Nico hadn’t left the Hades cabin in over a day.

The door remained shut, the lights dimmed low, shadows drawn thick across the walls like heavy curtains. The air inside felt colder than usual—not dangerous, just weighed down. Like grief had settled in and decided to stay awhile.

What had happened wasn’t something Nico could explain easily. No monsters. No injuries. No dramatic confrontation. Just words—careless ones—spoken during a meeting with the gods. A reminder that no matter how much he fought, how much he saved the world, he would always be Hades’s son first. Death first. Darkness first.

It clung to him. Wouldn’t let go.

Percy noticed before anyone else did.

He’d stopped by the cabin earlier with blue cookies, knocked once, then twice. No answer. The shadows at the door had stirred—recognition—but Nico never opened it. Percy didn’t push. He just frowned, that familiar crease forming between his eyebrows.

That afternoon, Percy found Will near the archery range, laughing with a couple of Apollo campers as he adjusted someone’s stance. Will looked tired—he always did—but he still smiled like the sun hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Hey,” Percy said, quieter than usual. “Have you seen Nico?”

Will’s smile faded immediately. “Not today. Why?”

Percy hesitated. “He hasn’t left his cabin. At all. And trust me—this isn’t normal brooding. Something’s… off.”

Will didn’t hesitate after that. He handed his bow off, muttered a quick excuse, and was already halfway across camp before Percy finished talking.

The Hades cabin was darker than the rest of camp, its obsidian walls swallowing light whole. Will knocked once—gentle.

No answer.

“Nico?” he called softly.

Still nothing.

Concern twisted sharp in his chest. Will pushed the door open.

The cabin smelled faintly of incense and cold stone. Shadows curled lazily along the walls, reacting to his presence but not rejecting it. And there, sitting cross-legged on his bed, was Nico.

He was hunched over, focused intensely on his left hand. A small bottle of black nail polish sat open beside him, the brush trembling slightly as he dragged it across a nail. A few smudges marked his fingers—careless, rushed.

Will’s heart sank.

Nico only did this when he was overwhelmed. When words felt too heavy.

“Hey,” Will said gently.

Nico flinched, looking up like he’d been caught doing something private. “You weren’t supposed to—”

Will crossed the room in three steps and sat beside him without asking. “You missed a spot.”

Nico blinked. “What?”

Will carefully took the brush from his fingers, steady and warm. “Here,” he murmured, finishing the edge of the nail with practiced ease. “Hold still.”

Nico didn’t pull away. He let Will guide his hand, let him finish painting each nail slowly, deliberately. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was safe.

After a moment, Nico whispered, “They reminded me what I am.”

Will’s chest tightened. He capped the bottle and set it aside, then pulled Nico gently forward, arms wrapping around him without hesitation.

“You’re mine,” Will said quietly. “That’s what you are.”