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[color=808080][color=b07482][b]daphne[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/5hjOKaw][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]..........[/color] [color=685673][b]nero[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/7DuCnGV][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]..........[/color] [color=f8d296][b]lux[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/epVJyCn][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]..........[/color] [color=5c83a7][b]beckett[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/I6i6Lf5][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]..........[/color] [b]camp half-blood infirmary[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Lux lulled in and out of consciousness like the tide, floating through a trance-like state as the world moved around her, slow and lethargic like trying to wade through mud. Her eyelids felt heavier than the sky every time she tried to open them. She caught glimpses of orange illuminated by firelight, bright against the black void of the night sky. There was a pressure against her chest from a weight she couldn’t wrap her mind around as she floated, weightless. Then there were muffled, frantic voices, followed by hands against her back and arm. To her left she saw flashes of crimson between waves of orange, slick with the tinge of iron. 

But it was his strangled breaths that pulled her from the fog like a lighthouse guiding her home. Her hand reached out to bridge the gap, mangled flesh extended where her arm should have been, shredded and disfigured to the point she didn’t know what she was looking at. [color=f8d296]"[i]Beck…[/i]"[/color] Blood soaked fingers tried to reach him but fell short in the expanse between them. 

Daphne had been pulled from sleep by shouting and pounding feet and the sharp, unmistakable sense that something fragile was about to be lost if she did not move fast enough. She barely remembered dressing, only that she’d tugged on the first things her hands found. An oversized T-shirt with a fading veterinary hospital logo stretched thin across the front, soft with age and too large for her narrow frame, and a pair of plaid pajama shorts that brushed her thighs as she ran barefoot through the chilled night air. Her hair was wrenched into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, though loose strands clung to her temples and cheeks, damp from her shower earlier in the night.

She found them in a chaos of torches and rain-slicked footprints, blood darkening the grass, campers shouting for help as she got closer to the infirmary, calling out for her. And then she saw the girl—half-conscious, reaching with what remained of her arm, whispering someone's name like a prayer being torn apart mid-breath. Daphne did not hesitate. She slipped forward through the bodies and noise as if guided by starlight alone, catching Lux’s ruined hand with both of her own, warm and steady, light blooming softly beneath her skin like sunrise trapped in human form. Her touch was feather-gentle where the wounds were not, reverent where pain ruled, grounding where terror tried to swallow. Beneath her palms, Lux’s skin began to knit itself back together.

[color=f8d296]"No…"[/color] she croaked, voice dry and raw like flesh dragged across shards of glass. The weight against her chest and her face half buried into a pillow made it nearly impossible to push through the exhaustion and find words. [color=f8d296]"Is he… Will he…"[/color] 

Lux fought against the darkness that closed in around her like a cocoon of shadow enveloping her from the edges one blink at a time. [color=f8d296]"[i]Please[/i]."[/color] The word was heavy with everything unsaid, a desperate plea and prayer through the night that threatened to take her. A tear escaped from the dam of her lashes, trailing over the bridge of her nose and falling to the pillow pressed beneath her right cheek. 

[color=b07482]"Easy… I’ve got you,"[/color] she murmured, voice low, threading calm through the storm of Lux’s fear. [color=b07482]"He’s alive. You both are. You’re safe now—Camp has you."[/color] 

She glanced wearily over her shoulder when someone called her name, looking between the man who looked like he’d lost a fight with a wood chipper and the other girl who was pale and shivering so hard she looked on the cusp of convulsions. They [i]were[/i] all alive though, and it would be a long night for Daphne. [color=b07482]"I need ambrosia, and bandages, someone go wake up Kiarra, I’m going to need help healing. John, go tell Chiron but…don’t disturb Mr. D if you can help it."[/color] No one moved, and a wave of agitation rose up inside of her, making her usually soft tone turn sharper. [color=b07482]"Don’t just stand there, [i]go![/i]"[/color] 

She turned back toward the blonde girl, face drawn tight as she moved her other hand up to her bicep. They’d all have scars, if she was going to bounce between them to keep them alive that couldn’t be helped. [color=b07482]"Father,"[/color] she murmured as the glow of her hands grew in intensity, pushing the healing faster than she usually would. [color=b07482]"Give me strength."[/color] 

[center]*  *  *[/center]
Beckett slept like something pulled from the ocean floor—heavy, distant, wrapped in a pressure so deep it erased the shape of dreams. The infirmary existed around him in fragments only, the hush of white curtains stirring in a draft, the muffled rhythm of distant footsteps, the clean, sharp scent of crushed herbs and nectar lingering in the air like lightning after a storm. Pain hovered at the edges of him, not sharp anymore, but vast and dull, a tide held back by unseen hands. Time did not move correctly here. It pooled. It drifted. It forgot itself.

Once, only once, he surfaced.

It was the middle of the night, though he did not know how he knew that. The light was wrong for day, too soft, too sacred, a quiet blue-gold glow cast from a handful of lanterns and the figure leaning over him. At first he thought he was dead.

A girl sat at his bedside, close enough that strands of her dark hair brushed his shoulder when she leaned in. One of her hands was pressed flat to his chest, and it glowed, not harshly, but steadily, like sunlight filtered through water, warm and patient and impossibly gentle. The other hand held a cup with a ridiculous little bendy straw, angled carefully to his mouth, and…was that a paper umbrella?

[color=b07482]“Drink,”[/color] she whispered, voice low and fierce with command, as if the word itself were a spell. He tried to turn his head away. Tried to spit the straw out with what little dignity he had left. His body barely listened.

She made an irritated sound in the back of her throat—sharp and feral, like an alley cat cornered in the rain. [color=b07482]“Don’t,”[/color] she snapped softly, shoving the straw back between his lips. [color=b07482]“You drink or I swear I will haunt you personally.”[/color]

Too tired to fight. Too hollow to argue. He obeyed. The liquid slid into his mouth, warm and sweet and devastating.

It tasted like the cake his mother used to bake every year on his birthday, even when money was tight and the frosting was uneven and she pretended not to notice how he scraped the bowl clean with his fingers. It tasted like the strawberry candies his grandmother kept hidden in her coat pockets, the ones she swore were only for emergencies but somehow always became his. It tasted like salty air and sunburned boardwalks and sea salt taffy pulled too long until it turned soft and perfect.

Home, in a thousand small forgotten pieces. His throat worked around another swallow. And another. His eyes burned, and something traitorously hot slipped down his cheeks. The girl watched him with sharp concentration, glow steady beneath her skin, her hand never leaving his chest as though she were afraid his heart might slip away if she did.

When the cup finally emptied, she pulled the straw back and set it aside. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision again, thick and gentle. But he fought it. His eyes fluttered. His lips moved. [color=5c83a7]"Lux,"[/color] he croaked, voice hoarse.

The girl’s expression changed instantly, softening, easing, the sharp edges melting away into something kind and human. She brushed her thumb once, gently, against his collarbone. It was soft and reassuring in the way only someone that was born to be a healer could be. 

[color=b07482]“She’s okay, both the girls you were with are,”[/color] she murmured. [color=b07482]“Stubborn. You’ll see her soon.”[/color]

Relief rushed through him, warm and heavy and complete, flooding his veins like blood returning to a frozen limb. He let go. The world slipped under again. Somewhere far away, a door banged open. Footsteps. Voices. He barely heard them.

Only the girl’s tired sigh drifted after him into the dark. [color=b07482]“Seriously? Where did he pass out this time?”[/color] A pause. The faint sound of shuffling, another voice answering. [color=b07482]“Yeah, yeah—just put him over there.”[/color]

And then—

Nothing at all.

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Beckett dreamed.

At first, it was the ocean.

He stood on the deck of a small ship that creaked like an old bone beneath his boots, its wooden ribs groaning as waves rose around it, walls of water, vast and black and crowned with white fury, taller than houses, taller than memory. The storm had swallowed the sky whole. Wind tore at his coat, salt burned his eyes, thunder cracked the world open again and again, yet beneath it all, beneath the violence and the noise, there was a strange, impossible calm coiled inside his chest. The kind that came only when you had already accepted whatever end was waiting for you. The sea hurled itself at the hull, the mast bowed like it might snap, but he only stood there, steady, breath slow, heart quiet, as if the storm were nothing more than weather passing through him instead of something that could drown him.

Then a voice cut through the gale.

It shouted his name—not in fear, not in command, but in urgency threaded with something older and deeper. The sound did not come from the deck behind him or the rigging above. It came from the water.

He turned.

The ocean folded inward like a closing eye.

And suddenly the ship was still beneath his feet, but it no longer floated.

It hung suspended in darkness, buried impossibly deep beneath the earth. No stars. No sky. Only stone pressing in from every direction, walls sweating heat, air thick and metallic, heavy enough that each breath scraped his lungs raw. Sweat slid down the column of his throat despite the chill that lingered in his bones from the storm that was no longer there. The ship groaned again, but this time it was not from waves, it was from pressure, from the weight of a world stacked mercilessly above him.

This time, it was a woman’s voice calling out to him. 

It echoed through the stone like a bell rung inside his skull, powerful enough to make his teeth rattle in their roots. The earth trembled with every syllable. Dust sifted down from unseen cracks in the ceiling, peppering his shoulders, his hair, the deck at his feet, whispering of collapse, of burial, of being swallowed whole by something ancient and patient.

He tried to listen. Tried to understand the shape of her words. She called his name again, softer this time, almost tender, like a tide pulling gently at shore, but before he could answer, before he could lift his voice or even draw breath enough to try—

He blinked.

And the world tore itself apart.

Rain slammed into his face, cold and violent. The air smelled of smoke and wet earth and blood. The ground was a mire of mud and broken leaves beneath his hands as he dropped behind a tree, heart thundering in his chest, rifle slick in his grip. Gunfire stitched the air around him in bright, screaming lines. Men shouted. Someone was crying out in pain. The jungle roared back with thunder and rot and life too loud to be holy. 

Vietnam.

Again.

Always.

Water soaked him to the bone, uniform clinging to his skin like a second, heavier body. Bullets chewed bark from the tree inches from his head. He pressed his shoulder into the trunk, breath ragged, vision narrowing, the rhythm of survival snapping into place like an old, rusted machine that still remembered how to function.

War never changes.

And neither, it seemed, did he.

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Twigs and underbrush crunched beneath Lux’s boots as she climbed the mountainside behind her grandfather. The trees stretched high into the sky, narrow pines blocking the sun and blanketing them in a veil of shadows. Everything around them felt still like the world was holding its breath… bracing for something to come. A breeze with a biting chill, strange for a Montanan summer, cut through the forest like the kiss of death and caressed the back of her neck. 

Her grandfather held up his hand, fist closed and she froze out of instinct, following his silent command like a second language learned before she could form words. He crouched before her, aged fingers sweeping pine needles aside to reveal a track larger than his hand. [color=d6d6d6]"Bear."[/color]

Lux stepped beside him, tips of her fingers running along the fletching of her notched arrow in a pensive silence. It was the largest print she had ever seen, nothing like the bears that often roamed around their home. Her head tilted to the side, studying with an unsettling curiosity… Something was… [i]off.[/i] She squatted beside him, slipping her hand from the bowstring—a mistake she could not fix in hindsight. She could never change the memory, only watch it play out time and time again—Her index finger dipped into the crevice of each toe pad, counting. [color=f8d296]"Four,"[/color] she whispered. [i]Bears had five.[/i]

The creature—massive, covered in black fur, and snarling—appeared between the trees as if it materialized from the shadows themselves. It lunged, her grandfather moved and Lux was thrown backwards into a tree. She blinked and the summer sun was replaced by the darkness of night where the rain was falling like a deluge upon her head. Pines shifted into a forest of oaks and maples. Then standing between her and the beast was Beckett. 

[color=5c83a7]"Not her. [i]Me,[/i]"[/color] he shouted at the mass of fangs and fur, taunting and baiting it to go for him. 

She shifted to her knees, reaching out her hand. [color=f8d296]"No!"[/color]

She blinked again and was thrust back into the blinding sunlight. Before her lay her grandfather, chest torn open, blood staining his lips with every cough. Tears burned her eyes. Emotions stirred in her, building and twisting as it was reflected in the sky above. The clouds darkened as she scurried across the forest floor for her bow. Trembling fingers nocked an arrow and fired it after the retreating monster. A bolt of lightning sliced through the air and crashed into the creature the moment her arrow pierced its hide. She flinched and turned away from the flash.

When Lux's eyes opened, water covered her from head to toe. Her body trembled from the cold and adrenalin as she sat waist deep in a puddle alongside a road. Where her grandfather had been left torn open now laid Beckett, the same coughs and gasps racking his body, a familiar flood of crimson poured from him. She hurried to his side, shaking hands pressing against a geyser of blood to try and stem the bleeding. 

She blinked away the tears and her grandfather was beneath her. His weathered and calloused hands cupped her cheeks like he was trying to memorize her face as the darkness came for him. [color=d6d6d6]"They found you."[/color]

Lux closed her eyes tight and shook her head, not wanting to listen, not wanting to accept his parting words… Not wanting to accept the truth. When she opened, it was Beckett who held her face, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. She could see the light fading from his eyes, melting his resolve along with it as a smile, foreign and warm, grew like a phantom of something she’d never have. [color=5c83a7]"Beautiful."[/color]

[i]Blink.[/i]

[color=d6d6d6]"They know about your father…"[/color]

[i]Blink.[/i]

[color=5c83a7]"I couldn’t…"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Run…"[/color]

[color=5c83a7]"Couldn’t let you die…"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Firefly… [i]Run![/i]"[/color]

[color=5c83a7]"...Care too much."[/color]

Night and day, her grandfather and Beckett, blood and more blood flashed before her eyes. Every blink betrayed her. Tears blurred her vision and sobs tore at her lungs. The warmth of their lives pooled against her hands and slipped through her fingers. Sunshine and rain, hot and cold… life then death. Her chest heaved from gasps as sharp as blades that destroyed her from the inside out. Their eyes rolled back and faces turned pale… dead because of [i]her.[/i] 

Lux blinked again and again as if it would erase the memories, the images… the guilt. Slowly the scenes bled together until she was trapped in Montauk looking down at Beckett. The thunderstorm covered them in a blanket of rain as she sank to her knees beside his lifeless body. Then time froze, droplets hung suspended in the air around her and the dull tailend rumble of thunder lingered like white noise. Beckett’s head rolled to the side, facing her with hollow eyes. Then his mouth started moving like a puppet as a voice that wasn’t his surrounded her like a dense fog, all consuming and unavoidable. 

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Yield.[/i]"[/color] The ground beneath her started to tremble, rippling and shifting around her like waves with every word. [color=d6d6d6]"Or I will swallow the ocean and him along with it."[/color] Beckett’s body sank into the earth like an anchor in water, devoured by mud, grass and rain until nothing remained but the red tinged puddle where he laid. 

[color=f8d296]"No… No, no, no!"[/color] Lux lunged forward, fingers slipping into the damp void left behind in his wake, digging and clawing as if he existed just out of reach. She acted and the earth answered, drawing her in like a breath before burying her in darkness. 

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Nero’s eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly. His chest heaved, gasping like he had been drowning and just tasted air before death took him. Sweat covered him from head to toe, beading across his brow, clinging to the fabric of his shirt and leaving behind a damp shadow along the cot where he laid. He swung his legs over the edge of the narrow bed, letting the feeling of his feet flat on a stable surface ground him. In dreams it always felt like he was walking in water or on clouds, it was always off… [i]wrong.[/i] The earth never betrayed him, firm and unyielding. The rigidity of it always brought him back like a beacon in a storm. 

He scooted forward to the edge of the cot, resting his elbows on his bent knees. His body hunched over like sleep somehow left him [i]more[/i] exhausted, dark circles still prominent, and the permanent tiredness that lived behind his dark eyes unwavering. Nero pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

While there was nothing [i]normal[/i] or uniform about dreams, he had gotten used to the same handful of nightmares he had the misfortune of slipping into since he joined camp. But these were… [i]different.[/i] They didn’t just leave him drenched in a cold sweat, but thrust him into a new level of horrors he wasn’t prepared for. Blood and war and [i]trauma[/i]... So much fucking trauma. But weirder still, faces he had never seen before and people he didn’t know. He might have questioned his own sanity if he hadn’t looked up and recognized those foreign faces unconscious in cots on the opposite side of the infirmary. 

Three strangers rested in a row on the opposite side of the room from where he sat while Apollo kids continuously milled around them as if their lives hung in the balance between life and death. The one on the far left was a dark haired girl. Her side was bandaged and one of her legs was wrapped and elevated by a pile of pillows. Next to her was a man with his entire torso covered in blood stained bandages from the waist up. He was the face from the war dreams. Dude must have played [i]way[/i] too much Call of Duty or watched a lot of M.A.S.H. reruns with his dad. Nero couldn’t explain why that would scar him so deeply, but it was the only thing that made sense. Men around his age who went to war had dreams in the heat of the desert, not drenched in the jungle. Then on the right was a blonde woman, lying on her stomach with her back dressed similar to the guy’s chest. Her wrapped left arm hung in the space between her cot and the guy beside her as if she passed out reaching for his hand. Her dreams were more normal… Or as normal as dreams could be, by being weird as shit. Hellhounds made sense, especially considering the state the three of them were in… More sense than C.O.D. 360 no scope over there.

Nero groaned, running his hands over his face before pushing sweat damp hair back from his face. [color=685673][i]Great. More fucking nightmares.[/i][/color] He looked down, catching sight of a glimmer of light that reflected off the amethyst rosary that dangled from his neck. Tattooed fingers wrapped around the chain, bringing the cross to his lips before tucking the chain beneath his shirt. It wasn’t out of reverence for a Christian God he never believed in, but for Abuela… always for Abuela. He leaned to the side, slipping a hand into his back pocket to fetch his flask. He untwisted the cap and took a long drink like its contents were his life blood and he couldn’t function without it. A habit that drew stares and whispers from other campers, but he rarely cared what anyone thought of him. 

Daphne returned to the infirmary with the quiet persistence of someone who had learned that exhaustion was not permission to stop.

She had gone to her cabin only because blood did not belong on the living. Not on her hands. Not on her clothes. Not on the things her mother had once folded warm from the dryer and pressed into her arms before Daphne had known what monsters were. She had peeled the pajama shirt from her skin with careful fingers, heart aching at the dark stains spread across the faded veterinary logo, and for one small, private moment she had nearly cried over it. Then she had set her jaw and filled a basin with warm water and soap and sunlight-bright magic, working the fabric again and again between her palms until the red loosened, faded, vanished. It had taken nearly an hour. Worth every second. She had hung it to dry like a fragile offering and whispered a promise to it, before dressing with hands that trembled from fatigue.

Now she wore a black tank top tucked into a brown buttoned skirt, soft and worn at the hem, the familiar weight of her cardigan settling around her shoulders like a gentle shield. Her amulet lay warm against her sternum, the sunstone at its heart glowing faintly through the thin fabric, a quiet pulse of living gold. Converse were shoved onto her feet without ceremony, laces uneven, hair still twisted into a bun that had loosened into soft rebellion around her face. She had slept perhaps an hour. Maybe two. Her body had tried to beg her for more. She had refused.

Inside the infirmary, lamplight breathed softly against white curtains and rows of occupied cots. The air smelled of nectar, crushed herbs, damp earth, and iron. Lives suspended between heartbeats.

And there, near the edge of the room, sat Nero.

She noticed him the way healers noticed fractures before screams, by instinct, by pattern, by the way pain shaped the body when it thought no one was looking. The hunch of his shoulders. The tension in his jaw. The tremor of exhaustion pressed so deeply into him it had become part of his silhouette. The flask in his hand did not surprise her. Neither did the rosary. 

Daphne slowed her steps as she approached, cardigan brushing softly against her thighs, the glow of her amulet answering the quiet ache in the room like a candle leaning toward other flames. She did not startle him. She never did, if she could help it. Instead she stopped beside his cot and lowered herself to sit on its edge, presence gentle as snowfall.

[color=b07482]"You’re awake,"[/color] she said softly, not a question, not an accusation. Just a truth offered like warm water. Her eyes flicked briefly to the three injured demigods across the room—the girl with dark hair, the battered man, the blonde woman curled around pain, and something solemn passed through Daphne’s expression, old and tender and heavy with responsibility.

Nero noticed her approach, eyes tracking her movements while the rest of him remained unmoving like a tired gargoyle that couldn’t be bothered to raise his head. He didn’t know if he was surprised or humbled when she didn’t hesitate to settle into the space beside him on his cot, sitting close enough that her presence warmed the air between them and soothed the small space where her knee brushed his. He could have pulled away, maybe he should have, but he didn’t flinch or shift, remaining stoic and unmoving, rigid in the ways most at camp had come to associate with him. 

He watched the demigods that slept on death’s doorstep for a long moment in silence before turning his head a fraction toward Daphne. The shift was subtle, just enough that his dark gaze was visible beneath the shadow of his brows and sweat damp bangs. [color=685673]"I’m always awake,"[/color] he replied, sardonic, but with a warmth like a flickering candle that was fading, only visible to those who sought it.

Daphne let her gaze follow his own, lingering on the three unfamiliar forms for a moment longer, committing their injuries to memory the way she did with constellations, quietly, reverently, as if knowing them better might help keep them tethered to the world. Then she exhaled, slow and tired, and her shoulders dipped a fraction, the weight of the night finally showing through the careful stillness she wore like armor. One hand rose to her face, rubbing gently at her brow, smudging away fatigue that had long since settled too deep to truly be touched.

[color=b07482]"They came in last night,"[/color] she said, voice low and steady, the cadence of someone used to delivering fragile truths without breaking them. [color=b07482]"Barely breathing. Blood everywhere. It was… close. Too close."[/color]

Her fingers slid down from her face to rest loosely in her lap. She shook her head, slow and thoughtful, eyes drifting again toward the strangers as if trying to see something beneath the bandages.

Nero didn’t placate her with empty words or find a need to fill the silence. He simply… listened, nodding his head to show he didn’t just hear her words, but acknowledged them. He tapped the inside band of one of his rings against the metal of his flask, the sharp [i]tink tink[/i] carried throughout the quiet room like a metronome, counting the seconds patiently as they passed. He twisted open the cap with a deep sigh, then held it out toward her. There was no ceremony or pomp behind the gesture, just a kind offering because she looked weary and in need of a boost that his words wouldn’t give.  

Daphne hesitated before taking the flask, her fingers closing around the cool metal with the same care she used when handling fragile things—bones, wings, healing. She lifted it closer, curious despite herself, and drew in a small breath through her nose.

Coffee. Not bitter alcohol. Not smoke or spice or anything sharp and dangerous. Just coffee, dark, rich, familiar. The scent startled her enough that her brows knit together faintly, confusion flickering across her face as she tipped it higher and took a cautious sip.

Instant regret.

Her expression collapsed inward all at once; nose wrinkling, lips pulling thin, eyes squinting as if she’d just swallowed liquid lightning. It was [i]straight[/i] espresso, brutal and unapologetic, the kind that could probably wake the dead or resurrect small gods. She coughed once, softly, then quickly handed the flask back to him like it had personally offended her. 

[color=b07482]"That’s—[i]horrible,[/i]"[/color] shaking her head, half laughing despite the fatigue in her bones. [color=b07482]"Where in the world did you even get that?"[/color]

Nero laughed, rough and unguarded, rumbling somewhere deep with his chest like something that had been hibernating was startled awake. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but watching her cough and flinch like it was actual alcohol in his flask was far more entertaining than anything else he could have imagined. He didn’t smile, not really. It was more of a sly smirk, sharp and lopsided, only curving upwards on one side as he watched her with moderate amusement. He fumbled for the flask when she shoved it back at him. His fingers brushed against her skin as he gripped the cool metal. His touch was rough and calloused, where hers was soft like suede. Her hands were fragile tools used to heal and mend, and his were just… there, inked and coarse from a life too rough for a child to suffer through, but he suffered through it all the same. 

[color=685673]"Camp goblet,"[/color] Nero offered up the answer as he stared down at the metal clutched lazily in his hands. [color=685673]"I… might have stolen one. I keep it hidden near my bunk in the Hermes cabin."[/color] He took another sip of the espresso, letting the caffeine dull the permanent exhaustion that ached in his bones. He spared her a sidelong glance, silently studying her expression and waiting for the pearl clutching that inevitably followed confessions of robbery or similar crimes. 

Daphne’s brows lifted before she could stop them, a small, instinctive flicker of surprise that softened her features and loosened the careful gravity she usually wore like a second skin. [i]Stolen,[/i] he’d said—so plainly, so casually, like it was nothing more scandalous than borrowing a book. She looked at him for a heartbeat, then deliberately tipped her chin upward, eyes drifting to the rafters of the infirmary as if the ceiling itself had suddenly become fascinating, as if the wooden beams might whisper judgment down upon them both.

There was a pause.

Footsteps padded past, one of her younger brothers, arms full of fresh linens, dark curls damp, he liked to go for a swim in the mornings. He slowed just a fraction, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he glanced between Daphne and Nero, no doubt trying to catalogue this strange, quiet moment between the camp’s most severe healer and its most persistent insomniac. Daphne didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Only when his footsteps faded into the far end of the infirmary did her shoulders ease, the tension slipping from them like a held breath finally released.

She lowered her gaze back to Nero.

While Daphne’s attention was focused solely on the beams above, Nero’s own gaze flitted between her and the other Apollo kid. Jackson? Jerome? Jeremiah? He couldn’t remember. There were too many people at camp and none of them talked to him. It was hard to keep straight. He gave the kid a small nod of acknowledgement, if only because it felt like the right thing to do considering the awkward drawn out silence and Daphne’s inability to make eye contact with either one of them. When J—that’s what he was going to call him—had wandered far enough away and Nero noticed his present company relax, he couldn’t help but wonder if her strange shift was because of him. 

[color=685673]"Worried about being seen with me?"[/color] he asked, plain and calm like it was something he had heard before, something he was used to. Nero wasn’t ignorant or deaf. He heard the whispers about him around camp and knew the image he gave off. He was also aware of how most of the campers heralded Daphne as a paragon amongst demigods. Reputations and all that were a bitch. While the resident healer was expected to be kind and helpful to everyone, that didn’t mean she was also expected to chat up the local asshole, loner, [i]‘alcoholic.’[/i]

She snorted softly, shaking her head. No, she wasn’t. It wasn’t like Daphne had gone out of her way to cultivate the reputation she now held at camp, it was something that had happened naturally. She supposed it could be considered the fruits of her labor, the thing that proved all her hard work was worth [i]something,[/i] but she hadn’t chosen it. Being seen with Nero didn’t bother her, and she’d be more likely to punch one of her brothers if they made a snide comment about the insomniac beside her than to pretend they hadn’t. No, it was her own shame and embarrassment that made her pause. [color=b07482]"No, it’s just…I might have borrowed one too,"[/color] she admitted softly.

The words felt small but dangerous, like stepping onto thin ice. She shifted where she sat, cardigan sleeves tugged a little farther over her hands, suddenly shy in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with being seen. Her mouth curved into something faint and apologetic, a near-smile that barely existed but meant more than a dozen confident ones.

[color=b07482]"I just—"[/color] she hesitated, then gave a tiny, helpless shrug, her cheeks flushing slightly. [color=b07482]"I really like root beer. And it’s the only way I can have some when I’m trying to relax in my cabin."[/color] Her gaze flicked briefly away, toward the cots, toward the sleeping strangers and the long night stitched into their skin, before returning to him again. [color=b07482]"I… take it with me when I go on vacation. It just tastes better than the store bought stuff."[/color] she added, and it was clear from her soft tone and fidgeting hands that Nero was the first person she’d confessed this to. 

[color=685673]"[i]Root beer[/i]..."[/color] Nero mulled the words over in his mouth. A smirk, warm and guilty tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over at her from the corner of his eyes. It was like he was given a peek behind her carefully curated curtain, seeing a glimpse of the woman behind the healer. [color=685673]"So… Daphne isn’t perfect after all,"[/color] he mused, followed by a quiet chuckle, rough and warm like gravel beneath the summer sun. There was no teasing or judgement behind his tone. If anything there was a tiny part of him that softened, almost imperceivable like the flicker of a candle that had nearly burnt out. 

[color=685673]"Don’t worry,"[/color] he reassured her with a gentleness that sounded foreign coming from him, a tiny glimpse behind the mask like she had given him. Nero gave her elbow a light bump, brief and featherlight, as his gaze fell back to the metal that had grown warm in his grasp. [color=685673]"Your secret is safe with me."[/color] After all, it wasn’t like he really had anyone to blab to. But even if he did… He wouldn’t. Nero was a great many things, but a gossip was not one of them. Anything told to him in confidence remained there. 

Daphne felt the heat climb into her cheeks before she could stop it, a soft, betraying warmth that had nothing to do with healing light or exhaustion. She ducked her head a little, fingers tugging absently at the edge of her cardigan as if it might anchor her back into composure. 

[color=b07482]"Objectively,"[/color] she said, trying for calm and landing somewhere just shy of it, [color=b07482]"There’s no such thing as a perfect demigod. Or… a perfect god, for that matter."[/color] The words slipped out too easily, and as soon as they did, she stilled. Her lips pressed together, thin and thoughtful, and a faint crease appeared between her brows as she stared at the floor, clearly wishing she could gather the sentence back up and fold it neatly away where it belonged. The truth lingered between them anyway, quiet, heavy, undeniable.

Nero laughed, something mixed with a sigh: light, breathy and laced with subtle disbelief. [color=685673]"[i]And[/i] she blasphemes."[/color] His brows rose as his head turned slightly to look over at her with raised brows and a teasing smirk. There was no love loss between him and the Gods. He’d probably be the first one to shit talk about any one of them if given the chance, but hearing Daphne call their parents out… surprised him, [i]pleasantly[/i], like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs or a nun cuss. 

[color=685673]"[i]Subjectively[/i],"[/color] he dragged out the word, tilting his head a fraction toward hers. [color=685673]"You are like a saint compared to me. So… perfect adjacent."[/color] Nero’s smile grew just enough that there was a glint of his white teeth, bright and warm, peeking out from behind his crooked grin and the dark aura that seemed to hang over him like a cloud.

Then, as if embarrassed by her own honesty, Daphne inhaled, lifted her head, and deliberately changed the shape of the moment. She leaned just enough to bump her shoulder against Nero’s, light and quick, a small rebellion against the weight of divinity and expectation and everything that pressed too hard on her ribs.

[color=b07482]"A secret for a secret, actually,"[/color] she said, a hint of mischief softening her voice. She offered him a small, crooked smile, impish, fleeting, and breathtakingly real. [color=b07482]"So I think that makes us even."[/color] 

[color=685673]"Ah, yes,"[/color] Nero mused, smile fading slightly as his gaze fell to the flask in his hand and the rings that clung to his fingers. [color=685673]"What a plot twist, the guy who looks like a criminal is a thief!?"[/color] He gasped, playful and dramatic, while pressing one hand to his chest. He then leaned a little closer, shoulder brushing hers as his tone dropped to a whisper, deep, low and conspiratorial. [color=685673]"Next thing you’re gonna tell me is people are [i]scared[/i] of me or something."[/color] His smile grew, unguarded and warm in a way that almost felt foreign compared to his usual brooding. He held her gaze for a beat or two, intense, but with the smallest glint behind his darkness. 

[i]A secret for a secret.[/i]

Had Nero ever made a trade like that? Hell, his secrets were only secrets because… no one ever thought or cared enough to ask and he [i]definitely[/i] wasn’t forthcoming enough to share anything willingly. But he just did… In the quiet heaviness of the infirmary, in the shared exhaustion and weight on the cot beside him. The realization struck him like a blade slipping between his ribs, smooth and effortless, but with a sharpness that pooled and spilled over his core, a false warmth that turned cold like a piece of himself that had been locked behind that rib was pried free. He cleared his throat and sat back upright. His gaze drifted over toward the unconscious demigods on the other side of the room, his expression unreadable as he mentally tried to gather up the pieces of himself that tried to slip free and shove them back into the void in his chest. 

[color=b07482]"There’s something about them,"[/color] she murmured. Not fear. Not awe. Something quieter. Something unsettled. Then she turned back to Nero, really looking at him now—the hollows beneath his eyes, the tension wound tight into his frame, the familiar defiance wrapped around exhaustion like a second skin. Her tone softened, but the firmness remained, gentle as hands guiding someone back from a ledge.

[color=b07482]"You don’t sleep enough,"[/color] she said simply. [color=b07482]"If you need a tonic, you just have to ask. I’d make one."[/color] A pause. A breath. [color=b07482]"You’re starting to worry me, [i]you[/i] looked dead when they brought you in last night in the middle of all of that."[/color]

Not dramatic. Not scolding. Just honest. They weren’t friends, though they’d known each other for a while, Daphne just cared in a way that was unique to her, worrying over the campers as if the health of everyone at camp rested on her shoulders. 

He scoffed, blowing out a puff of air that made a soft raspberry noise as his lips flapped together dramatically. [color=685673]"Didn’t you see… I just got like eight hours. I’ll be good for another week, [i]easy.[/i]"[/color] Nero glanced over at her with a knowing smirk that said, not that he got away with a shitty lie, but that she wasn’t going to fall for it. [color=685673]"I know it’s crazy, but your siblings could just… [i]leave[/i] me where they find me. It’s not like I’m going to be caught in the rain."[/color]

His fingers rubbed along his forehead before slipping back through his short dark locks with a sigh. Daphne’s worry felt… misplaced, like something sacred that should be saved for someone more deserving, like the three demigods that stole both of their attention. Nero cleared his throat, eyes squinting slightly as his jaw tensed. [color=685673]"I’ll be fine, doc. I think hellhound attacks warrant more concern than my sleep schedule."[/color] He nodded his head toward the bandaged and unconscious trio. 

It wasn’t until the silence grew a little heavier that he noticed the small slip, something that could maybe go unnoticed by others, but he doubted she’d miss it. Daphne mentioned nothing about an attack—which those dots could be easily connected, unless he was blind or stupid—but more specifically… [i]hellhounds.[/i] She never mentioned hellhounds or what happened. Hell, she might not even know since they’re all unconscious. The visions of massive black furred beasts from the blonde’s dream were dragged to the forefront of his mind, reluctantly, making the hair stand on the back of his neck. He usually tried to forget the dreams. The memories, no matter how innocent, were like wishing a hangover or fever chills upon himself. It was unsettling, discomforting, and nausea inducing. 

He cleared his throat, looking down at the silver rings that hugged his pallid fingers as he tried to forget. While his eyes were a window to his thoughts, he was practiced at diverting them and keeping his face indifferent. It was better that way… Letting people think he was some spawn of Hades, an emo fucker given a wide berth and avoided like death. If people stayed away then he was less likely to slip into their dreams when exhaustion took him. It also meant less questions… less concerns. 

Daphne did not interrupt him.

She let his words move through the quiet between them, let the humor and deflection and practiced indifference settle where they would, while her own gaze drifted back across the infirmary. Her siblings moved in low, careful orbits around the three cots—lifting bandages, replacing them with fresh ones they did not truly need anymore, straightening sheets, checking pulses out of habit more than necessity. From where she sat, Daphne could already see what the others were tentatively monitoring… the injuries had closed. The bleeding had stopped. The bodies had chosen to live.

She had seen to that. With Kiarra.

The thought of her made something ache softly behind Daphne’s ribs. Kiarra was younger, still rough around the edges of her gift, but bright with it, brighter than most. The closest thing Daphne had to an equal in the quiet, terrifying art of stitching bodies back together when the injuries were more grievous. Together, they had held the line between breath and silence last night, hands glowing until their arms shook, voices hoarse from whispered prayers to a god who had never once needed convincing.

It had not been enough.

One of her brothers peeled back the bandages along the blonde girl’s back, careful, reverent. The sunlight cascading in through the open window caught on new skin, too pink, too raw, the delicate color of something only just born into pain. Scars, already written there in soft furious lines, permanent as constellations.

Daphne lowered her eyes to her hands. They were alive. Clean. Whole.

Guilt flooded her all the same, vast and cold, dragging at her lungs like undertow. If she had been stronger. If she had been better. If she had reached deeper, burned brighter, given more of herself than she already had, maybe there would have been nothing left behind but smooth skin and fading memory. Instead, three strangers would carry last night with them forever, etched into skin and muscle, into the way weather would ache inside them long after the monsters they’d faced became stories.

Her chest tightened. She did not realize she had gone so still until Nero spoke again. Hellhounds. The word slid into her awareness like a blade through silk. Her head lifted slowly at first, then all at once, eyes snapping to him with quiet, startled precision. For a heartbeat she said nothing, searching his face—not accusing, not frightened, just suddenly very awake.

[color=b07482]"How did you know it was hellhounds?"[/color] The question was gentle, her voice soft, but it carried weight.

Nero’s shoulders tensed, his breath catching in his chest like he was caught red handed doing something he wasn’t supposed to. The tips of his fingers rapped against the side of his flask as he tried to quickly sift through his thoughts for some answer or lie that was halfway convincing rather than making himself look guilty, like he somehow had a part to play in all of that. Which would be fucking nonsense but he couldn’t very well be like [i]‘Oh yeah, the blonde over there had a pretty vivid dream about them. I connected the dots.’[/i] He had heard about demigods and their prophetic dreams, had some of his own, but he imagined dipping into other people’s dreams was not common. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded like a science experiment or stared at like a freak, rather than being ignored. He’d rather just… be invisible.  

His gaze found hers out of the corner of his eyes and he sighed. [color=685673]"I—"[/color]

[color=f8d296]"...[i]No[/i]..."[/color] The fear from Lux’s dream pushed through until the words fell from her lips, little more than a mumble, but there… pained, raw, and real. Her eyelids were heavy, weighed down like wet fabric sinking beneath the ocean. Her body felt like it was laced with lead dragging her down with a fury that made every attempt at movement fail before it started. The earth was pressing against her chest as she laid face down on a platform? A bed? A cot? She didn’t know. She only knew the strain to breathe beneath her weight, the ache in her back with the expansion of her lungs, and the warmth against her right cheek from where her head rested on a pillow. 

Lux forced her eyes open, greeted with a soft golden glow and a blurry haze. It took several blinks before she could see clearly and focus. Her gaze started at her shoulder, following the bare pale skin down until she was met with bandages wrapped from her elbow to her wrist. Her eyes squinted, focusing on her hand that hung over the edge of the cot, dangling in the space between her and the bed beside her. At first she watched intently as she willed her fingers to move, slowly wiggling in the air as if to check and make sure they were still a part of her, that they still worked. Her eyes trailed along the tip of her finger, flicking from dark crimson stuck under her nails to the body beside her, unconscious and unmoving. 

Her mind took too long to catch up, too long to register what she was seeing… [i]Beckett[/i]. He was shirtless, with nearly every part of him from his neck to waist wrapped in red stayed bandages. The sight sent a jolt through her body like the electricity that danced along her skin the night before. One minute Lux was laying face down, the next she was bracing her trembling hands against the frame of the cot and pushing herself up. The air was cold against her chest where it had been pressed against canvas a moment earlier. She didn’t recall the extent of her injuries or think to check if she was covered until she propped up on her elbows and tried to rise. Her shirt was gone, replaced by cotton bandages that wrapped around her ribs. 

She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting her bare feet fall like cinder blocks to the cold ground below. Her breaths came heavy and labored as the fingers of her right hand gingerly ran the length of the foreign wraps up her left forearm and then along the bottom of her ribs. Lux had to fight through the fog that clouded her mind to recall the hounds, the claws down her back and the fangs bearing down on her arm. She remembered the sound of bone snapping and the unnatural way her arm moved, but staring down at it… it looked… [i]normal?[/i] The tips of her fingers hovered near the edge of the white cotton, tempted to unravel it and see what was underneath… just a peek—

Beckett drew in a deep breath, snapping her out of it and immediately drawing her attention. Lux didn’t think, just acted, pushing off the bed and attempting to stand. Her knees hadn’t locked before her head started spinning and gravity tugged on the lead that still lingered in her bones, drawing her back down to the cot with an exasperated sigh. 

Daphne had still been looking at Nero, mid-breath, mid-question, mid-worry, when Lux’s voice slipped from the fog of sleep. It was soft. Broken. Barely there. But Daphne heard it the way sailors heard bells through storms. Daphne’s head snapped toward the voice instantly, instinct overriding exhaustion, duty overriding thought. For a single heartbeat she remained frozen between worlds, between Nero’s unfinished confession and the fragile sound pulled from the blonde girl’s chest.

Then she was moving. Three hurried steps carried her away from Nero’s cot before she stopped short, spun back, and lifted one finger at him like a hastily planted boundary between now and later.

[color=b07482]"Go rest more,"[/color] she said quickly, not unkind, but firm in the way only healers learned to be. [color=b07482]"You don’t have to sleep—just… just relax. No one’s in my cabin for a few more hours. You can stay there, if you want. I’ll—"[/color] She shook her head once, cutting off her own sentence, already unraveling from it as urgency reclaimed her spine, and then she turned fully away from him and hurried across the infirmary.

Lux was sitting up, pale as bone, trembling like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. Daphne reached her side in seconds, one hand lifting instinctively to her shoulder, not yet touching, just hovering close enough to promise warmth. Her mouth opened to speak reassurance, to anchor her, to say [i]you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe—[/i]

—and then the room changed.

A groan rasped from the cot beside Lux. A sharp, wet cough followed from the other. Daphne’s breath caught. Daphne turned, heart stuttering. For one terrible second, the room felt too small. Three wounded souls stirring at once. Three fragile threads tugging against the same breath of life. The fear bloomed suddenly and viciously in her chest—[i]there is not enough of me, there is not enough of me, there will never be enough of me—[/i]

And then the man surged upright.

He jerked upright like he’d been yanked from deep water, eyes wide and unfocused, chest heaving beneath layers of fresh bandages. His gaze tore across the room, too fast, too sharp, searching for threats that no longer existed, for jungles that were not there, for monsters that had already turned to dust.

He saw Violet first. Relief flickered across his face like lightning through a cloud. He twisted toward her, already halfway to standing, muscles locking and unlocking in confused obedience to old battle commands—

Then he saw Lux.

The motion drained out of him all at once. His shoulders sagged. His back hit the cot again. A breath left his body like he had been holding it for years. And when he spoke, his voice was raw as torn skin. [color=5c83a7]"They’re… okay,"[/color] It was meant for them. But it sounded like it was meant for him.

Nero had remained seated, at first, staying out of Daphne’s way and listening to her commands before other demigods demanded her attention more than his own struggles with sleep. Her offer for him to rest in her cabin landed somewhere in his chest, behind his ribs, but even so… he wasn’t going to take her up on it. The last thing he needed to do was explain himself to the J and the other Apollo kids. He got his eight or so hours. He’d be good for three to four days easy, five if he kept his flask full and took cold showers twice a day. 

He had planned to slip out during the whirlwind, pushing off the cot and slipping the flask into his back pocket. He had reached the exit when the unconscious man snapped to life. Between his dark, haunting dreams of war and the violent glint in his eyes as they darted around the room, Nero stopped dead in his tracks, abandoning his retreat for something unbidden that dragged him a step closer to the chaos. He didn’t know a thing about the man aside from the plague of traumatic dreams that preyed upon him in the night. But there was a dangerous air about him, enough so that Nero didn’t feel comfortable leaving Daphne behind to face it alone, outnumbered three to one. The dude looked like a fucking MMA fighter, so he’d get his ass kicked if it got to the point of a fight, but still… better him. 

Nero crossed his arms lightly over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall beside him, watching like an exhausted, sentinel cast in shadow. To everyone else it likely looked like he was being nosy. But he didn’t care. They could think what they wanted… It wasn’t like he had anywhere better to be.

Daphne, spotting how Nero lingered rather than retreating fully, whilst the rest of her siblings quietly and collectively pulled back, let out the breath she had been holding and softened her posture. There was a strange and overwhelming sense of relief, knowing she wasn’t fully alone in this, and it helped her think clearly enough to ease closer to the edge of Beckett’s cot so he would not feel crowded, so the room would not become another battlefield in his mind. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and steady, woven with the same careful gentleness she used on shattered bones and frightened children.

[color=b07482]"You’re all okay now,"[/color] she said quietly. [color=b07482]"You’re at Camp Half-Blood. We found you last night, right at the border, just inside the barrier. You were… in bad shape. But you made it."[/color] She gestured softly, almost apologetically, to the other cots, to Lux sitting pale and trembling, to Violet still coughing weakly into her hand. The lamplight caught in the sunstone at Daphne’s throat, a small warm glow rising and falling with her breath.

[color=b07482]"My siblings helped me,"[/color] she continued. [color=b07482]"We stabilized you three. Closed the wounds. Stopped the bleeding. You’re safe here."[/color]

Then she hesitated. It was subtle—the slightest hitch in her shoulders, the smallest lowering of her eyes, but guilt moved through her like a shadow passing over water. She glanced between the three of them, at bandages, at raw pink skin, at the places where pain had already begun to fossilize into memory.

[color=b07482]"I’m… sorry,"[/color] she whispered. [color=b07482]"I couldn’t heal everything perfectly. You’ll have scars."[/color] The words were barely louder than breath. But they carried the weight of a healer who had given everything she had, and still wished it had been more.

Lux nodded along with the healer as she spoke, taking in her words slowly like they were being filtered through a haze. There was a moment, it didn’t last more than a breath, but Beckett’s gaze met hers and she felt the rush of heat build in her chest, flood up her neck and bloom across her cheeks. As the night came back in pieces, his ocean blue eyes brought back a memory that slammed into her ribs so hard it stole her breath. [i]Her lips… his lips… [/i] She wheezed, chest caving under the weight of memory, heavy moments, and a kiss given on death’s doorstep. 

Her hands trembled more violently as she went from being bathed in fog to thrust into the sunlight. Where her vision was once tunneled, she now could see, hear, and feel… [i]everything.[/i] There was the concerned brunette woman, hovering and radiating warmth, a shadow of a man, lurking on the edge of the room like a silent guardian, Violet’s wet coughs hidden somewhere behind a wall of flesh and bandages… [i]behind Beckett.[/i] Lux’s eyes were wide and uncertain as she studied him like she was seeing him for the first time, desperate for some sign, some acknowledgement… [i]something.[/i] 

Then there was a subtle brush of air upon her exposed skin. Her gaze fell, taking in her bandaged torso anew. Her modesty was preserved, but even beneath the bandages she felt exposed. Lux looked around for her bag, but didn’t see it. Her eyes locked onto a folded orange t-shirt that rested on the table beside her cot. She could only assume it was for her. Rather than asking, she reached over and grabbed it, pulling the fabric over her head and covering herself quickly before anyone noticed… [i]hopefully.[/i]

As she tugged the cotton hem down to her waist, her gaze finally settled on the girl beside her, letting her final words really sink in. [color=f8d296]"We would have died if it wasn’t for you."[/color] Lux’s words came out with conviction, with a strength that had been absent a moment earlier. [color=f8d296]"Scars are a small price to pay for life."[/color] 

[i]Scars.[/i] Tangible and real… anchors that carved skin and grounded her in the truth that this all wasn’t a dream but [i]real.[/i] She needed to know, needed to see the memories that were going to be etched in her skin for eternity. Lux’s gaze scanned the room until they landed on a mirror that hung over a white porcelain sink. Without a word, she pushed off her cot a second time. She was still a bit wobbly, but managed to remain on her feet. Her hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and started tearing at the bandages. Then she took one step and another and another, until she reached the sink, discarding the stained wraps into the basin, then gripping the edges tight beneath her trembling hands. 

The chill of the porcelain leached into her skin, like cool water on a burn, soothing and uncomfortable at the same time. Her brows knitted and she drew in a deep breath before she turned her back to the mirror. She grimaced as she pushed past the aches in her muscles to reach behind her shoulders. Her fingers slowly started bunching the orange fabric, drawing the hem of the shirt up until it was held in her grasp. Lux remained frozen like that for a drawn out few seconds before looking back over her shoulder at her reflection. Pink raised flesh, angry and raw stared back at her. Four jagged and rough slashes dragged diagonally across her pale skin, not a trophy, but a mar, a memento to carry through the rest of her life. 

She sighed, releasing the fabric, letting it fall lazily around her waist as she pulled her eyes from the mirror. A mark on her back was something out of sight and out of mind, forgettable. But… Lux’s gaze fell to her left arm. A vision of razor sharp fangs shredding into her flesh made her flinch and turn her head away as she forced herself to rip away the bandages. She didn’t look as she pulled away the wraps, didn’t look as her remnants were revealed, didn’t look as she discarded the bandages in the sink behind her. 

Lux exhaled before forcing herself to look down at her forearm. Where her skin used to be smooth and speckled with freckles, it now looked as if it was Frankensteined back together. Tattered gorges and peaks rose and fell across her arm, in various shades of pale ivory to raw pink. It looked like someone shoved her arm in a garbage disposal then tried to stitch it back together, like she was a long lost cousin of Freddy Krueger… but only her arm. She sighed as her thumb absently traced the grotesque souvenir. [color=f8d296]"Well… It wasn’t like I was going to be entering any beauty contests."[/color] She slumped back against the sink, relying on it to support her weight where her knees couldn’t.

Daphne had not moved from Lux’s side. She stood a few steps behind her now, hands folded at her waist as if in prayer, watching the girl in the mirror with the quiet devastation of someone who knew exactly how every scar had been written. Each jagged line across Lux’s body felt like a personal failure carved into Daphne’s own skin. Her throat tightened, eyes stinging, and for a moment the room blurred, not from magic, but from the simple, unbearable weight of wishing she had done [i]more.[/i]

Her fingers curled unconsciously, light stirring faintly beneath her skin. The sunstone at her chest, hidden beneath cotton and knit, went cold. Not metaphorically. Painfully. A sharp, winter-deep chill stabbed through the pendant and into her sternum, a silent warning from Apollo himself—[i]you are draining yourself, you are burning too bright, too long.[/i] The sensation stole her breath for half a heartbeat, but it was not the first time, and it would not be the last.

Daphne did not let it show, she stepped forward instead, voice gentle, steady, threaded with quiet resolve. [color=b07482]"I can… try again tomorrow,"[/color] she said softly, gaze fixed on Lux’s reflection rather than the wounds themselves. [color=b07482]"Your arm, I mean. I won’t promise miracles. Healing that kind of damage takes time, serious time. Weeks. Months."[/color]

She lifted her eyes to meet Lux’s in the mirror, something earnest and apologetic shining there. [color=b07482]"But if you don’t mind coming back to the infirmary… often… I can reduce the scar tissue. Little by little. It will help with flexibility. Pain, too. You’ll feel better in fights if the muscle isn’t bound up in knots of old damage."[/color]

[color=f8d296]"No,"[/color] Lux interjected, then took a breath and repeated herself, softer and more reassuring in her tone. [color=f8d296]"No… You shouldn’t waste your time and skills on… [i]scars.[/i]"[/color] Her gaze fell to her arm, studying it like it belonged to someone else as she ran her finger tips along the gashes. [color=f8d296]"It’ll just take adjustment. Add it to the list,"[/color] she added with a smile that was almost light, like someone who looked her struggles in the eyes with an unsurprised acceptance. [color=f8d296]"There’s been a lot of that recently,"[/color] she mused under her breath as her gaze found its way over to Beckett. Her chest tightened at just the sight of him, the fact that he was [i]alive[/i] and the millions of unanswered questions that twisted behind her sternum. She drew in a sharp breath, then her eyes quickly fell to her bare feet upon the cold tile.

Daphne’s shoulders eased, just a little, as Lux spoke, but the sadness did not leave her eyes. It softened instead, settling into something quieter and more resolute, like coals beneath ash. She stepped closer, careful, reverent, as if approaching a skittish animal rather than a wounded girl, her cardigan whispering against her skirt. The cold from her amulet still pulsed faintly against her skin, a private ache she ignored. Her voice, when she answered, was low and steady, stripped of ceremony.

[color=b07482]"It wouldn’t be a waste,"[/color] she said gently. [color=b07482]"Not if it helps. Even a little."[/color] Her gaze dropped briefly to Lux’s scarred arm, not with pity, but with a healer’s quiet respect for what pain had written and survival had kept. Then her eyes lifted again, soft but unflinching.

A reluctant smile pulled at the corner of Lux’s lips as she looked up at the healer from beneath wild blonde hair that hung in her face. [color=f8d296]"I’ll… See how it feels today, test it out and let you know."[/color] She flexed her arm, then extended it like she was holding a bow. Luckily, it was her right arm that did most of the heavy lifting while her left just had to rest. She was more aware of the twisting and flexing of her muscles, feeling them shift beneath her skin in ways she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t… [i]painful[/i] but it wasn’t comfortable either, like gravel and grit had somehow wormed its way between her muscle fibers and she could feel it grinding when she moved. [color=f8d296]"But you can ask Beckett—"[/color] Her gaze flicked over to him for a second, his words replaying in her mind like an echo of a dream. [color=5c83a7][i]You’re stubborn… and beautiful.[/i][/color] [color=f8d296]"—I’m stubborn."[/color]

Beckett sat upright on his cot with a quiet, pained grunt, fingers already working at the edge of his bandages. He peeled them away slowly, jaw clenched, breath hissing between his teeth as fresh air touched scars that had not yet decided whether to ache or burn. He glanced down only once. His chest was a map of old wars. Scars layered over scars, silver and white and dull pink, crossing muscle like forgotten roads. The new ones did not stand out. They simply joined the rest. It did not matter. Still, he reached for the ugly, folded orange shirt and dragged it over his head, tugging the hem down as if cloth could erase history.

He hesitated as Lux’s voice and her words swam in his foggy brain. He needed food, and caffeine, because he could become a kinder version of himself, and yet… the relief of seeing her alive, of having made it somewhere safe. Well, he figured he could extend the proverbial olive branch, just this once. [color=5c83a7]"Slade,"[/color] he said, voice hoarse, raw from sleep and the pain of last night.

He cleared his throat once. [color=5c83a7]"Scars don’t diminish beauty."[/color] Four words. Uneven. Blunt. Earned. He did not elaborate. The moment hovered, fragile and exposed, then slipped quietly away. Beckett turned toward Daphne, shoulders stiff, pride making the simplest of things difficult. [color=5c83a7]"Thank you,"[/color] he added, low and sincere. [color=5c83a7]"For keeping them alive."[/color]

And for a heartbeat, in the sterile glow of the infirmary, surrounded by linen and lantern light and the soft breathing of survivors, the war inside him loosened its grip, just enough to let something gentler exist in its place.

The words cut straight through the knotted bramble of her emotions, like an arrow shot true that pierced something tender and fragile that Lux kept locked away and hidden. He called her Slade… not Lux, which had a weight to it that dragged the arrow down. But he also called her beautiful—or as close to it as he could without death breathing down his neck—which gave it flight. [i]Beautiful.[/i] Twice within a day. She wanted to go to him, take his stubborn and infuriatingly handsome face into her hands, and kiss him… Without the fear of losing him tearing her open or the looming threat of death weighing down on their shoulders. If only to make sure it was real and that she hadn’t dreamt… to gauge if he meant it too or if he was only placating her last wish before his life slipped through his fingers. 

But she couldn’t. Not when she was broken and felt like a shell of herself. Not when others lurked just outside the tunnel vision she had for only him… Not when she couldn’t handle the possibility of rejection after [i]everything.[/i]

[color=f8d296]"Thank you for keeping [i]all of us[/i] alive,"[/color] Lux corrected when the tailend of Beckett’s words finally made its way through the thicket of her emotions and pulled her out of her head. She cleared her throat as she tried to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. [color=f8d296]"I’m Lux,"[/color] she filled the silence, offering up her name because… Well, they had made it to camp and they were safe… [i]Right?[/i] She had to accept that or what was it all for? [color=f8d296]"That’s Violet and Beckett,"[/color] she added while pointing to the others.

After being polite and doing her best to make introductions that didn’t feel completely awkward, Lux slowly crossed the room. She lowered herself onto the edge of her cot, hands tucked beneath her thighs and her knees only inches away from Beckett’s. There was a long and heavy silence where she tried to find words and form some kind of sentence. She wanted to unpack… [i]everything.[/i] The shit he did with the rain, the lightning, what he said… the kiss. But she couldn’t talk freely with strangers around and there was a deeper part of her that was terrified of the answers. 

She drew in a sharp breath as her foot subconsciously inched closer to his, just a fraction, almost imperceivable. [color=f8d296]"[i]Thank you[/i]... for coming after me."[/color] It was quiet and small, a whisper lost beneath tired breaths, shuffling feet, and the creaking of cots. Lux didn’t open the door on last night, but cracked it, letting a small glimpse slip free like she was testing the waters to gauge his thoughts and feelings before diving in. 

Beckett listened to her in silence, the sound of his name landing somewhere deep and unsettled in his chest. When she moved closer, when her knees drew near his own and the space between them thinned to something fragile and charged, he felt it like a change in pressure before a storm. He did not pull away. He didn’t lean in either. He simply sat there, shoulders heavy, breathing slow, eyes too tired to hide anything anymore.

He lifted a hand and dragged it down his face, fingers catching briefly in his beard, pressing into his eyes as if he could rub the ache out of them, out of his bones, out of his head, out of the hollow place where the end of the night should have lived. [color=5c83a7]"I don’t… really remember most of it,"[/color] he admitted quietly, voice rough with sleep and blood loss and something older than both. The words seemed to cost him more than they should have. [color=5c83a7]"After we ran. After… I chose to follow you, instead of stay with Violet."[/color]

His hand dropped back to his knee. He didn’t regret it, he realized distantly. He’d do it again, if he had to, because here she was. [i]Alive.[/i]

Lux froze, blindsided, like she had been struck but the hellhound all over again. While her heart hadn’t been calm since she woke up, it thundered against her sternum like it was trying to break free and run out of the room before it could be broken. The rush of blood thrummed in her ears, deafening her to everything around her as she tried to swallow the dry lump that formed in her throat. Maybe it was all a dream, or maybe it was fate’s fucked up sense of humor. [i]You lived. You saved him. But the cost was the one thing that almost dying gifted you.[/i] She didn’t know what was worse, the fear of his rejection or having something she had been yearning for given and then taken away.

[color=5c83a7]"I remember… rain,"[/color] he continued, brow furrowing. [color=5c83a7]"And you—"[/color] His gaze lifted to her then, unguarded in a way that felt almost accidental. Vulnerable. Searching. [color=5c83a7]"I think you… zapped the dog."[/color] The corner of his mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile. More disbelief than humor.

[color=5c83a7]"That might be wrong,"[/color] he added, softer.

There was something in his eyes now she hadn’t seen before, not just exhaustion, not just pain, but a thin thread of quiet hope, tentative and unsure, like a man standing at the edge of water he didn’t trust not to drown him. The missing pieces of the night gnawed at him, left him feeling unmoored, as though something important had been taken while he wasn’t looking. 

[color=5c83a7]"You don’t have to—"[/color] he started, then stopped. He swallowed. [color=5c83a7]"But… if you remember, can you…help me fill in the blanks?"[/color] he finished, barely above a breath.

She forced herself to meet his gaze every time he looked toward her, pushing past the burning that stung her eyes and the water she could feel welling against her lashes. [color=f8d296]"Of course,"[/color] she replied without thought, without considering what filling in the blanks truly meant. A single tear slipped free, betraying her attempt at resolve as it cut a wet trail down her cheek. Lux quickly wiped it away like it was more an irritant than another crack in her armor that she was barely holding in place. 

[color=f8d296]"Just…"[/color] she started, voice strained and raw like her throat was coated in sand and her lungs couldn’t draw in enough air to speak. [color=f8d296]"Not here,"[/color] she added, sparing a quick glance around the room, toward the healer, her busy helpers and dark guardian, and Violet who remained silent but attentive as she always did. [color=f8d296]"I don’t want to…"[/color] Lux’s voice trailed off as she tried to find the words. [color=f8d296]"Not with an audience."[/color] She would answer his questions, fill in the gaps—most of them anyway—but it all still felt so… [i]fragile.[/i] It would be hard enough admitting half of it to him alone. Spectators would only make it all worse. 

Then it twisted in her… [i]the panic.[/i]

The fear of knowing that their looming conversation could change… [i]everything[/i]—for good or bad—burrowed deep and hooked its claws where she couldn’t tear it free. Both Lux and Beckett’s lives had been upturned and destroyed at the whims of the Gods and a fucking hotel. Everything had slipped through her fingers like smoke. She could feel the ghost of its touch but could never grasp it and keep it from fleeing. What if she told him and he laughed in her face? A delusion of blood loss and almost dying. What if she told him and it no longer was a memory, but became a reality? Both terrified her. No matter what course it took, one thing was for certain… He’d never look at her the same. Beckett and Violet were the last constants in her life, and ruining that would destroy what was left of her. Was it worth burying her desires just to keep him… [i]close?[/i]

Lux was on her feet before his lingering gaze looked for too long and saw the truth behind her eyes… the fear, the panic… [i]the love.[/i] She needed to remove herself from the equation, run away from her emotions and her truths because it was easier to repress it all rather than face it and the storm that followed. She was going to just walk out, barefoot and all. But when she reached the end of her cot she noticed her pack and mud-caked combat boots resting on the ground at the foot of the bed. She leaned down, hooking two fingers into the heel loops of her boots and snatching up her bag in the other hand. The weight made her arm burn in protest, but she ignored it through gritted teeth and a sharp breath. 

[color=f8d296]"I need air,"[/color] she confessed to the room, the air… to no one in particular. Lux weaved between beds, past wandering Apollo kids, her bewildered healer and the man in the back who lingered on the edge of everything. [color=f8d296]"Thank you again."[/color] She spared the brunette one final glance and soft spoken gratitude, before disappearing out the door. 

Nero had been watching and observing everything with silent scrutiny. He probably could have left awhile ago, but his own intrigue got the better of him. It was hard not to be curious about three demigods that stumbled into camp in the middle of the night on the edge of death. It wasn’t a new or uncommon story, but everyone would be whispering about it outside of the infirmary, he was just more straight forward when it came to his own interest. He watched as they came to terms with everything and assessed their new scars, but what really caught his attention was everything unspoken. 

The tension between the blonde and Mr. M.A.S.H. reruns was palpable. He found himself looking around at everyone else in the room to make sure he wasn’t connecting the dots when there was nothing between them. But when his gaze landed on the third of their party, a woman with dark hair and an expression that was equal parts nausea and frustration, he knew his assumptions weren’t off base. While Nero wasn’t much of a people person himself, he saw more than his fair share of romantic entanglements and de-entanglements during his time at camp that he could see the signs from a mile away… the lingering glances, the ‘beauty’ comment, or the way when they sat almost knee to knee, everything else around them melted away. 

When the blonde—[i]Lux was it?[/i]—quickly got up and vanished out into camp, he had to try his best not to chuckle. Still, a knowing smirk and a quirk of his brow showed he was onto something, even if everyone else was playing dumb… Especially the love birds themselves. [color=685673]"Oh, she’s got it [i]bad,[/i]"[/color] Nero filled the silence with a passing comment he probably should have kept to himself, but he gave it life nonetheless. He shrugged. Someone had to say [i]something[/i] because it was very apparent that those two were going to dance around each other for months until one of them gave up on hoping or died. He was doing a public service really. 

Daphne had watched it all happen, the way Lux fled like a startled bird, the way Beckett stayed sitting there with something unfinished in his eyes, the fragile space they left behind humming with words that hadn’t found their shape yet. She didn’t need prophecy or divine intuition to understand what that was. Some things were older than gods. Some things were just… [i]human.[/i]

She had been drifting closer to Nero without realizing it, drawn by the same quiet gravity, the shared stillness of two people who stood on the edges of things and noticed what others missed. So when he spoke, casual, sharp, [i]accurate—[/i]

She startled hard enough to inhale wrong. A soft, inelegant gasp caught in her throat, and before her mind could intervene, her hand lifted and swatted his arm. It wasn’t hard. Barely more than a reflex. A featherlight reprimand. The moment her palm connected with the steady muscle of his bicep—[i]and wow, what a nice bicep that was—[/i]reality rushed back in.


Nero scoffed, then snorted out a laugh as his hand reflexively moved to grip his arm where she smacked him. He looked down at her with an incredulous glint behind his eyes, but his smirk was bright with a mischievousness that sparked something strangely warm… for being hit. He tilted his head down toward her, looking at her from beneath his prominent brow and dark locks that dangled along his forehead. [color=685673]"[i]Ow,[/i]"[/color] he whispered dramatically, making a show of rubbing his arm like she actually hurt him… She didn’t.

Her eyes widened. Her hand froze midair, then dropped as if it had burned her. Color bloomed across her cheeks, warm and unmistakable, creeping up the line of her neck as she fumbled for composure. [color=b07482]"I—I’m sorry,"[/color] she blurted, mortified, fingers twisting into the hem of her cardigan. [color=b07482]"That was—I just—"[/color]

She stopped, took a breath, tried again—softer this time, more healer than flustered girl. [color=b07482]"That wasn’t very polite,"[/color] she said quietly, glancing in the direction Lux had disappeared, then back to Beckett’s cot. Her voice gentled. [color=b07482]"Some thoughts are… inside-thoughts."[/color]

He rolled his eyes, almost a little disappointed she was taking it back so quickly. [color=685673]"Are you serious?"[/color] Nero asked, still close enough that his hushed tone brushed against her forehead like a warm breeze. He went to motion toward the army boy bandaged navel to neck, but quickly clenched his fist, trying to heed a fraction of her advice at least, and [i]not[/i] draw more attention to it. Instead, as if needing a reason to busy his fingers so it was less obvious, he gently grabbed the collar of Daphne’s cardigan and pulled it a little higher up onto her shoulder. 

[color=685673]"It was [i]pretty[/i] obvious, Daph."[/color] But then Nero held up his hands, surrendering to her moral superiority, although his smirk still lingered, silently amused at the small cracks in her perfection. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her stress or worry lines. He rolled his eyes a second time, then crossed his heart. [color=685673]"No more interfering in other people’s love lives. Got it,"[/color] he whispered, making sure his voice was quiet enough that the dense meat head didn’t hear him… Olympus forbid he let the cat out of the bag.

Daphne forgot how to breathe. It was not dramatic at first, just a small, unremarkable failure of her lungs to remember their purpose when his fingers brushed her cardigan and tugged the soft fabric higher along her shoulder. The touch was gentle. Practical, even. And yet it might as well have been lightning for how sharply her body reacted to it. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed and momentarily unguarded, lashes fluttering as her mind scrambled to catch up with what her nerves had already decided was [i]important.[/i]

Too close. He was too close. Close enough that she could see the faint crease at the corner of his mouth where his smirk lived, close enough to count the dark lashes shadowing his eyes, close enough to notice, absurdly, inconveniently, that he was actually… quite attractive. In a rough, crooked, ruin-of-a-poem sort of way. Then… [i]Daph.[/i] The nickname landed somewhere beneath her ribs and detonated quietly.

Her stomach did something traitorous and acrobatic, flipping once, twice, like it had decided her internal organs were negotiable real estate and her lungs could share. Heat crept up her neck, blooming into her cheeks, the kind of warmth no amount of divine lineage could rationalize away. His low voice didn’t help. Neither did the solemn little gesture of crossing his heart, nor the way his smirk softened just enough to suggest he was enjoying her reaction far too much.

She tore her gaze away with great effort, fixing it on a nearby tray of bandages as if it had personally offended her. [color=b07482]“Yes, well, I suppose that’s sufficient,”[/color] she said, aiming for sharp and landing somewhere near flustered sarcasm. [color=b07482]“As far as promises go though, crossing your heart only counts if you do the [i]full[/i] pinky promise, so.”[/color]

What on Earth was she even [i]saying?[/i] Hades could open the ground beneath her feet right now and it wouldn’t come soon enough.

A shadow passed over the far side of the infirmary. One of her brothers, tall, light-haired, eyes perpetually rimmed with playfulness, slowed mid-step as he took in the scene. Daphne standing far too close to who everyone politely assumed was either an unclaimed son of Hades or Dionysus, with a reputation, her face pink, her mouth tilted in a way that was not clinical professionalism. His brows drew together, concern and confusion warring openly on his face.

Daphne noticed. 

She did not move.

Nero, on the other hand, held his ground, occupying her space like he didn’t have a claim to it, but seized it all the same. He couldn’t help but find enjoyment in the way her perfection unraveled like a ball of yarn. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he watched her try to gather up the loose strands and force them back into a messy ball like she hadn’t slipped, like he hadn’t seen the glimpses behind the healer everyone else saw. The tip of his tongue pressed against the edge of his teeth as his smirk grew, amused and crookedly devious. 

Before he could respond one way or the other, he noticed the movement on the opposite side of the room, felt the lingering attention as the boy’s pace slowed. Nero’s gaze never shifted or moved from looking down into her eyes, dark and warm like fresh brewed coffee, even when she couldn’t bring herself to look back. He cleared his throat to keep the kid’s attention, but never looked toward him, instead focused on the soft pink that colored Daphne’s cheeks or the loose strand of brown hair that billowed with every word he spoke. [color=685673]"Calm down, Sparky. I’m not asking her to join a cult."[/color] His voice was initially loud enough to carry toward the curious Apollo kid, before dropping to his previous whisper, deep, quiet and mischievous. [color=685673]"Not [i]yet.[/i]"[/color]

Daphne snorted before she could stop herself, the sound soft but utterly undignified, slipping past her lips like a betrayal of composure. She rolled her eyes at him, but there was no real heat in it, only the glint of amusement she usually kept hidden behind calm professionalism when in the clinic, the kind of amusement that warmed her gaze and loosened something careful in her posture. [color=b07482]"If you ever find a cult that could tolerate you sleeping wherever you please,"[/color] she said lightly, sarcasm dripping sweet and bright from every word. [color=b07482]"Please, by all means, send me the brochure. I’d [i]love[/i] to study their psychological resilience."[/color] Still, she didn’t move away.

His smile grew at her snort, softening something imperceivable in him, like a small light was visible beneath his every present shadow. [color=685673]"[i]Cute,[/i]"[/color] Nero muttered, the word nearly lost in the heavy silence of the room. 

Color bloomed along the ridges of her cheeks, and though she refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge that word, her shoulders relaxed just a fraction. Her hands, traitorous again, did not shove Nero away. And when she finally glanced back at him, there was a softness in her expression she hadn’t given herself permission to wear before, a quiet, almost accidental smile, small and real and undeniably there. Her brother shook his head once, slowly, as if witnessing the early stages of a medical emergency, and walked on. Daphne remained where she was. Too close. And, gods help her, not entirely inclined to fix that. He was truly infuriating. 

When they were no longer being watched, Nero straightened slightly but did not sacrifice ground. He looked down at her with a raised brow, studying the waves of change that played across her face. She was proving to be far more interesting than the uptight healer he had assumed she was… stealing, smacking, brazenly standing in his presence when her siblings openly noticed. There was a little rebel in there somewhere, hidden behind her layers of decorum and cardigans. Daphne surprised him… it was because of that and that alone that his hand slowly raised into the small space between them with his pinky held out in a silent offering.

She turned toward the movement, eyebrows climbing, but her smile changed into something a little softer, an expression that was reserved usually for when she was in her cabin surrounded by her siblings. Daphne reached out, hooking her pinky with his for a moment, a little surprised by how warm his hand was. It took her a second longer than it should have to move away, after that. The space between them suddenly felt colder when she finally stepped back. She smoothed her skirt absently, clearing her throat as if to anchor herself again to reality. [color=b07482]"You really should rest more,"[/color] she added, voice even softer now. [color=b07482]"Before you collapse somewhere inconvenient again and I have to heal you out of spite."[/color] 

Then, with a soft sigh, she gestured vaguely toward the far end of the infirmary. [color=b07482]"I’ve got an Ares kid to heal, he got into a fight with a water nymph after he threw his spear into the lake… again. We haven’t seen many of the nymphs around lately, he probably thought he could get away with it."[/color] She rolled her eyes at the mere thought of it, because pausing, her gaze flicked back to meet Nero’s, lingering for just a heartbeat too long. [color=b07482]"But… I’ll see you at dinner."[/color]

She turned before he could answer, walking away with a lightness in her step that hadn’t been there before, a quiet and private smile curving at the corner of her mouth like a secret she hadn’t yet decided how to keep.

Beckett watched it all with the distant confusion of a man who had woken up into the wrong chapter of his own life. Nero’s comment, Daphne’s startled gasp, the quick, almost ceremonial swat of her hand against his arm, the bloom of red across her cheeks, none of it assembled into anything meaningful in his mind. It played out like a scene in a foreign film, one without subtitles, the emotional weight obvious to everyone else but him. 

And then there was the door. The one Lux had disappeared through. His eyes drifted back to it slowly, as if the wood grain might rearrange itself into an answer if he stared long enough. Something hurt behind his ribs, sharp and sudden, the same place the hellhound had torn into him, the same place the rain had burned cold through his bones. But this pain was different. Quieter. Hollow. Like a fist closing around empty space. He didn’t know why it was there, only that it was, and that it had been a result of watching Lux leave the room.

A soft sound reached him, muffled, imperfect, almost a laugh trying not to be one. Beckett turned his head toward it, movement slow, shoulders still heavy with fatigue and bandages. Violet sat propped against her pillows, dark hair loose around her shoulders, one leg elevated and wrapped, her face pale but awake. She had her hand lifted halfway to her mouth, as if she’d meant to hide the expression that betrayed her, but hadn’t quite managed it in time. When he looked at her, really looked, she met his gaze without flinching. There was something in her eyes that unsettled him—not mockery, not cruelty, but the kind of knowing that made him feel like he’d arrived late to a story everyone else had already read. She shook her head slowly, the motion small and gentle, as if to spare him the force of it.

[color=ae76c4]"It’s okay,"[/color] she said, her voice soft but certain, settling into the quiet like falling ash. [color=ae76c4]"You’ll understand someday."[/color]

The words only deepened the furrow in his brow. His confusion thickened, coiling in on itself, tightening in his chest. He opened his mouth as if to ask her what she meant, then closed it again, the question dissolving before it could take shape. The world felt tilted in a way he couldn’t correct, like standing on the deck of a ship after months at sea. So he reached for something solid instead. Something he [i]did[/i] understand. Guilt had always been easy to hold. It had edges. Weight. A shape he recognized.

He lowered his gaze to his hands, rough and scarred and resting uselessly in his lap, and spoke quietly, the words scraping out of him like stones dragged across bone. [color=5c83a7]"I’m… sorry,"[/color] he said, breath uneven, throat tight. [color=5c83a7]"For leaving you. Back there. For her."[/color] The admission carried no drama, no justification. Only the blunt truth of it, heavy as wet sand.

Violet’s expression shifted at once. Not sharply, not with anger, but with something gentler and far more dangerous to him. Sadness touched her features like a passing shadow, softening the lines of her face, dimming the faint humor in her eyes into something older and quieter. Still, she smiled. Not the kind meant to reassure herself, but the kind offered deliberately, carefully, as if she were placing something fragile into his hands and trusting him not to drop it.

[color=ae76c4]"I know,"[/color] she said, barely above a breath, the words steady and sincere. [color=ae76c4]"Really. I do."[/color] She paused, letting the silence settle around them, then added, softer still, [color=ae76c4]"It’s okay, Beck."[/color]

The ache in his chest deepened at that, spreading in a slow, unfamiliar way that made it hard to draw a full breath. He nodded once, stiff and reflexive, like a soldier acknowledging an order he didn’t fully understand but would obey anyway. He didn’t trust himself to speak again. The words would come out wrong, or not at all. So he stayed silent, staring at the place where Lux had stood moments before, while the quiet pressed in around him and the wound in his chest remained, unseen, unnamed, and stubbornly real.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] violet & various apollo kids [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Sleepy Tani][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]