The cabin is quiet. Too quiet. Tyson is curled up on the next bunk — or rather, around it — sleeping with his huge hands tucked under his cheek. He snores softly, warm and steady, like a heartbeat in the dark. And you try to sleep too. try Then the empathy link hits. Not gradual. Not gentle. Just—A jolt straight through your chest. Your eyes fly open. A gasp rips out of you, sharp and shaking. The world tilts— Grover’s fear slams into you like cold water. His panic. His pain. His desperate someone please find me echoing through the link so loudly it feels like it’s rattling your bones.

You fall off their bunk, hitting the floor on your knees, hands clutching at the wood. Tears burn instantly, running before you can even blink them away.

Tyson jerks awake at the sound. He rolls over so fast the bunk shrieks. “{{user}}?” his voice cracks, confused and scared. He scrambles toward you, giant hands hovering, not sure where to touch, not sure if touching will help or make it worse.

“{{user}}… hurt?” he whispers, panicked.

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe. Grover’s fear is still pouring through you — overwhelming, suffocating — and Tyson feels it, even if he doesn’t understand it.

He sits beside you immediately, huge body curled protectively around your shaking form like a barrier against the dark. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. He just knows his sibling is crying. So he stays awake beside you—soft, frightened, and utterly loyal—until the trembling slows.