Neither of them spoke after that. Because there was nothing left to argue. Only the empty space where you should have been.