The world had ended in flashes — horns, thunder, his mother’s scream swallowed by the storm. The Minotaur had come out of nowhere, all muscle and hatred, tearing through the night like it had been waiting for him. Percy remembered the way the air smelled — rain and fear — and the way his mom had shoved him toward Grover, yelling something he never got to hear the end of.

Then came the pain. The impact. The blur of claws and hooves.

He remembered striking out, pure instinct, swinging the only weapon he had — the pen that had turned into a sword in his hand like it had always been his. The creature had fallen, his mother had vanished into light, and then — nothing.

Now, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Like old paper and lemon disinfectant. His head throbbed. The ceiling was wooden, low, sunlight cutting through dusty windows. There were voices outside — faint laughter, metal clanging, the rush of water somewhere close.

He groaned, blinking, trying to make sense of where he was. Camp? A hospital? Heaven?

Then his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting at the desk across from him — not startled, not smiling, just watching. There was something about the way you held yourself, calm but alert, like you’d done this before — like you’d seen plenty of half-dead kids wake up here.

Percy tried to sit up, groaned, and immediately regretted it. “Where… where am I?” he rasped, throat dry.

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned forward slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering in your eyes as you met his.