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Desmond curses when the metal catches on the palm of his hand. It isn’t a deep cut - certainly nothing deep enough to worry about - but it’s still a nuisance. He wipes the blood off on his forge apron and dismisses the cut. It’s not like it’s deep enough for nectar or ambrosia, anyway. He can wrap it before they start working, sure, but they still need to wait for the forge to heat up in the first place.

If he wraps it up now, all it will do is get in the way and get caught on

more

things. Desmond finds their ongoing list of things to do, though, and adds ‘clean the forge’ and ‘sort scrap metal’ to it.

Charles rolls his eyes when he realizes Desmond ignored the cut. “Safe forge practices…”

Desmond smirks. “Rules for thee, but not for me, my friend. I’m over eighteen. I can be dumb in the forge if I want to be.”

It's only funny because they both know it's a lie. Desmond is also fairly strict in the forge. Still, accidents do happen. Charles has his own share of forge scars, as does every other camper that bothers to learn smithing.

Charles moves towards where they’ve kept the new find. Even if it took forever, it was something other than the ball, meaning they might get new information. A weapon, even, though they have no idea what a blackstone and celestial bronze sword could be useful for.

The sword

looks

nice, even where it’s sort of dropped into a tray. It’s also weighted beyond 'badly' and would be hell in combat as just a weapon. A fighter would be better off with a plain bludgeon. At least, a demigod fighter would be.

Desmond has tried to be careful not to forget that, in mortal hands, these things have some kind of abilities. And it’s doubtful the ‘Isu’ would have made a weapon like this that was so clearly not designed for plain swordsmanship and not put some other function in it. Whatever that function is, it might affect what materials were used in the construction. As it is, they haven’t found another one of the Hacky-Sacks of Doom, yet. Charles had debated putting their old one back together to kill time and see if he could figure out the magic.

Desmond is sort of glad he didn’t. Knowing what the stone alone is potentially capable of, he would rather anything dangerous happen with him around to help out.

The sword is also longer than Desmond would think would be practical. At the weighting, at least, it should focus the balance towards the base, where there is more ability for the fighter to move the blade. Instead, it’s spread out along the blade in a way that makes it unwieldy in the hands. More like a “point and stick” sort of weapon than an actual weapon designed for slashing and cutting.

Aesthetics over practicality, form over function, he guesses. Something that wasn’t designed with the purpose in mind.

“You’re going to regret that…”

Desmond laughs while he pulls some tools together in a separate tray. Charles is already getting the sword ready and placed, and the whole workshop is warming up with the forge. This deep into winter, in January proper, it makes the place feel cozy. They’ve started leaving their mark on the place, and it’s become more and more

their

space. Desmond supposes that’s what a few years of time will do to a place, though.

He hears Charles curse - they probably should organize a bit, now that he thinks about it; they usually keep things pretty neat, and it isn't unsafe. Doesn't mean they couldn't do a bit better - and whips around. The sword is clattering down along with some other supplies. Desmond doesn’t think about what he’s reaching for, so much as he’s thinking about trying to contain at least

some

of the very dangerous tools from falling into either fire or onto the floor where they become a mess to clean up.

It isn’t their first time with something like this happening. They keep most of the items in trays to make it easy to try and catch a minor accident before it becomes

an accident

.

Still, the tray’s aren’t infallible. And Desmond reacts before thinking when the sword looks like it’s about to tumble out of the tray and onto the ground. His hand connects with the hilt, and he hisses in pain as the cut makes contact. It

burns

, worse than if he had dumped it in a vat of rubbing alcohol.

The sword flashes bright light and Desmond hears something

pop

, but he isn’t sure what. He’s on the ground, though, still trying to hold the tray together when Charles runs towards him.

“Alright, talk to me, Desmond.”

“I’m fine.”

“Any new injuries?”

Desmond shakes his head. He turns his palm over, looking at the cut. 
It’s cauterized. He whistles, low. “This right here is why I didn’t want you working alone before I left. We have no idea what these things even

do

.”

“The sword hasn’t reacted to us touching it before…” Charles sits across from Desmond, looking at the burned edges. “Do you think it was because it made contact with blood?”

Desmond hums. “That might be it. I’m not sure we should go around testing it, though.”

Charles pulls the tray towards him. The sword itself is blackened where the blood hit it, lines etching out from the center with breaks at odd angles like strange veins. The leather-like wrapping along the hilt is actually charred in a small cluster of spots the exact shape of Desmond’s cut.

He shakes his head when Charles goes to lift it up. “We don’t know if it’ll react again.”

“I’m not bleeding.”

Desmond sighs. “And we know the beings that made this were designed to eliminate the gods. For all we know it needed blood to find a target or something.”

It feels like a reach. Like something out of a comic book. But even then, this whole situation feels like it should be in a comic book.

“Should we take you to medical?”

It’s a burn… They probably should make a trip to the infirmary. And Will, at least, usually lets him off with minimal questions.

In the few short weeks since they got back - it’s not even the end of January, yet, and already the events on Mount Tam feel an odd sort of distant - Will has become more assertive. Confident in himself where before it was more a confidence in his knowledge and abilities. He, Desmond, and Clarisse have made a habit of sitting together outside the main pavilion for at least one meal a week to chat. Sometimes, when he’s feeling up to it, Chris even joins them.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They talk while they walk. It’s not exactly like they’re going to do much right after this sort of thing, anyway. Give the thing time to cool off, in case it has some sort of cool-off period, and then go investigate it further. This time fully kitted up with gloves and all, to prevent any skin contact.

“I don’t think trying to test it is going to work in the long-run. We still haven’t seen any proof the automatons we sent out even know what they’re looking for.” Desmond keeps his voice low as they walk.

They’d completed two, and they did well enough finding the celestial bronze and blackstone combination in small trials in the workshop. That’s no guarantee they’ll actually work outside that setting, though. Or that they can find it with no prompting or direction. Desmond is feeling increasingly lost in the face of this task, even if he hasn’t said as much yet.

“I don’t think coming up with a hypothesis is the wrong move, though.” Charles shrugs. “And, given the only difference between other times we handled the sword and today was the introduction of blood, it doesn’t feel like too large a leap.”

Desmond doesn’t disagree. It’s just frustrating beyond belief that they can’t get

answers

. It keeps feeling like roadblock after roadblock.

“I’ll see if we can get to the library. Maybe there’s something there.”

There probably isn’t, but at least it will feel less like hitting a dead end.

*

Clay slumps in his chair. Rebecca had gotten one for him when he started hanging around her little lab. The last few days, though? Have been

hell

on his nerves. Bill took him having

some

training from Camp and decided it was enough for him to run a supervised infiltration. Like that wasn’t a terrifying concept.

He got the information, though. There is so much more they have to find, but knowing where to look is a huge step in the right direction. More than that, they have enough to start parsing through the Animus documents they can find more efficiently. No more opening up everything one by one and checking for anything useful.

Who knew a document about naming conventions and a list of running projects would be so useful? Thank the gods for sloppy technicians not following protocol.

“Bill would rip us to pieces if we’d done this…” Rebecca scowls down at the papers. “Don’t get me wrong - I’m glad for the fuck up. But…”

Clay gets it. “Look, I’m just glad it made the whole escapade easy and

fast

.”

He doesn’t think he wants to do infiltration again. He’s starting to think maybe he should get out of the Assassins, on some level. Sure, he agrees with the aims and all but is he really cut out for this? Or is he kidding himself and trying to scrape by?

If he can’t meet the challenges and needs in front of him, he’s liable to get someone else killed. He knows that - he had to learn it at Camp Half-Blood. When to sit out, when to take the support role and move forward. If he could shift to a more technical role, maybe?

But Bill has some pretty strong ideas about Clay as ‘his’ recruit, and that’s the biggest hurdle.

“Do you know if Bill’s cleared your Summer leave?” Rebecca glances at him. He told her he would leave the conversation up to her, when she was ready. But he does think they need to talk about it.

He has about four days left before he goes back to Nebraska for the Spring semester. They’re running out of time, unless she decides to wait for Spring break.

“I already told him I was set to go back for the Summer.” Clay shrugs. “Had to promise my Spring break and some level of ‘on-call’ while I’m in Nebraska, but I doubt I’ll get much to do

in Nebraska

.”

“Fair enough.” Rebecca swallows. She looks like she’s about ready to take the leap into the conversation. Except, she keeps stopping herself. Clay isn’t about to force this.

“So how do you even narrow down the ancestors, anyway?”

Rebecca pulls something up on her computer and turns it towards Clay. “Do you see this?”

“Yeah, it looks like… Some sort of medical paperwork.”

She nods. “That’s not wrong. It’s a sort of blood panel. Except with what we know about how Abstergo isolates the genetic memories, it lets us dig into the strongest connections. That’s the really weird thing - sometimes an ancestor from

further back

has a stronger… I guess you’d call it ‘presence’? Well, whatever you want to call it, it can be stronger in one descendant’s DNA than another's.”

Clay considers that. He wonders

why

, but it isn’t exactly his field. And epigenetics as a field is still so new he isn’t sure where to look for actual good information.

“Okay. So you pick who’s strongest. Are there other things you look for?”

Rebecca nods. “Relevance. I’m sure Abstergo has their own way of measuring that, but for us it is all goal dependent. Well, it

will

be, when we get authorization to actually test this.”

Clay considers that. “What are the side effects?”

“Immediately? Disorientation, nausea, migraines. Long-term? Something we’ve heard called the Bleeding Effect.

That

stuff gets guarded very closely, though, so I don’t know what’s going on with it.

“As best as we can tell, though, it’s from long-term exposure. One dive and you shouldn’t be too badly affected.”

Clay nods. Oh, he’s so bad at impulse control…

“Want to take it for a spin?”

Rebecca blinks at him. Her eyes widen as she processes what he’s saying. “You’re kidding? You have to be kidding. This is an experimental version of an experimental piece of tech

I’ve never seen in person

.”

“I trust you more than Abstergo.”

Rebecca huffs at that. “That’s not a big leap. They haven’t really tried to

stop

the Bleeding Effect as far as we know. It’s just… Part of the project.”

Clay rolls up a sleeve. “So, what? You need a blood sample? A few hours to process it?”

She starts laughing at that. “You’re crazy. You must be

insane

.”

“I’m told it’s what makes me good at my Summer job. Keep up with the kids, and all.” He smirks and holds his arm out. “So… Want to test it or what?”

“Fine. Fine, sure.” She moves and grabs her equipment. The slight shake to her hands makes Clay wonder if she isn’t trying to do it before she loses her nerve. “I shouldn’t need a few hours to process the blood sample, though. It’s not like it’s sequencing every gene, and I’ve managed to get some samples to train the program on cracking the lid on the genetic memories. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

And it doesn’t. Within forty-five minutes, they have a hit.

Rebecca curses. It’s the same tone of curse Clay hears from his friends when the Huskers pull off something unexpected during a game - something

positive

.

“So, what? Do I have an interesting ancestor or two in there?”

He’s joking. When she turns to him, he can tell she

isn’t

. “You have Ezio Auditore in there. And he's one of the stronger ancestors you have a link to.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

Rebecca gives him an Assassin history lesson. He must have heard the name elsewhere, because all of this is news to him. Either that, or he really wasn’t paying as much attention as he should be the last few weeks.

He still can’t get the fight out of his head, though. Annabeth fighting even fresh out of captivity. Percy taking on the literal weight of the sky. Desmond losing his control like that.

Clarisse barely biting back her own panic. Will, firing off whatever arrows he could find. Thalia joining the Hunters after it all was said and done. Decisions that Clay will never have to face. An entirely different lived reality that is so cold and cruel, and none of them had a single choice in it.

Yeah, that’s… Gonna stick around a while. Maybe affect his focus more than he thought.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “I can’t believe you suggested this.”

Clay shrugs. “Come on. You’ll never know if it even

works

if you don’t try it.”

She boots up the machine. The chair she’s made for it is pretty comfortable, all things told. It holds to his spine well, and he almost feels like he could take a nap in it.

“Alright. Loading up the memories… Let’s see what happens. One dive, two hours, and then we call it quits.”

It’s the most surreal experience he’s ever had, even before he watches his ancestor

being born

.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Phinaeus stares down at the two of them like he expects Charles and Desmond to set something on fire. They haven’t even tried anything like that, so Desmond isn’t sure where he’s getting that impression.

Still, it means them splitting up has the old bird tittering and cooing into the empty space. Louder than anyone would dare

talk

in his library, but that’s sort of assumed. This is Phinaeus’ domain, and he isn’t about to let some demigods roam it without feeling at least a little surveilled. Desmond can sort of get that, too. He’d be careful about people in the workshop if they weren’t Charles.

Still, it means when he goes to look for any reference to Isu weaponry - a decently hard task given how few Olympian sources even used the

name

‘Isu’ - he feels like he’s better off finding somewhere private to try and read. Phinaeus will make rounds, but at least Desmond won’t look up to see his head whipping that full one-hundred-eighty degrees around to face forward again. It’s like he never bothered to learn subtlety…

The Olympus library is expansive, but it isn’t exactly designed for privacy. The stacks are set up in such a way that the columns are wider and set with tables running perpendicular to the shelves. The corners are somewhat private, but that means they’re the first spots taken. Even on upper levels, things are still very visible. It’s a work of art, and certainly a room Desmond knows Annabeth could really appreciate from an architectural and design standpoint, but it leaves him with few options for seating.

There is one corner that is mostly empty. The person sitting there - a woman, if he had to guess - has her own book blocking her face. She doesn’t pay Desmond any mind as he sits down and starts pulling out his notes. He can’t take much out of the library these days - the more forge work they do, the stricter Phinaeus gets about the scrolls and books - so he has to get as much as he can from the visits they

do

get. And as the war creeps closer, those are becoming fewer and further between, too.

He gets to work. It could be a god sitting near him, meaning he should pay some respects. But until they confirm that, he’d rather not mess up.  Or break his focus.

It’s nearly an hour by Desmond’s guess when the woman puts her book down. She taps the table once, twice, then finally thrice.

“I had wondered, when you took on this little project, what might come of it.”

Desmond looks up. Her features shift and change, but… The longer he looks, the slower those changes happen. As though her face is trying to find the features that would appeal the most to the viewer, and with one viewer it is able to isolate. It’s settled on a face with a slightly more narrow plane to the cheeks, already. Those are staying fairly stable.

Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, then. Desmond makes a note to be careful. He doesn’t know what interest she has in him, and he isn’t exactly keen to find out.

“Would you like a report?”

She laughs. “I get that from Dionysus, when he has to report on your progress to Zeus. No, I have a

question.

”

“If I can answer it…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” She taps the table, one finger at a time, waiting. Whether she’s considering her words or trying to make Desmond nervous, he can’t be sure.

Her eyes settle on a blue color. Desmond isn’t sure what to think about that.

“You’ve consulted several gods already, Desmond. And, yes, some of them were matters of opportunity. But something like this, that plays into Dionysus’ domain, also plays into mine. After all, he did send you on the initial quest because of obsessions. And what is obsession but a horribly corrupted form of love?

“So, I have to wonder… Why haven’t you consulted

me?

”

Oh… He has offended through inaction. That’s honestly a new one for him. At least, it is with the gods.

“If I may answer you honestly, Lady Aphrodite?”

“I must demand it.”

He can feel the power of her words persuading him not to hide anything. He hadn’t planned on it. More than that, though, he can feel the weight of a godly demand sinking into him. This isn’t just a casual use of the

word

, she truly is demanding an honest answer of him.

“Your domain and the domain of your paramour, Lord Ares, both touch on particularly potent emotions.” Desmond takes his answer slowly, feeling out each word as he says it. He

does

intend to be honest, but he doesn’t want to be

too

honest. Not if she is already on the line of offense and is already taking notice of him. “And emotion can drive people to do incredible things, good or bad.

“I have more practice with quelling my anger than with facing what I would do for those I love. My friends, my siblings… it is one thing to know what I am capable of, and another entirely to face the lengths I will go.”

“You fear what my domain could make you do… Fascinating.” She hums. Her hair has stopped switching colors and instead switches between shades of blonde. Desmond wonders how much control she has over her appearance, and how much of it is cluing in on what he personally would find beautiful. “And yet your tastes betray you…

“You’re not just scared of what you would do for the ones you do love now. You’re scared of what you

could

do for someone you still love… Your secret is safe with me. Love is never so simple as to end when we'd like it to.”

“Pardon?”

“It is rare I get to speak one-on-one with people. You learn so much when you can know exactly what or

whom

their heart reaches for.” She hums. “Though, being aware of one’s self is the best way to assure even their more

emotional

decisions are still, ah, wise.”

Desmond doesn’t know what to say to that. He tries to avoid looking at her, as some of her features shift towards others he finds

familiar

.

He knows he and Luke ended things with unresolved feelings. He had

thought

he was over it.

“It is no weakness to love, Desmond. Not even romantically.” Aphrodite stands, gathering her own books with her. “And, much like your mother, you have a healthy respect for what

my domain

can do.

“And you can mourn a love, even in the face of betrayal. It doesn’t change what

was

, only what

is.

And to mourn is to acknowledge what could have been, not what someone has become.”

“I think I understand, Lady Aphrodite.”

She pauses a moment. “I think you’re starting to.

“Still, I give my word upon the River Styx, freely and unbidden, that I shall not interfere in your life when it comes to love. You will navigate those waters entirely on your own.” She pauses, letting the oath settle and finalize. Desmond doesn’t know what to even

think

in response to that.

An oath on the River Styx? And he hadn’t even… Is she trying to prove a point?

When the feeling of the oath dissipates, leaving just the two of them speaking, she speaks again. “I will be watching, though. And what you don’t understand yet, well. I believe there will be plenty of opportunity to learn.”

She leaves him alone, adding a single book to his pile. All he can do for a moment is stare at his own work in front of him. He doesn’t…

To mourn a love… Betrayal doesn’t change what was, only what is…

He swallows around the feeling of a stone in his throat. It’s easier to hear the words than it is to believe them. How long had Luke been planning it, after all? He had changed…

But… There had still been moments. Here and there, there had been moments where he was still the boy Desmond knew. Desmond’s first love.

He forces himself to get back to work. Even if it is a wash, they have to get at least

some

answers.

Aphrodite’s oath, though… He looks at the book she left behind.

A book on divine law?

He tries to focus again on his work. Aphrodite has marked a passage of the book, but Desmond… He has other things to do, and this is a book he would be allowed to check out from the library. To take back and read in his own time.

Initiating proceedings on behalf of another

doesn’t sound like ideal reading when he’s already a bit scattered, anyway.

*

Abstergo has told her to spend the Spring semester in Italy. A study-abroad, technically, but Lucy suspects Rikkin wants to keep a closer eye on her. She’s grateful, then, that Layla offered her a place through the House of Life where Abstergo

won’t

find her. It’s out of the way, making her commute to classes longer, but it’s isolated and safe. Abstergo’s reach doesn’t extend here.

The Rome House is an old building. It has a feeling, though, as if someone here has seen it built up and maintained with every possible care. The smallest possible details have been noticed and mended. The statue of Thoth feels less like peering, lifeless marble and more like something someone had found a place for.

It feels like a home, as much as it feels like a place of learning. The older man who greets Lucy is in his, likely, late forties. He smiles as he greets her, introducing himself as Gilberto.

“Unfortunately, the others have been incredibly busy. In the meantime, I thought it prudent

someone

give you a tour of the place. And who better than me, as I have lived here the longest?”

He guides her from the main hall to the staircases. They’re wood, and the bannister and the supporting poles are carved with intricate detail.

“This place is beautiful.”

“I have been around quite a while…” Gilberto is proud as he looks out over the bannister, back at the entrance hall. “It used to be an inn, though the clientele weren’t the most reputable sort. When I came back to the House of Life, and when my old company had all left me for other pursuits, I, ah… I found a way to turn the building into

this

.”

“You left the House of Life and returned?”

Gilberto hums. “I did. Life, even magically unaltered, can be a long experience.

“There is plenty of time to change your mind. To try things and leave and, in most instances, return if you sincerely wish to.”

He guides Lucy through the building. Pointing out rooms - a specific one, too, where she drops her things off and he gives her a key.

He guides her, finally, towards a courtyard.

“If you would humor me, I believe we might both benefit from a little bit of training.”

“In…?”

“Has anyone taught you combat magic? It is considered good practice to know the basics.”

Lucy shakes her head. “I can’t say it’s come up, no. Amos was more focused on, I guess they’d be basics?”

Gilberto shrugs. “Basics depends on your purpose. If his purpose was to teach you to manipulate magic and understand the Duat, then perhaps the more benign forms of magic are a good place to start.

“If the purpose was to find a niche for you, then starting on lesser forms of more complex magics is where one might lay out the ‘basics’. I have a different purpose, I think.”

“What is that, then?” She tries not to sound disrespectful. It feels like one more time someone expects her to follow along to some great game, though. And… she really doesn’t want to.

There will always be someone…

She tries to remind herself of that, even as she feels the frustrating mounting.

“You are a survivor. And as such, I want to give you the tools to survive. Therefore, the basics are on what you might need to defend yourself in the future.”

He hands her a wand and staff. She has her own - they’re in her room. She’s still working on understanding the connection between mind, magic, and the Duat well enough to be able to store them there and call on them at will.

“So combat magic… Should I start with something

defensive

, if the goal is to give me the tools to do so?”

Gilberto hums, but it sounds almost like a laugh. “You might. But there’s something about you… I get the impression you are, ah, comfortable on the offensive, yes?”

She is. She’s an Assassin, and the philosophy is if you’re smart about your offense you may never need to worry about defense. The training focuses on both, but the ideology… Well.

“And so you think it would be better for me to start with learning combat magic?”

“I think learning both together would serve you well. And the best way to do that is to learn combat magic before branching into the other forms that may serve those purposes.”

He hands her a sheathed sword.

“Um… Do I need this?”

He nods. “The wand and staff are for back-up. If you get disarmed, you’ll want to have them.”

Lucy finds a way to store the wand and staff, meanwhile pulling out the sword. She’s never fought with a sword before, but she knows enough about weapons combat to guess at an opening stance.

“Not bad.” Gilberto takes his own weapon out. A cage of light surrounds him, shaping into a man with the head of a fox. “We will start with learning to summon and control a combat avatar at will.”

She doesn’t quite manage it. Even when she gets something to flicker - and she’s had months of training in magic, she knows she can

do

it even if she doesn’t know why it’s failing her now - she never keeps it up long.

Gilberto dances around her. He doesn’t even tap her with his combat avatar or his weapon. He throws out explanations, though, and Lucy is almost surprised at how much she does manage to remember.

He calls it off after a few moments. “What do you think caused you to struggle?”

She shakes her head. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“And yet Amos says you are a decent hand at figuring magic out without someone holding your hand.” Gilberto takes her weapon from her. “Try again.”

“I… Wasn’t confident?”

“Closer.” He puts the weapons away, presumably in the Duat. “Do you know what Amos told us, when we asked for his insights on you?”

“No…” She knows they asked. When she told Amos she was being required to do a short-notice semester abroad (Abstergo money can get a lot of things done very quickly), he had told her. He was transparent with her. She

knows

that.

“He said that you were reserved. And when we met here, you were careful. You took up no more space than you needed to, than it was expected you would. Someone taught you that, and while it will take far longer than six months to teach you otherwise, the first thing that will help you in combat magic is learning how to

take up space

.”

That feels wrong, though. Taking up space is would make her stand out from the crowd. It would show Abstergo where the Brotherhood is more than they already know.

It could put innocents in danger.

“You may have to decide one day, Lucy, between being seen and being able to defend yourself or others. The demons and the monsters we fight won’t take mortals into consideration, so we

must

.

“I hope you choose wisely.”

She hopes so, too. Even as they wrap up and she thinks about what he said, she can’t make herself accept it.

It’s so anathema to her. To everything the Mentor had

trained

her for. Even if she isn’t so sure where she stands with the Brotherhood after so long away - does Rebecca worry about Lucy half as much as Lucy worries about her? Does her dad know she’s alive? Will she have somewhere to go back to when this is all over? - she knows what she was trained for.

She was made into a spy. Into someone who fades into the background. And even if they know she’s here, she can still

do something

.

But does she really have to choose between the Creed and other people?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The mother of monsters… Luke’s stomach turns just thinking about it. What would have happened, he’s wondered, if the monsters had made it to the top of the mountain? He never saw the end of the fight, but he knows Annabeth and Desmond survived. Would the monsters have spared either of them? Would they have disobeyed orders? And yet there is talk about raising her . “We can hold off, at least for a little longer on that. We don’t want to overplay our hand.” There are many who aren’t pleased by that. Kelli, for one, is glaring Luke down as though she fully expects Kronos to raise here and now and throw Luke to the very darkest corners of his own mind. Luke knows what is to come. He knows that when the time comes, he will no longer be in control. And every call he makes counter to what Kronos wants ensures his anger is that much stronger. Ensures that much more pain when Luke is no longer in control. He doesn’t know what he’ll do then. All he knows is that he’s desperate for some measure of control. Desmond had raced to the cliff’s edge. He had looked down while Luke fell and he had regret in every line of his face. Luke has not allowed himself regret. Regret is dangerous. Regret might let himself think he can get away from this, that there is another way. He thought this would make things better… He thought things could improve without the gods. He is beginning to wonder if the cosmic joke at the center of all this was that the gods really were the better option.When the meeting wraps up and Luke has time to himself, he knows he is expected to connect with Kronos. He will be expected to, and if he doesn’t he knows there will be punishment awaiting him. He clears his thoughts of the people he cares for as much as he can. They are weaknesses to Kronos. He prepares as much as he can to talk to Kronos. There is nothing he can do to fully disguise his thoughts and fears and cares from Kronos. The only option he has is to push other things to the front of his mind.It feels… draining. Like the things that matter - the reason for doing all this - is something that he has to distance himself from. What use is doing all this - is waging this entire war - if he doesn’t do it for the people he cares for? The whole point…The point was that their parents didn’t care, that they had never cared. He and Thalia had cursed their fathers for a reason . Desmond and Annabeth… Would Desmond have died from that empousa wound, had they not found Luke and Thalia? Would Athena have even cared? He puts it out of his mind. Even as that latent fear from way back when, from when there was so little to trust but the other three people at his side, creeps up. He can’t trust Kronos. He can’t trust that he will be able to protect Desmond, Thalia, or Annabeth even if he succeeds. He tries to prune that thought. Cut it out of his mind and discard it entirely before he falls into the sort of meditation that will allow him to speak with Kronos. The move from dreams and passively watching what was going on through Luke had been unexpected - the need for him to consciously reach out, especially - but Luke is glad for the separation. For the distinction and the ability to feel at least a little like he has space in this. His doubts are his own, and having to build that conscious connection means he has to be careful about them, but the space to sleep is at least a boon. Luke finally settles into the meditation. It takes several minutes to find the space where he can reach out to Kronos, given he doesn’t want to be too open with him to begin with. This is the compromise, he reminds himself. This is what he has to do to have peace in his sleep and peace in his own thoughts. Even if it is temporary…He can think on that later, he reminds himself. He sinks past his thoughts into the space between the godly and the mortal. The space demigods fully exist in, part of neither world and unable to stay in one without repercussions. Kronos is in the recesses there. In the time that ticks away while Luke meets with him, in the eons and ages of human civilization that have passed, he sneaks and slumbers and scratches through this space, far more real than he can be in the mortal world. He is still bound to Tartarus. But Tartarus is of this place, too, and the boundaries are far easier to work around from what little he has told Luke. 
“You’ve returned.” 
“As you bid me.” Luke must maintain his concentration. Both on maintaining his mind’s presence here and on keeping his thoughts clear of anything for Kronos to latch onto. He’s this far in, he can’t stop now. 
“You hesitate. The mother of monsters will assist you in rending the campers and their little shelter asunder.” 
“But if we can sway some… I worry such a strong threat will take away opportunities to grow our army.” 
“By a few measly demigods? What could they possibly add.” 
Luke has to be careful how he does this. Pushing back against Kronos is not something to be done without thought, and he’d like to think he is well past the point of recklessness. “It is the message, my Lord.” He works hard at keeping his concentration going, and at keeping his voice steady. “It sends a powerful message, should we convince other children of the gods to assist us. It could sway gods to work against their kin, or it could weaken their morale.” Kronos is quiet. Luke once thought he was considering what he had to say, but now… He isn’t so sure. So many times the suggestions are ignored, he has begun to think maybe Kronos is waiting for him to see how foolish he is being. And is it foolish to hope they can damage the morale of the gods?  “Fine. But one way or another, she will come into this fight. You will not win without her, and without Typhon. Perhaps, had you managed the simple task of freeing my general, we would not have needed them.  “Your failures continue to surprise and inspire awe. Truly, what could your father have feared from you?”  Luke ignores that. Hermes is… Hermes is as much a part of the problem as the Olympians. He is as much to blame, even if he thought he was doing something right. Even if he thought he truly was protecting Luke from some worse fate. And, with the choices he’s made, Luke can’t imagine much mercy or grace from his father when it comes to this. Even if he could, his father is but one vote of twelve. He will not be spared for his actions. Kronos continues issuing orders. It takes a while to parse through their plans for the war, though, and by the time they’re done Luke can feel himself losing the firm hold he needs on his thoughts. 
“You worry again about the boy.” 
He never uses Desmond’s name. Des… Desmond is a nuisance to him. “Only my failure to prevent his success in our fight, my Lord.”  “Lie to me all you wish.” Kronos’ voice scrapes across parts of Luke’s mind. It’s painful, more painful than when his voice would clash against the walls in his dreams. “But he is a threat to all our plans if you cannot control yourself.  “See to it that he is dealt with, when next you get the opportunity. Or I will when we complete my rise.”  Luke makes the expected promises. His heart is not in it. He doesn’t add any flourishes, to prevent it becoming binding. By the time he is dismissed, he has no doubt Kronos thinks he will flounder once more. That he won’t be able to go after Desmond, to kill him in the way he’s been ordered to. As he comes to, all he can wonder is what next? After Desmond, will Kronos order he kill Annabeth? Thalia? Travis and Connor? Even Percy Jackson… He had only targeted him in opportunity. To make an escape and to take out the potential weapon the gods had in a child of the Big Three with the kinds of powers he has. The point of this was to make their lives better. Not… Not to have to kill them before it all ended, anyway. He swallows against the rage building in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. *Clay puts a tea down where Rebecca’s been practically mainlining coffee. Darren hasn’t seen her in two days, and Clay leaves soon.“So… Are we going to talk about it?” The session had gone well. Too well, if you asked Rebecca, which is probably why she’s been avoiding Clay. He thinks it’s no big deal. He had a good time, and while he thinks it would be cool to dive in a gain he knows the risks enough to know he shouldn’t risk it. He has campers planning on him coming back this Summer. And whatever it is that they’re dealing with, it’s serious enough he thinks they'll need some kind of support system. Rebecca looks up from her computer. She eyes the tea with suspicion - probably smart, since she doesn’t usually switch for another hour or two. “About which thing?” Clay smirks. “Well, there’s the Animus, but you seem to be more worried about that than ready to talk about it. And there’s what happened a few weeks ago.” She shudders. “Look, I’ve been in that Labyrinth before, okay? I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.” He nods. That’s more than she’s shared before. “Understandable. I didn’t really like it, either.” She takes the tea, glaring over the cup at him. “Did you at least put sugar in it?” “I learned my lesson last time you disappeared for more than a day.” She nods and chugs it down. “Fine. I’ve met Des before. Desmond. And… And I was told I had to report it if I ever met him again.” Clay wracks his brain. What connection could there even be? “Was he an Assassin or something?” That doesn’t make sense, though. Desmond even told him he made it to Camp at fourteen. He’d be too young… “Or something…” Rebecca shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just having second thoughts is all.” “He’s not… He’s not normally that violent.” “Not in front of you, maybe.” Rebecca sighs. “Look, it’s just… It was a lot. He was a kid, still, the last time we met. And… I never saw him fight like that. When we had to fight people, he was trying not to kill them. So it’s really shocking to see him throw another kid off a cliff.” Clay hums. He looks at the Animus. He thinks about Ezio, and the little bit he’d gotten to see after his father and brothers died. They didn’t get much further than that, but… But Ezio hadn’t know what to make of killing. Not at first. It had disturbed him, but he had his mother and sister to worry about. He was a wanted criminal. Clay knows Desmond regretted it. He saw it, plain as day on his face, he heard it in the way his voice shook for hours after. The way he watched Annabeth and Percy and Thalia like a hawk, so careful not to let them out of his sight when they were supposed to be celebrating the fact Artemis was returned safely. He hadn’t relaxed at all . “He wasn’t kidding, when he said their lives are… Complicated.” “In the Labyrinth.” Rebecca nods. “I remember.”Clay nods. “It was a lot for me to take in, too. And I get the impression I knew a lot more going in than you did.” Rebecca sighs. “Do you think Hephaestus was lying? When he said…” Clay shakes his head. “No. He’s… He has a good reputation with the campers. There aren’t many gods that immediately claim their kids, but Hephaestus, Athena, and Hermes tend to. Athena claims them when their born, and Hephaestus does a lot to get them to Camp without violating the rules. “If he claimed you as a descendant… I don’t think he’s lying.” Rebecca takes that in and looks back to her Animus. “I… I dealt with the Labyrinth once before. And… I know Desmond is probably more used to it than either of us are, but it’s still frightening . And to see a twelve-year-old running around there like he is completely comfortable with it?” Will wasn’t comfortable there. None of them were. “I think Bill could have done a lot more on training us how to deal with the more… extreme situations. I think he’s so used to it, and I think the others in charge are so used to it, they don’t think about how the rest of us are supposed to learn to cope.” “We sink or we swim.” Rebecca’s laugh is bitter. “You’re probably right. “That doesn’t answer my question though: what the hell do I tell Bill?” Clay takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what interest Bill might have in Desmond. Desmond has only ever been Desmond, son of Athena to Clay but… There were fourteen years where he was someone’s son. Bill’s? Maybe. They look nothing alike, though, and there aren’t even mannerisms for Clay to go on. He remembers the blade on Desmond’s wrist, though. He stops his thoughts where they are. If Desmond wants to tell him, he will. Clay can ask, but… Desmond doesn’t talk much about his past in general. Anything from before Camp… He knows he traveled with Luke Castellan. He’s heard a story or two from Annabeth about a time before that, even. He doesn’t know much more than that. And he knows that if he asks Rebecca, he could get some answers about Desmond’s past. If he’s right, he could get a lot of answers about Desmond’s past. But Desmond doesn’t trust easily, and even when he does he is an intensely private person. It feels like going behind his back. And if he screws up there, he risks some of the trust he’s built up elsewhere, too. Desmond wouldn’t ask for it, but he’s the one who has the history with the campers, more than Clay does. He’s the one there, now, while Clay left at the end of Summer. “How much do you have to tell him?” Clay doesn’t know what Bill wants to know. For that matter… “How much have you already told him?” “I told him… I told him about the Labyrinth, from last time. So he already knew and I told him about it being involved in this one, too. I… Bought time. At best.” “You told him you saw demigods.” That’s the last thing they need. Demigods are well-trained. Case in point, Will was holding his own throughout their time running through the Labyrinth and then was managing to use ammunition he salvaged off the battlefield while they were fighting on Mount Othrys. He had been quick to start triaging and dressing wounds, too, in the aftermath. She groans. “I told him there were some people who knew how to handle it. That’s what I said. But now he wants more information, and I don’t know what to say. Those kids… If they’re lucky to make it to sixteen, why the hell would I hand information about them to Bill? Getting involved here would just give them more shit to deal with.” Clay takes a few deep breaths. Keep calm. He makes himself wait to respond. Respond. Don’t react. “Don’t tell him anything more. We didn’t get names - they used codenames. Um… Hippolyta for Clarisse. Asclepius for Will. And for Desmond… Talos. We can call him Talos.” “Because kids would use codenames…” She grimaces. “If we’re going to lie it has to be convincing.” “Does he know they're kids?” Clay shakes his head. “And besides, if kids were doing something they weren’t supposed to and they thought two random adults would tell their parents they absolutely would use codenames. For all Bill knows one of them is a myths nerd.” “Myths nerd.” Rebecca outright laughs at that one. “Whatever. So, assuming I go with what you’re asking and I don’t tell Bill…”  Please don’t , he thinks. Please don’t tell Bill. “Then you just say the kids never gave their full names.” Rebecca taps at her computer mouse. “He knows they’re trained. He knows they were in the Labyrinth. He might ask if it was Desmond. If he does that… I don’t think I can lie to his face about it.” Clay will take what he can get. “Then let’s hope he figures if we can find the Labyrinth - if you can find it twice - that these are just random kids.” It doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like he’s staring into a gaping maw, each tooth within a different way this could go horribly wrong. Rebecca doesn’t look at him as she closes up for the night. She needs the rest, he knows. If this is what it took to get her to leave, that’s one small victory. “I’ll give it some thought.” And there’s another tooth.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The drop off point is by a small cafe. It’s old and worn down, the kind of place that makes Lucy wonder how they make the bills each month. But they keep going, and there

are

a few regulars she sees enter or exit the place. Older, usually, and with a general sort of fatigue that matches the cafe itself.

She hides out in there, probably the youngest thing or person to make an appearance in a while. A hot drink to kill her time while she watches out the window, and a book in front of her. It’s her day off. She’s visiting a cafe she has visited before.

It only occurs to her as she sips again that

she

has become something of a regular. The old man who runs it, he had lit up when he saw her. Had said he thought she moved away and was sad to see her gone.

She looks out the window again, her book open but largely forgotten. It’s for show, anyway. She’ll read it when she gets home, sure, but… She is really making sure the information gets picked up. Someone must live near the drop off and watch it, because it’s only ever an hour or so before they show up.

She loses herself in thought - she has homework due soon, everything takes her longer since she has to do it in her barely passable Italian thanks to the sudden requirement she come

back

for a ‘semester abroad’, and Gilberto has some new ideas for how to help her with her magical training.

The bell above the door chimes out. She glances up. Alan Rikkin comes in, everything about him making him look like he doesn’t belong here. Lucy doesn’t know what to think of this; has he caught on? She had been careful. She comes to this cafe even on days she

doesn’t

drop information for just that reason.

He goes to the counter, places his order, and waits. She keeps sipping at her tea, returning to her book. The words rush and blur together, but it’s better than not hanging in suspense or making herself look suspicious by watching her boss do something mundane and normal. Even if it isn’t in his usual locale.

He sits across from her. “I’d heard you made a habit of visiting this place. I should hope the coffee satisfies. Otherwise, I fail to see the appeal.”

She hums, closing her book. “I didn’t know you were looking for recommendations, sir.”

He gives her a look. He wasn’t. They both know he wasn’t. But he can’t say that when it’s so quiet. Their voices aren’t much above a whisper, but the cafe is silent. Part of the attraction is that it’s a quiet place to sit.

“Hm. It was mentioned, that’s all. I should like to know where our employees are frequenting. Your behavior reflects on the company, after all.”

“I understand, sir.”

It’s not the nicest place in the world, but it’s not somewhere that would look bad if someone found out she was going. He’s keeping tabs on her. He’s reminding her - as though she needed the reminder - that she not only isn’t trusted, she’s

watched

. Constantly.

The House of Life is her only sanctuary. But is the small, traitorous thought in the back of her head just because she thinks she’d finally be free of this shadow war? Or is the thought that she could turn her back on all of it something she can trust?

She feels alone and isolated, when she takes the House of Life out of the equation. Maybe she would have already caved, had Layla not given her the amulet that led to her talking to Amos Kane.

Does she have to make a decision now, though? And if she goes off the map, what will happen to her father? To Rebecca?

If she disappears, will the Assassins assume the worst and put a target on her back? She supposes she can live with that; it isn’t as though they

know

about the House of Life. While the House of Life does know about them, given they’ve been around since they were still the Hidden Ones in Roman Egypt, they’ve been careful to avoid the Hidden Ones and the Order of Ancients that became the Assassins and Templars that Lucy knows today.

She could have a full life, still do good, and stay away from them. If they found her, she could disappear back into the House of Life.

She sets the thought aside. She has her wand hidden in her purse, her staff hidden away as a charm on her school bag, and a mortal in front of her. The two things that help her and grant her the most power, and she is still effectively neutered.

Rikkin sips at his coffee. “Passable.”

“Lucy!”

It’s Luca, Layla’s friend at the House of Life. He strides into the store, puts a few Euro on the counter asking quickly for the sweetest drink they have, and pulls another chair up to the small table they have.

“Pardon me.” Rikkin glances at him. “I need but a moment more of her time.”

“Ah, but what I have can’t wait! My apologies, sir.” He rolls his eyes like one might if they thought their professor wouldn’t notice. “You forgot this.”

It’s a notebook. Looks like one of Layla’s, now that Lucy thinks about it. Still, it’s cover enough. She can make do with it.

“Oh, thank you!” She grabs it and slips it into her school bag. She was just leaving campus, so she can’t exactly aim for a ‘going to class’ angle. “I had study group tonight and was going to be

lost

without it.”

He nods and then gestures to her finished drink. “I’ll walk you there. That way neither of us is late, this time.”

What does it say about what her life has become that she’s genuinely surprised Rikkin takes that at face value and lets her leave? That he doesn’t stop her, yes, but also that he doesn’t immediately know that Luca is lying. They have no classes together. He had studied a completely different field several years ago so he might have mortal qualifications, but he was fully embedded within the House of Life.

“Do make time to see me when you come in on Thursday, Miss Stillman.”

“Yes, sir, Doctor Rikkin.”

Luca ushers her out, and she makes sure not to look back.

“Well he certainly has a face to scare a demon.”

Lucy laughs at the image of that. Rikkin may be something else, but she isn’t sure she’d go that far.

“He’s a hardass. That’s all.”

Luca’s smile dims. “Layla doesn’t talk about it, either. But we all know something is very wrong in Abstergo. And while she is a stubborn sort, she’s also a fully trained magician. You are not. Let us look out for you.”

“I, uh…”

“No thanks necessary. Now, come along. If

I’m

the one rescuing you from your evil boss I’m also helping you skip Gilberto’s lessons for the night. Let’s find something to do in this city.”

*

They have a lead, but it has to wait. It’s all hands - anyone who can forge is being called to get the earliest part of the work done. Chiron has suspicions, and Charles hates that they have to put the project on hold, but this probably is the best call. With Archer leaving at the end of the Summer and saying he won’t be returning, Charles is the Head Counselor of the Hephaestus Cabin now.

There are rumors about Archer’s departure. But no one wants to confirm anything. If Archer did leave to work with Luke, after all, does that mean he might have been

spying

for Luke? If he was, he left no evidence behind. Nothing to clue them in on if there is information that’s been compromised or strategies and plans they should change.

Then again, Charles supposes, a good spy

would

leave nothing behind. That’s their whole purpose, isn’t it?

Archer had been closer with Desmond than Charles. He was one of the few people who still called him “Des”, after all. Staying behind the extra year was initially because his college applications hadn’t been taken. Then it had seemed to be…

No one is really sure. He wasn’t happy here, that much they do know. And he didn’t like the gods at all, he was vocal enough about that. But he stayed on and he got along well enough with others as long as they knew what topics to avoid.

So Archer left, Charles stepped in. And he immediately inherited the problem of a potential spy, and a strongly suspected turncoat.

“Let’s get the bases re-worked.” He looks at the trench traps their building. Nothing can be set in place until later, so everything had to be designed to be moveable. Given they suspect the Labyrinth may be in play, Charles’ time has been split. When it’s not on the Isu project, it’s on the defenses. He suspects Desmond’s has been similar; he has taken over the Athena cabin’s own infrastructure response, and he’s helping Annabeth and Malcolm coordinate strategy. He never did explain why he stepped back from that role…

“Why?” Jake Mason looks up from his work. He’s not too bothered, as best Charles can tell, by the interruption. “This is the standard.”

“Meaning Luke definitely knows how to defend against them.” Charles points to the weakest point of the base. “And I want to test something here.”

“Reinforcement hasn’t worked before…”

“Not reinforcement,” Charles says. He pulls some plans out and lays them flat. “What do you think of this?”

It swaps out the section with a joint. It would let them set the defenses up such that, if they work the actual spikes right, they can make it surround the expected target more completely. And, by switching out for a joint, Charles is hoping they can make it more able to sustain damage. If the joint breaks, it’s just two pieces still standing alone. If the old way broke, it more often than not could take out the row as the supports followed.

Jake hems and haws a bit as he looks it over. “I don’t like this joint type. Maybe if we swapped it for something a little flatter? And with a casing, to provide some extra shielding?”

Charles nods. “Let’s make it happen.”

The Hephaestus Cabin has it pretty good, Charles thinks. Their dad is distant, sure, but he cares. He’s careful with them, more than anything. Some of them are more charismatic than others, but compared to their dad…

Well, Charles understands that machines can make more sense than people. There’s a logic there. And while Charles doesn’t have much trouble with people as far as he can tell… He wonders if it makes it hard for their father to connect with them.

Still, they’re claimed fairly quickly and usually very publicly. Hephaestus doesn’t shy away from his children. And while there has always been speculation it may be to spite Hera, he still does it. Has done it, for thousands of years. He is proud enough of them just for existing to be as thorough as Athena is about claiming them. That alone is more than some campers get.

He and Jake work at the revised design. It will take a little longer, he knows, to get things made and produced this way. Between people having to learn the new design, and then the parts and assembly involved where before there was very little, it will slow them down. But they have some time, from what they do know about the progress Kronos’ army is making. They’re stalled up, and best guesses give them about four months, at the earliest, before they arrive. That’s enough time to have the design changed.

“Do we know where they’ll be coming in?” Jake looks at the bases. “If we did, we could work these for the terrain, too.”

Charles shakes his head. “Not as far as I know. If they do know, they’re guarding that information.”

And he wouldn’t blame them. If Archer was a spy, there could be more. If he wasn’t, well… It feels defeatist to assume there is someone spying, but it also feels foolish to assume there isn’t. Something about the balance of that doesn’t sit right with Charles. It isn’t easy to live like you’re constantly being spied on while trying to enjoy what life you do get as though you aren’t. Having to question the loyalty of his own siblings…

Whatever he has to say about the gods, he has issues with the way Castellan went about it. The way he threw everything to the wind like he wasn’t going to screw everyone over in the process. Charles is seventeen, and he has to hope like hell he knows enough about life and about this war to trust the right people. Even where Charles does agree with what Castellan says, it’s hard to look at what’s come of it and not just see a series of mistakes.

Could they have changed anything another way? Charles doesn’t know. People aren’t machines, and neither are the gods.  There is no input to output they can modify the rule of to get a different result, and there isn’t a way to know for certain how things might go if they tried.

There’s already been bloodshed, though. People have been hurt, have died, or have lost parts of themselves they can never get back. Even Chris, for all the improvement he’s made, is still withdrawn and careful. Like he expects someone else to draw him into a bad idea he might not get out of this time.

Charles puts the thoughts aside. They have work to do. There are defenses to build and assemble, and people looking to find the Labyrinth entrance. No one has had any luck, yet, though, and Charles is starting to wonder if they need to lay these out along the entirety of the forest line. Inefficient and easily circumvented, yes, but looking more and more like their only option.

“Do you think they’re right? The rumors, I mean?” Jake looks up at Charles. Charles feels so

unprepared

for this.

Archer was supposed to train him to take over. Desmond has been working with Annabeth to that end since he got back. No one wants to think of him leaving when the war feels so close at hand, and Charles doesn’t think he will.

But he is definitely preparing to step back from being the head counselor of Athena cabin. And that in and of itself is a huge change.

“I don’t know.” Charles shakes his head. “I really couldn’t say, but I hope they aren’t. I hope whatever it was that had Archer so angry, it didn’t push him to spy on Camp. And I really hope we don’t see him on the other side of the battlefield.”

The last thing Charles would want to have to do is kill his sibling in this war. It just… It wouldn’t feel right.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bill is his ride back to campus. It’s been an intense and wild ride the whole break, even if he doesn’t count the whole trip through the Labyrinth.

“You did good getting the intel.”

They’re an hour out from Lincoln. Whatever this is, Bill must have wanted to keep the conversation short.

“I’m just glad it was the right thing. I was starting to get a little shaky walking out the door.”

“You got in, faked your way through, and got out. That’s no small thing.” Bill’s voice is that sort of steady even of a television father. Someone who thinks he is mentoring, not someone who actually has to teach. Clay's caught it more than a few times, even when Bill was teaching. “There’s room for growth, but that’s true of any of us.”

Clay shrugs. “It’ll be a while before I’m back.”

“Your Spring break will be too short to do much with.” He still sounds bitter about that one. Clay isn’t giving up the Summer, though. He’s made promises to the kids, for one. “But if you change your mind for the Summer.”

Clay shakes his head. “No, I’ve got promises to keep.”

“To children. That will learn at some point or another that adults can’t always keep their promises and that circumstances change.”

Except these kids know that all too well. Is it really so wrong to want to be one of few adults in their lives that don’t screw them over or drop them for something else?

“I’m going back for next Summer. I’m already on the rotation and I’m not dropping that. Besides, if you ever need me in the real world, I can’t afford a bad reference after leaving them high and dry.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Bill presses. “They have four, five months to find a replacement.”

“It isn’t a Summer camp people are exactly jumping to work at.”

It might be, if people knew it existed. Bill doesn't need to know that.

“Is that why you changed majors?”

“What?”

Bill glances to him. “We know you changed majors from engineering to psychology with a focus on adolescents. We couldn’t make sense of it, but if you have some savior complex that might explain it.”

Like the Assassin’s

don’t?

They go on about literally protecting the world from the evils of the Templars; it isn’t like Clay wanting to help a couple of teenagers is any different. Except for the violence side, and even that is debatable. Does it count as killing when the monsters they deal with can come back to life?

He’s not getting into that. Philosophy never was his preferred subject. Even more so when considering the morality of children killing monsters when they really have no choice versus adults killing each other over a debate about free will.

“I changed majors because I found that working with troubled youth was more enjoyable than the engineering stuff my dad pushed me into.” He’s overplaying his hand a bit. It’s a gamble, but he’s hoping it works. “If I can keep doing that, then I can do some good in the world.”

“The Assassins do plenty of good. Even with troubled youth.”

Yeah, Clay isn’t touching that one.

It stays silent for a long few minutes before Bill pipes up again. “Your father may have pushed you into engineering, but he had plans for you. And we, the Assassins, have plans for you if you’re committed enough to stick around.

“Changing your major on a dime-turn and running off during the break you’re

supposed

to be training during, though, isn’t inspiring a lot of confidence. We work in small teams. What are we supposed to do with an operative no team will agree to take on?”

“If you’re trying to fire me this might go faster if you just

said

so.”

“I’m not firing you.” Bill almost laughs at that. Part of Clay - the same part that always tried to please his father despite knowing it was useless - feels proud of that. Another part wonders what it says about this guy that he thinks that’s a joke. “We don’t exactly do firing. After all, once you get involved in our problems you tend to stay involved.”

“So you’re saying I’m trapped and there’s no way out? That sounds delightful.”

It’s true, though. From what Clay can tell, anyway, there really

is

no way out of the Assassin Templar conflict once you’re properly in. It’s why he’s wondering if he wasn’t a bit hasty jumping at the outset. Wanting to be part of a cause is one thing. Getting himself killed for it is another thing entirely, especially when he has other reasons

not

to be putting his neck on the line.

Clay avoids fidgeting in his seat

barely

. He tries to focus on the fact that he’s still holding his own here. He’s doing better than he has in the past, even if it helps that it’s Bill and Clay has some stronger opinions now than when he started on the man. He doesn’t know that he’s ever going to voice them - he can still believe in the cause even if he doesn’t like the leadership - but he knows it’s definitely influencing his view of things.

Maybe he’s just used to Chiron and his style of mentorship and Dionysus and his methods of “leave me out of it if you can” leadership. It works with the demigods, though. They’re a camp, for one, and they are taught strategy and the like to a degree that Clay knows makes them self-sufficient. More so than some of the Assassins, even. To try and put those barriers on now would likely chafe against most of their sensibilities.

Every camper something like an army, and then drill, drill, drill. He wonders how many times he heard that from Ares campers hyping one another up or from Athena cabin campers discussing whether it would still be practical in the face of the oncoming war. Enough that the strategy still rings with some measure of authority, even if he knows why the Assassins have moved to isolated cells and as uncentralized an organization structure as possible.

How is it that twice, now, his campus has put him in the crosshairs of seemingly insane forces? With wars and conflicts larger than any mere mortal? This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he applied to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. It had more to do with just being as far from his dad as he could afford to move.

If I had a
nickle...

He brushes the thought off.

Bill pulls into the campus, not bothering to dress up his parting words in anything with sentiment. “One day you’ll have to choose, Clay. Those campers, or our work. Don’t make a choice you’ll regret.”

Because no one ever regretted getting involved in the Assassin-Templar stuff?

Okay, maybe he is getting better at holding his tongue. Not mouthing off to Bill definitely feels like a step in the right direction, at least. Baby steps. Change won’t happen overnight, anyway.

Bill pulls over on 16th Street. There isn’t really

parking

per say, all the spots having been nabbed by other people. Bill pops the trunk open and Clay hops out, the flashers barely needing to go on for the amount of time it takes him to grab his bag and hustle towards the hall.

It’s a solid mix of people, even if he is in his fifth year and still on campus. He’s got the gen eds sorted, so he shouldn’t need the full second year, even. He can graduate next December with a Bachelors’ in Psychology if he grinds through like he’s got it laid out.

If that’s how everything pans out, that’s when he’ll talk to Chiron about his idea… It’s a long-shot of an idea to begin with, and he needs to qualify for certifications and everything first. Though, given Camp Half-Blood technically doesn’t exist there is some room for leeway.

A proper therapeutic counselor for the campers, though… He knows a lot of them could use that kind of attention and space. He can deal with Bill and leaving the Assassins when the time for that rolls around.

*

Avdotya sits her sister down and waits for Gavin to join them. Whatever happened on that ship, neither is talking and now

both

are spooked. Susan has noticed it, even, and that means they’re certainly out of their depths on this one.

Gavin comes in managing a bit better than Galina when it comes to at least pretending things are normal.

“Explain.” She looks between them. “Or if you can’t, at least talk.”

Gavin waits a moment, maybe to give Galina space to talk first. “There are a lot of things I think the Assassins should have stayed far, far away from. And, based on what we saw there, I think there are things Bill is going to want to get involved with that are quite a bit more dangerous even than what we’re already tied up in.”

Avdotya takes that information at face value. Nothing good comes from pushing for more, and she honestly doesn’t care to

know

more. She works hard alongside Susan and the rest of their half-in, half-out crew. Not all of them are built for the Assassin lifestyle, not all of them can sign on to the mission without reservation. But the

Altaïr II

is one of the only places Avdotya has ever even

heard of

where they can be in that in between space and still serve in whatever capacity they feel comfortable. It is as much an experiment as it is a sacrilege.

“Then what are you planning? If William Miles wants to get involved, what is the plan?”

“For now, to keep an eye on manifests and watch out for the

Princess Andromeda

.”

Galina shakes her head. “No. I’m not going back to that ship. Twice was enough. And this time, we were outnumbered. What would have happened if we hadn’t gotten that chance to run?”

Gavin sighs. Avdotya hadn’t heard this bit, yet. Then again, she hasn’t heard much about what went on aboard the

Princess Andromeda

to begin with.

“We don’t have to go back on. But we might want to keep an eye on it. Dig into it, at the very least.”

“I will make library runs when we dock. See what I can find.”

It is 2009. More records are going online, even if it is a very slow process. She can find something about the ship the

Princess Andromeda

, if she does the right kind of digging. And, if she can’t find what, exactly, she needs she can at least start finding where to look for it.

Gavin nods. “For now, it’s best we lay low. Watch it, if we can. I don’t want us getting on their radar, though.”

Avdotya nods. “As you have said. It is odd, though. Hiding such an operation on a cruise ship.”

Galina looks between them. “I think…”

“Yes?” Gavin gestures for her to speak. “You were there, and you’ve been before. You have the most experience there compared to anyone here, and compared to Bill.”

“You truly think this is even outside the realm of the precursors?”

Gavin sighs. “I think whatever this is, we’ve got even odds on if the two are even related.”

Avdotya knows next to nothing about the precursors and that’s by choice. She has avoided knowing, and has asked to be left out of the discussions. She’s wondering if she will have to change her own policies now. If the two are related… Whatever it takes to support her sister and, so long as the two are mutual goals, Gavin.

“I have not been. And I know very little about the precursors. I do not have other ideas to draw on. Tell me what we know of both.”

They lay it out. None of it makes sense, and Galina asks her several times if she’s sure about this. Gavin, too, though he takes her at face value after ethe second or third check-in.

“I think the two sound similar. But they do not sound the same.” She looks to Gavin. “You have the most experience with the precursor artifacts. Have they ever been capable of concealing things from your sight?”

Gavin shakes his head. “Not that I’ve ever seen. I don’t think… Bill knows more. This kind of thing became his sort of

area

a few years ago. Even he was shocked, I think. Whatever this is, that aspect is definitely new.”

Avdotya mulls that over. “The precursor artifacts… They are sought. And, in some sense, it seems as though they want to be found.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gavin’s confusion is clear as he leans back in his chair.

Galina really looks at Avdotya. “Does this have to do with…”

Avdotya scowls. “Before you found us in Moscow, our mother was testing her version of the Animus. She had tested it on herself, but as she deteriorated, she moved on to other members of the Russian Brotherhood until, finally, we were the only ones she could test on.”

“You said it wasn’t clear. That you couldn’t remember what you saw in the Animus…”

“I lied.” She looks at Galina. “I lied, because whatever it was I saw, I don’t want to see it again. The precursors made those artifacts, and they used them to speak to at least some people through history.”

Gavin curses. “Start from the beginning.”

Avdotya steels herself. She never wanted to relive this. Gavin had shown up barely in time to get her and Galina out. She has gone out of her way to avoid ever thinking about the Animus again.

“I could not access the memories our mother wanted us to start on. Galina was more adept, there. And, lucky for all of us, the Bleeding Effect was not so strong with Galina as it had been for others. Or, in my case, as it had been for me.

“I couldn’t start where we were supposed to, but I caught fragments of later memories. And I know that one of our ancestors engaged with a Piece of Eden

and it spoke to her

.

“It passed on some sort of message. I cannot say what it was, as I barely understood the words it said. The memory was already fading, by that point.” Avdotya unclenches her fist. She hadn’t even noticed when she clenched it in the first place. She tries to force herself to relax further, even if she can still feel her shoulders trying to rise towards her jaw. “But as far as I could tell, there are… motives. These devices were not left behind for no reason.”

“Concealment is a departure from that.” Gavin swallows. “May I ask you a question? Unrelated to the precursors…”

Avdotya nods. Now is the time. She will not be up for answering, later.

“I think you knew that the Assassins are still interested in the Animus. Why did you never say anything about your experience? Or what happened in Russia?”

“Were the old mentor still alive, I might.” She meets Gavin’s eyes. “But our mother… I asked her once, why she was so intent on making the machine.”

“I don’t remember this.”

Avdotya glances at Galina. “You were sick. You were asleep upstairs and I was alone with her in her workspace.

“She told me Bill Miles had brought her the plans. That someone had died for them and that they could be the thing that leveled the playing field. That memories… they had power, she said. Or, she believed they did.”

Gavin swears. “The more I find out about the precursors and the Animus, the less I want to know.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one.”

He ponders what she’s said. Galina is silent, staring into the space in front of her like it might gift her some answer.

“Our friends… Our allies,” she whispers, “Mother was willing to sacrifice them for this? For something we can’t even use safely?”

“They signed up.” Avdotya is even more bitter about that. Technically, they’d all agreed. She had said the risks were to their health and sanity, but they believed in the cause. “And they paid the price for it.”

Gavin stands. “Alright. Thank you, Avdotya. Thank you for sharing that and thank you for providing us with some perspective. If you’re right, and these are separate, that might give us some leeway to keep our distance from the

Princess Andromeda

. As long as we don’t know

what

they’re doing, I don’t see Bill letting it go, but we can take a step back if we don’t think it’s something that will immediately benefit Abstergo.”

Avdotya nods. “You both need food. And rest. I will man the watch tonight.”

“You’ve been working long shifts, already.” Gavin shakes his head. “You take a break. I could use the time to think, anyway.”

Galina taps her shoulder as she goes to leave. An old code, from as long as Avdotya has had her own memory. It started as a signal to sneak out while they could. Since coming here, it has become a signal to back off or to take a break when the opportunity presented itself.

“Fine, then. But please - you do no good to us wearing yourself to the bone, either.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“You will need to prevent your untimely demise.”

Because Luke is supposed to be the one to host Kronos. He is supposed to let himself be burned and hollowed out so that Kronos can take his place.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“The Curse of Achilles. You know where to find the Styx, I presume?”

It’s an order. Luke doesn’t need the words to know it’s an order and he will take on the Curse of Achilles, whether he wants to or not. He will have to reach out to his mother, if he’s not mistaken. He’d heard, once, the curse requires the blessing of the mother to avoid killing the host. He knows of an entrance to the Underworld with lower security, and he knows that he can go there and take on the curse. He… He doesn’t want to.

But it’s an order and he knows better than to disobey those.

“I do, my Lord.”

“You are starting to understand your role and your responsibilities far better than before. I commend your progress.”

It is the first praise Luke can remember actually receiving from Kronos. The first proper praise, at any rate. And it’s for… accepting that he’s going to be giving his entire self up to the lord of the Titans. That he’s going to take on an ancient curse that he might not be killed unless someone knew which spot to attack.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He can set aside his doubts, for now. He can focus on what needs to be done to keep Kronos from slipping into his dreams to taunt and torment him. He just needs to get through this. Out by way of through…

He still doesn’t sleep. Too paranoid that any little shred of doubt will be enough for Kronos to decide to punish him, his fear keeps him wide awake. What little sleep he does get is interrupted by that

same

fear.

Chris never came back. Luke realizes that in the dark of night when he can’t fall back asleep.

Chris never came back. He’s free of the war, and as far as Luke can tell he’s trying to stay out of it. The spies they have mention him, but it sounds like he stays out of direct involvement. Support roles, infirmary assistance, and helping keep the other pieces of Camp Half-Blood running…

He’s

out

.

Maybe not fully, if he’s still at Camp. But Camp isn’t forcing him to take on an active role in the war. Not if he doesn’t want it. And that’s…

Luke made his choices. He wishes he could go back and shake himself now, though. Put some sense in his head and consider that maybe, just maybe, there might have been another way to go about all this. He doesn’t know that he’s going to get that chance if things keep playing out.

The preparations he’s made are, allegedly, for a scouting mission that had been outlined earlier that day, before he spoke to Kronos. Before the order to take on the curse. Scout the camp, see what defenses they’re preparing. That kind of thing. He’s even sold his main advisors on it as an advisable course of action, as something that will only help them when the time comes to wipe the Camp off the face of the earth.

He looks through his few things in his bag. A necklace he hasn’t worn in nearly two years, and a few photos from their time on the run. A blade that Desmond had definitely reacted to, even if Luke doesn’t know

why

.

One Desmond had his own versions of, when they fought. Luke had seen another the bracer on his other arm. Had been able to glance at the long thin line of metal in the center; he has two of these blades, and they mean something to him.

Or, this one does. Luke traces the scar on the blade. It’s… He wonders…

If Desmond knew this blade from his past, did he ever notice that the scar on the blade lines up to the scar on his spear? Not perfectly, granted, but they are relatively similar.

He doesn’t know what could make that scar. Bone, maybe? Something hard, yes, but he doesn’t know how old the metal is. Was it the aftereffect of years of use and then collision, or had it been recently repaired? There are too many questions, and the only thing he knows for sure is that Desmond didn’t react

positively

to the blade.

If he could ask him, Desmond would probably obfuscate. If he tried to ask in a more roundabout way - how would he go about finding the history of something, for instance - Desmond would probably tell him to focus on what he knows and what reasonable conclusions could be made from that information.

He doesn’t want to think about

reasonable

right now, though. He wants to get out. More than that, he wants to just…

He can’t turn back time. Kronos is the closest Luke knows to any being that can actually alter time and even

he

can’t turn back time. It’s outside the domain of the gods, and there is nothing that could take away the mistakes Luke has already made. Even if Kronos could alter time, there is no doubt in Luke’s mind that he wouldn’t, purely because what Luke wants to change is what is allowing Kronos to slowly build up a body here, outside Tartarus. There would be no way out if he granted Luke’s request, if it were in his power.

And he wants out more than he wants to honor any deal he’s made. Luke is starting to see that, now. As much as it hurts to think about and to realize how easily he

fell for it

- some of the oldest tricks, some of the things that fall directly in his own father’s domain - he is starting to understand that he’s been played. If he…

If he can get out, if he can survive, maybe he can work on it. Maybe he can figure out where he went wrong and why he was so easily manipulated and he can figure out how to prevent it in the future. But to do that, he needs a plan of action. And…

He needs a proper plan this time. Even if that proper plan is “try to run”, he needs support. He needs someone he can still trust behind him.

He has precious few people he can trust, nowadays. Ethan is a new recruit, but he’s the son of Nemesis. The slightest hint of betrayal might be enough to incite an act of vengeance. Add that Luke is the reason that Ethan is on this side of the war to begin with? The act of running might be enough to earn his ire.

None of the more sentient monsters or entities are going to want to help, either. They see the return of Kronos as their ticket back to the mortal world, to cause terror and chaos. They see it as their

chance

. Luke asking one to assist him in fleeing would only give them cause to hand him over to Kronos. Even if Kronos found another host after that, there is no scenario that direction that turns out good for Luke.

There’s… There is one singular person Luke could even

hope

might help him. And he knows that he can find him at Camp.

He pulls his bag on his shoulder. He’s leaving early. If he’s lucky…

If he times things right, he’ll be able to…

He’ll just hold onto the hope that things play out for him.

*

The drop point has been abandoned. Lucy doesn’t know if Rikkin showing up spooked the Assassins, but the last drop is still there when she shows up.

They’d taken her intel before, so she knows they know who she is. And yet, as she waits and waits, there’s never an indication - even when she watches the streets for the signs of one - of the new drop point. She can’t dead drop her intel, anymore, meaning the information that might actually help them, the stuff that isn’t doctored by Abstergo and handed to her to pass off, is just

sitting

in a file.

She still collects it. She starts hiding it in her room in the House of Life. Maybe…

They might need evidence, one day.

“Lucy?” Gilberto knocks on her door. She gives him the okay to enter, but he still is mindful not to go too far past the threshold. She’s only been here a few short weeks, and the semester is just starting to really get underway, but people have been very mindful about her space. She wonders if Layla has told them to be or if it’s something they could just… figure out.

“Artemisia would like to speak with you.”

Lucy’s met Artemisia one time, when being brought to the Nome. Not quite a detractor of Amos’ from whatever it was that got him so many enemies in the House of Life, she’s more… careful. She looks at Lucy first as a new, untraditional recruit, and then as Amos’ apprentice. It’s a very fair approach, from what little Lucy has been told.

She’s still very new to the House of Life. People are, understandably, skeptical that starting so late in life might set her up to leave or cause her own problems. In the case of the former, informing her is a waste of time. In the latter, it’s a concern of security. Why tell someone the weak links in the chain of command?

Lucy didn’t need that one explained. She watched, from the age of about twelve on, as the Assassins suffered under the Purge. A result of the leaking of information to

one

recruit. Operational security… That, she understands.

Artemisia looks over some papers as Gilberto brings her in.

“I thank you for seeing sense, Artemisia.”

“And I thank you for your patience, Gilberto.” She smiles. The two have the weirdest little standoff between them that Lucy has ever seen. Not truly antagonistic, no, but… Definitely not

friendly

or

flirty

, either. It’s more like… Like Gilberto is testing Artemisia, and she’s returning the favor.

Gilberto walks out, leaving Lucy with the head of the One-Hundred-and-Fifth-Nome. She sighs. “You haven’t had it easy, have you?”

“Ma’am?”

She looks at the papers. “I don’t know your full story, but I’ve heard enough over time to have some questions. After Luca bailing you out from your own boss a few days ago, I have to wonder if there isn’t something we should be doing to support you better.”

“I get on just fine.”

She is silent a moment. “Lucy, why are you at Abstergo? I’ve heard things aren’t easy and you’re under scrutiny there, so why stay?”

Because she has a duty to the Assassins. To the cause…

She has to… She has to get them information. And yet they haven’t given her any indicators as to where she could start leaving the good information, so she’s just been hoarding it in her room for the day she can release it to mess up Abstergo’s plans.

“What they do… They’re causing harm.”

“And you are a college student that is stuck in the middle of it all?” Artemisia stands and moves towards her kettle. Lucy isn’t sure how to answer that. It’s true, sure, but it’s not the full story. Is it enough of a story, though, to throw her off the trail?

She comes back over with two cups of tea. It’s something that smells floral, almost. She’s broken a cardamom pod into it, too.

“Something like that. I, um.”

Artemisia shakes her head. “If you are not comfortable sharing, do not. I would rather not

force

it out of you. I’d like you to trust us here.

“But, if you’re intent on staying on at Abstergo, then I might be able to help you.”

“What?”

Artemisia sips her own tea. It’s still too hot for Lucy, personally. “I once had Layla Hassan in here. I had to explain to her that while I did not contest her mission to investigate Abstergo and act, I could not put more resources than were volunteered behind it. I wouldn’t assign anyone to it, either. She had to find people herself, if you will.

“If you wish, I can direct her towards you. I was told you two work on the same project?”

Lucy nods. “I’m, um, more on the medical side. Layla is more on the engineering side.”

That’s all she could say even if she were just a regular employee. The Animus project is tied up in a good number of NDAs that restrict what its assigned workers are actually

allowed

to say about it.

“I won’t tell you what to do on this.” Artemisia raises a hand. “And no matter which decision you make, your welcome here is not under any question. I want to be perfectly clear: working with Layla on this is entirely at your discretion. Before we speak on this any further, I want to make sure you understand that.”

Lucy nods. “Understood. I… I won’t be punished if I say, ‘no’.”

“Nor if you start to work with her and back out. She knows and

knew

the conditions of taking on this work. She won’t hold it against you and if she does, I will be speaking with her personally.”

Artemisia sips her tea again, considering her next words carefully as Lucy thinks about that. The right to say ‘no’... She was…

The Assassins work because they have a shared sense of duty. They protect people, and they are the safeguards of humanity’s free will.

That doesn’t come with a lot of space to turn down work, though. They don’t have enough people as it is, and they certainly don’t have the resources to work at any scale like the Templars do through Abstergo. To turn down a position isn’t

unheard of

, but it’s certainly ridiculously uncommon. Even John, way back when, had to take on a different position as part of the justification for not wanting to be considered for certain assignments.

Abstergo offered her the in she needed, but made it very clear

very

fast that it was tied up. That she was as much there to be monitored as to work. That they

knew

. What’s more, the scholarship is such that if she left right now, she would have to pay it all back. And they have enough information on her to track her down if she tried to dodge it. Even aside from that, it’s the kind of thing that would make any future work for the Assassins - all of which has a possibility of becoming public facing at a moment’s notice - very difficult.

And here, Artemisia is telling her about an opportunity and that’s

it

. There is no expectation that she say yes. She is being told, for what feels like the first time, that she is not only allowed to decline, but there was never any expectation of acceptance to begin with.

“Can I talk to Layla about it?”

Artemisia nods. “You’re more than welcome to. I… You are a bright young woman. But you also put pressure on yourself in the few areas of your life that I do get the privilege to see. I didn’t want to make any suggestions to Layla without having talked to you first.

“You are free to speak to her at any point, if you wish. And, if you should like me to, I can speak to her myself and tell her about the conversation we had today. I leave this entirely in your hands.”

It’s a heady feeling. Lucy considers what’s being offered very carefully before deciding.

“I have some questions for her. And… I think it will be easier to get answers knowing we are both on the project, and we aren’t with someone who isn’t. I’ll reach out to her myself. But thank you. For being willing to talk to her, and for talking to me.”

Artemisia smiles at her. “Of course. I’ll have Gilberto keep an eye on you and make sure you aren’t overextending yourself. I’m sure Luca will do the same for Layla without anyone saying anything.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Desmond is walking through the woods, back through some sort of hidden away building when Luke catches him. It’s…

Gods, he never followed him out here. He’s not about to ask about what he was doing in there or what he could be working on. Chances are, it’s the project anyway. What little he gets about Desmond from their spy - since she hasn’t thought him important to mention compared to other goings on at Camp - suggests he still hasn’t completed it. It’s been

years

, though. Whatever it is, Luke isn’t sure he wants to know at this point.

Even if he did, even if Desmond had told him

back then

, he doesn’t know that it would have changed much. He was… Kronos knew exactly what buttons to hit. And Luke thinks he might have known that’s what Kronos was doing the whole time, but it had felt good to blame the gods. For the frustration and anger to be validated. When Kronos had moved  to suggesting deposing the gods, it had felt like the next step of that validation. A natural progression.

Luke is careful not to stir much in the woods while Desmond walks. It’s been a long time, and he…

He doesn’t know how this is going to go. But he was the one who had pushed for things to end. He had wanted to push Desmond away, to keep him from seeing what he was working on. He’s beginning to regret that now. Desmond wouldn’t have agreed, but maybe Luke wouldn’t have gotten in so deep if there had been a voice of reason.

Luke wants to pretend that he can’t guess how this is going to go. He wants to pretend for one more moment that this is just him getting ready to pull some kind of joke, that Desmond is going to be happy to see him again.

Desmond freezes. That uncanny sense of his, that unwavering ability to sort of

ping

when something isn’t right.

He has his blades on, Luke realizes. And he has a hammer and a spear. The hammer is probably because he’s been working in the forges; their intel said the Hephaestus cabin had been working overtime to prepare defenses. There are no doubts that Kronos is bringing the army, that

Luke

is bringing an army, and the Camp is determined not to be caught off-guard.

Desmond’s hand doesn’t move to any specific weapon. His stillness, though… Luke knows not to underestimate him. Desmond was always quick, and Luke has no reason to think that’s changed. If he had to guess, he’s probably improved.

“I… I just want to talk.”

Desmond whips around, eyes almost as hard as when they met. Definitely with as much distrust as Luke remembers. Back then, it had been because they were strangers. Now, well. Now it’s entirely Luke’s fault.

“I should take you down right now.”

“You should.” Luke keeps his hands where Desmond can see them. He doesn’t have any weapons visible, even. He’d purposely left his sword at his campsite. If it means he gets struck down, well…

He does want out. And, if he had to pick anyone at least he knows Desmond wouldn’t draw it out. He wouldn’t be cruel about it.

Desmond doesn’t reach for a weapon. He’s still completely still, like he’s planning what he’s going to do, but he

doesn’t reach for a weapon

. Luke can work with that.

“I… I owe you so many apologies. I owe… Probably everyone at Camp an apology or five, starting with Percy.” Luke doesn’t know how to even start this. He didn’t plan what he was going to say. It took all his nerves to get this far, to convince himself to come here in the first place. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have listened, and… I just want out.”

“You want out?” Desmond sounds like he doesn’t believe him. Fair play, Luke wouldn’t believe himself either if he were in Desmond’s shoes. “What the hell were you thinking, Luke?”

“I don’t

know.”

Desmond’s laugh is bitter. “Why do I not have a hard time believing that?”

He deserves that. He has earned way worse than that. Desmond is holding himself back, and Luke can see it.

“Please, Desmond. I just… I want to leave, and I wanted to…”

“Wanted to what?”

It’s not gentle. But it’s not antagonistic. Whatever cold is in Desmond’s posture, his face is a bit more open. Or, maybe Luke just remembers more about him and his expressions than he thought he did.

Desmond is hurting. Aching, almost, and Luke knows just how much of that is his fault.

“Come with me. Let’s just… Run. We can run, and then Kronos is set back, Camp gets more time and we can. We can…”

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” Desmond’s jaw tenses. “You didn’t think this through at all.

“Let’s stay away from every reason I have not to go with you right now. How do you think this ends? We run away, hide somewhere the gods

maybe

can’t find us, and the Camp gets more time? You’re still just delaying things. Only this time, they might not be prepared. They might let their guard down.”

“And your reasons?” Luke needs to hear it. It’s… It’s going to hurt, but at this point what

doesn’t

hurt? At least this way, he will know he tried. “I can guess what they are, but please.”

Desmond doesn’t look quite at pitying yet. He… He still looks angry. For all there is something close to pity in his face, the anger makes a mockery of it. “You chained up my sister. She was bruised and hurt, and you held her captive. You

tricked her into holding up the sky

. You know what I would do for Annabeth. You know how I’ve always been about threats to her, and you made yourself the biggest threat to her. Not Kronos, you. 
 
“Because you wanted to get to

Thalia

and

Percy

. Two other people I care about. After you already betrayed the camp, and after you already tried to kill a twelve-year-old right in front of me.”

Luke nods. He figured as much. Desmond cares. Luke knows that he has the pride children of Athena are known for in him, but so much of it is externalized. It’s not pride in himself, it’s pride in the people around him. Pride in his ability to protect as much as in his ability to create.

“You want me to believe you regret your actions? You want me to think there’s a half a chance in hell I could ever trust you again? You need to

prove it.

And you aren’t going to do that by standing here and asking me to run away with you so you can delay the inevitable. Because if we do that, then they’re still in danger.”

Meaning Luke wouldn’t have changed. He wouldn’t have regretted it enough not to repeat his mistakes.

“I will. I… I will find a way to prove it to you. I’ll find a way to stop this.”

Desmond doesn’t believe him. Luke doesn’t blame him.

He wants to give Desmond that reason, though. That reason to believe him, even a little bit, again. He’s hurt so many people, and he doesn’t know where to begin making it up to them, but Desmond is among his three oldest friends. And while he may not get the chance with Thalia, since she’s off with the Hunters, and he doubts Annabeth will let go of her own grudge anytime soon…

Desmond is as good a place to start as any. Even if he doesn’t ever get Desmond’s friendship back, he knows Desmond. And Desmond’s trust, even in small pieces, is a precious thing.

Desmond shakes his head. “Go.”

Luke doesn’t need to be told twice. All he needed to see was the way Desmond’s finger was twitching, already second-guessing the choice he was making.

“I promise, Desmond. I… I swear on the Styx. I’ll find a way to make this right.”

*

She’s on a holiday, but it doesn’t feel like it. She feels this tense knot in her chest as she walks up to her childhood home. She learned to ride a bike on this street with her dad behind her, holding the seat. She fell and broke her arm off the neighbor’s fire escape because she and their son, her classmate, were rough-housing by the window when they were supposed to be doing homework.

She has a whole life here, and she didn’t even realize how much she

missed

it until she started walking towards her parents’ home. It’s an old brownstone, one they put work into cleaning up and making nice over time. Over years of raising her here, and trying to turn her into someone they could be proud of.

She rings the doorbell, waiting. She has a room at a hotel not far from here, but there was never a chance she wouldn’t come to see her parents first thing once she settled in.

For all she knows, they aren’t even home. This was more of a surprise  than a planned visit. Planned on her end, maybe, but definitely something she wasn’t sure she should go through with.

Her father had been so upset when she dropped out of college. He had worked so hard to convince her to go and she hadn’t even made it the full first two years. She left for a better opportunity, sure, but she also left because the House of Life was always an option, and it was one that looked so much more attractive the longer she was trying to fit in the bounds of “normal” mortal life.

She didn’t like it. It didn’t suit her. Even Abstergo doesn’t really suit her, but she makes do. She gets by, the whole time knowing she’s working on something that could result in her getting killed. She is, after all, plotting to see their downfall.

More than that, though, is the lingering worry about what happens

after

. Her dad and her have had a rocky go of things, and being so far away hasn’t helped. Talking almost entirely over email or, occasionally, over Skype has made things difficult.

She stretches her fingers out to avoid cramping her hands up. She’s here to see her family, and that’s what she’s going to do. She’s staying elsewhere on a chance things don’t go well, but that doesn’t mean they

won’t

go well.

There is no answer. She sighs, knocking one more time.

She knew this was a possibility. They might well be out, right now, and she can come back later.

She is ready to turn and leave when her mother opens the door. She pauses, startled at seeing Layla on the other side. “You’re here…”

“Ahlan, umma.”

“Oh, Layla.” Her mother pulls her into a tight hug, ushering her inside. “Your father stepped out for a bit, but he should be back soon. I’ll make us some tea. Tell me about Rome - how have you settled in?”

“Amos had a friend whose kid was looking for a roommate.” Layla follows her mother, who has always been a whirlwind of energy. Layla gets it from her. “It’s been really chill, though.”

She smiles, gesturing for her to sit. “And the people?”

“I work with some characters, that’s for sure. But my roommate has some friends, and we’ve been getting along really well.”

“Ah, excellent. And what is her name?”

Layla isn’t explaining she’s living in a House of Life establishment, because it would be entirely too much. At the same time, she now has to remember to navigate around the assumptions her parents will make. “She’s great. Her name is Lucy.”

At least Lucy isn’t a

lie

. And chances are, they’ll never meet. Lucy is… convenient cover.

“She sounds American.”

Layla nods. “She is. She’s a student on scholarship funded by Abstergo.”

Her mother hums. “That could have been you.”

“She works in medical, umma. I’m in engineering.”

It doesn’t stop her mother from fawning over the potential Layla

had

. Layla sits and listens, knowing her mother will get it out of her system

right

around the time her father walks in the door. It’s how it always played out when she was growing up, at least.

Their tea is long since finished and the cups cold to the touch by the time her dad

does

walk through the door. He is, arguably, more surprised to see her than her mother was. Maybe because her mother had the day off, and her father’s been at work all day. Layla really couldn’t say.

He sets his things down before he walks over to her. She doesn’t know why she expects a bad reaction, why she expects disappointment.

He walks from where he’s set down his work bag and gestures for Layla to stand up. She does so, feeling more like the child version of herself she thought she had long since left behind.

He pulls her into a tight hug, He pushes her back and looks at her. “You’re home.”

She laughs at that. It’s… Exactly what she

should

have expected. He pats her shoulder and runs her through the same questions her mother had asked earlier. The only difference is this time she has to try and beat her mother to answering.

“And you didn’t call?”

“Ah, I didn’t know how busy you were. I wouldn’t want you to break up your schedule too much if you were.”

He shakes his head. “Ah, she

can

have manners.”

“When she wants to,” Layla quips. “You guys look like you’re doing well.”

He nods. “We are. We miss you, though. Phone calls are not the same, and the house is too quiet.”

“I’ve been telling him we should foster some children. Bring some life into the house and do some good.”

Her father shakes his head, smiling as he addresses what must be an old argument at this point. “We are too old to keep up with them, by now. Children there need more help and attention and time than we have. More energy, too.”

The evening goes by faster than Layla would like. It’s the most at peace she has felt with her family since she left college. It’s the calmest she’s been, too.

She knows it was mostly in her head. She knows her dad tries his best - he also just

worries

. Constantly and consistently. Her leaving college, even for as huge an opportunity as the one at Abstergo was made to sound, was something she

knew

would stress him out.

Her mother shakes her head and goes to make more tea. While she’s putting on the kettle, her father reaches over to her shoulder. “I am proud of you. You have not made choices I would have told you to. But you have done well.”

Layla has gotten used to being proud of herself, before worrying about if her parents are proud of her. She’s been finding increasingly creative ways to hide the House of Life from them. She has had to sit through lectures in her teens about her potential all while thinking about the work she

was

doing. The ways she really

was

meeting her potential.

It still feels good to know that her father is proud of her.

“Thank you, Abba.”

He nods. Her mother comes back in with the next round of tea, and the conversation picks up where it had left off.

Her father tells her to bring her things there, to stay in her old room and cancel the hotel. It doesn’t take much convincing.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Rome is a

confusing

city. She knows it won’t be once she’s used to it, but Rebecca has been living on a compound for years, and has rarely had a reason to leave. Her first mission as an Assassin, sure, and the time with Clay. A few runs here and there, but she’s been under lock for a while now.

So a big city absolutely jam-packed with people, while being the kind of thing she loved in her teens, suddenly feels claustrophobic. It feels borderline dangerous, too, like she’s completely on display for Abstergo to find and snuff out. A threat out in the open, as opposed to in the shadows where, as an Assassin, she’s

supposed

to be.

“How does Lucy manage?” has been a theoretical refrain in Rebecca’s head over the last few years. It feels far more visceral, now.

Rebecca has been put in contact with some friend of the Assassins. She has no details, she’s assuming because word about her being under suspicion got around - they’re a small organization that has to pull facts from rumors often enough that

gossip

is a premium currency - and there were enough people uncomfortable with the idea that she’s just making do on who she’s told to talk to when.

And that’s fine by her. She’s masquerading as a courier, and she can get by with that. She has an apartment near the place she’s supposedly working out of that’s largely paid by the Assassins, who maintain it through some system or other Rebecca has very purposefully not dug into.

She has a life. She has a whole thing that looks legit from the outside. She even has a bike that the job gave her that she can use for her own errands and the like, too.

Today is the first run she has to the Abstergo campus. It’s outside the city a bit, and her legs burn by the time she finishes bicycling there. She locks her bike up, working hard at not glancing around to see who all might be loitering or just going about their day.

She’s a courier. She has a job to do. She’s here for one purpose, only. To drop off a package for Lucy Stillman, and make contact.

Because that’s what she’s really supposed to be doing. Providing a more stable drop point and contact for Lucy now that she’s, as far as they can tell, pretty well established at Abstergo.

She got in fast, too. That’s… Rebecca is just paranoid, that’s all. Lucy had a stroke of luck, as far as Rebecca is aware. It’s nothing to be concerned about.

And, who knows? Maybe it’s just nerves. She hasn’t seen Lucy in a couple years, by this point - nearly five by her count. It’s a lot, to think about seeing Lucy. And to then follow that with having to pretend they don’t know each other, like they aren’t practically family.

The man at the front desk takes a look at the package and grimaces. “Ah. Miss Stillman. I’ll have to get someone to take you up to the proper floor - deliveries to staff on some projects must be supervised. I’m sure you understand.”

She wouldn’t if Abstergo were a

normal

company, but she knows better. Likely it’s so, if an Assassin were to try something, they could take care of the problem right away.

She waits around, checking her watch periodically. She does have other legitimate deliveries to do, and she doesn’t want to get customer complaints. Even if she can’t technically be fired, she wants to avoid causing problems.

Finally, someone guides her towards the elevator. She’s taken up, up, up. The campus isn’t that tall compared to other buildings. The elevator still feels like it takes an eternity. Is it in Rebecca’s head?

Maybe. Maybe not. If they suspected her as an Assassin, it would be a good intimidation or surveillance tactic. Do they suspect her?

She doesn’t like being this close to the enemy. She wants to leave.

Do it for Lucy

.

The area she’s brought to is another reception area. Lucy is waiting for her with someone beside her. Another woman, older. Probably closer to Rebecca’s age, if she had to guess. She has dark hair and a heavy jacket on. It looks like it’s made of a fabric

entirely

too light for the winter they’re having. She finishes saying something about a trip home she had just taken. She sounds American, from what little Rebecca hears.

She waves at Rebecca, prompting Lucy to turn towards her.

She’s taller. And she isn’t the sixteen year old that left. She’s got the corporate permanent smile on her face as she greets Rebecca, far better at pretending they don’t know each other than Rebecca is.

“Thank you Miss, ah, Crane.” Lucy smiles as she hands the paperwork back. Rebecca’s name was listed as the courier. She thought it was a convenient way to “introduce” them when it was suggested, but now it just reminds her that Lucy is as untouchable now as she ever was. Rebecca can’t make a single move out of step if she wants Lucy to live.

“No problem, Miss Stillman! Enjoy whatever you’ve got there!”

She hears Layla crack some kind of joke, talking about someone named Gilberto. She’s an Abstergo employee, and she seemed very at ease here. Lucy seemed at ease with

her

.

Rebecca wonders if, had she not messed up, maybe she would have been sent sooner. If Layla is safe, then no harm no foul. But the only thing Rebecca knows about her is she’s an employee and, based on what little she saw, she is one that likely works on the Animus project. That doesn’t inspire a ton of confidence when everything else is so murky.

She bikes back into the city. She’s starting to get a feel for it, even if her legs are still burning. Good for her, then, she has the day off tomorrow.

She hands in her paperwork and Andre, the man she had been put in contact with, stops her.

“You’ve got this.”

It’s a note that was scrawled on the bottom of her paperwork. He’s folded it over, not even looking at it. Sure, she was told he was allies with and had worked with the Assassins. It’s different to see it in action like this. She wonders how many allies they have across the world that are otherwise unaffiliated with them. How many people are willing to put a small piece of themselves in the game? Would that have ever been an option for her?

She pushes that thought to the side as she puts the note in the inside pocket of her coat. She doesn’t want it getting wet if the weather turns, but she has other work to do.

“And make sure you stay safe out there, yes?”

She nods. Andre pulls out a few Euro.

“You look tired. Get yourself coffee.”

It’s a start. And, if she keeps her focus on one day at a time, then she can move through this initial awkward stage. She’s here to be the support for Lucy and to make things work. To give her a drop that’s consistent, but easily brushed off. If she can find a way to do that without having to show up with fake deliveries regularly, she will.

In the meantime, she laid the groundwork of it being a former roommate. It’s nothing inappropriate or embarrassing, but it is the kind of thing that, with the note Rebecca wrote up, will seem completely inane. Nothing major.

This time is a signal, more than anything. A beacon to Lucy, letting her know that she’s got someone here for her. As delayed as it may be, it’s meant to establish contact again, and to provide a support role more full-time to her mission.

And Rebecca knows, as she bikes to some of her final deliveries for the day, that she can handle being the support person for Lucy. That mission is one she would gladly do, no questions asked.

*

It’s the third time this automaton has come back and led them to the middle of nowhere. At least this middle of nowhere is close by (relatively speaking).

Still, it shouldn’t have taken them three times to realize it was going to the same spot each time. Maybe because it changed up the route each time, but still. It feels like they were slacking off, here.

“Okay, so we have a cave…” Charles shrugs. “I don’t know. They don’t seem like the kind of thing you hide away in a cave, man.”

Desmond moves around the cave entrance. He isn’t so keen on going in, just yet. “The thing is, the first one was in something like a cave.”

“Oh, yeah. Made of the same blackstone you’ve told me is supposed to be really dangerous.” Charles shudders. “Did you… Were there any effects of it?”

Desmond hesitates. He doesn’t know how much his memory is altering what happened and how much of it is true. He’s twenty, now. He’ll be twenty-one in a few weeks. That was

five years ago

.

There is enough distance for doubt. And he doesn’t want to make Charles fear this work, but he also doesn’t want him becoming careless. Especially not now, when they’re also trying to avoid being found or scented by any monsters that might be in Kronos’ employ.

The idea that Luke might try to sabotage or otherwise stop things… Desmond doesn’t dare hope it’s true. Luke was desperate, but Desmond can’t rely on desperation. He can’t plan around the possibility Luke has regrets. It would be foolish. It would also put people at risk if he was wrong. If it’s all a trick…

There are some risks Desmond cannot and will not take. When those risks also deal with the other campers, he’s even more cautious.

“The thing about the blackstone is… You’ve noticed how it fogs your memory, right?”

Charles nods. “You won’t see things that are right in front of you. And that’s on small doses.”

And working to make sure they don’t inhale it when they do break it.

Desmond nods. “I know I definitely felt

something

in that cave. Like fatigue, or like I had been fighting for far longer than I actually was.”

Charles considers that. Desmond gives him the space to think through what he’s offered.

“You were also at the end of a quest, which could affect energy levels. And, for all we know, any effect the blackstone had on you might have been pulled or otherwise moved around in your head.”

Exactly. Nothing about it can be trusted, so Desmond can’t even trust his recall. Desmond doesn’t want to think about what that means if they get lost in one of these caves, either. What if one of them is a maze? The Labyrinth was bad enough, and he would like to not think about jumping into another maze just yet.

“I’d like us both to be careful.” He nods towards the cave. “And I’d like us to have scouted and documented any paths going in there before we do anything. Just in case.”

“You think it’s got chambers and the like?”

Desmond shrugs. “Who knows. All I know was the cave under the lighthouse had at least one escape route. I don’t know that it was intentional, but I’d like us to find any we can before going in.”

Charles and he spend a while looking around in case there are any other openings to the cave. There is no such luck. Their automaton comes out to poke at them and try to pull them towards the cave, like a particularly antsy retriever. Finally, they make the decision to take a look.

It’s not that thrilling. It’s a cave. The back wall is blackstone, though, and there’s a door with what looks like seating for something like the Hacky Sack of Doom.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have busted it open.”

Desmond considers that. “If… If people are as driven by these things as Dionysus says, and if they were left by the Isu to try and distract them… I don’t think it’s that big a leap to think they’d have failsafes. They couldn’t know which ones would survive or not, right?”

Charles kicks a rock as he looks around. “Sure, but how are we supposed to find another one? It’s not like we can just use one to guide us there - it took us ages to get the automatons working well enough to find this place. How long will it take to get them reworked to look for the Hacky Sacks, to find one, and then to get us there?”

Desmond considers that. These beings existed a long time ago. That there are these pieces here at all seems strange to Desmond.

“We’ll start with what we’ve got here. If there’s a lock, there’s probably other things here to look into, anyway.”

Desmond isn’t entirely convinced, but there is something to be said for the fact Charles is kind enough not to call him on it. There is so much going on right now, and this whole project has been so

slow

. And the gods aren’t exactly receptive to questions right now. The issue with Kronos is, understandably, far more pressing.

“Do we want to come back?” Charles is looking at one of the alcoves in the cave. It’s a wide space in front of the door, with smaller ones around. It almost reminds Desmond of a sort of house set up. Like a bunker.

“We could. I’d almost say let’s just try the blood thing again…”

Charles laughs. “But we need Will for that one.”

Desmond nods. “And I’d like to have something set up and tested where we could maybe try it from a distance.”

No need to throw themselves in danger prematurely, too. They don’t know - maybe they can work around this. He takes a deep breath. There is no need, he reminds himself, to feel like everything needs to be finished now.

“We have work to do at Camp, anyway.”

“You’re not doing okay.”

Desmond shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Or… I hope it’s nothing.”

Charles stops in his tracks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Desmond debates telling him about the conversation with Luke. So much of their time is spent as equals and coworkers that it is easy to forget that Charles is still only sixteen. He doesn’t need to put this on him, and he doesn’t need him worrying.

“It’s something personal. I might have messed up, but what’s done is done.”

Charles is no stranger to second thoughts. He’s shared them with Desmond, before. It’s part of what holds him up when he talks to Silena Beauregard even though he has an admitted crush on her. He nods, processing what little Desmond did share.

It is Desmond’s philosophy, in a lot of ways, that what’s done is done. He can’t change the past. More than that, he doesn’t regret declining to run away with Luke. All his points still stand - it would only delay the inevitable. And while Desmond might have his own gripes with the gods, he also has friends and siblings that are at Camp, still.

“If you need to talk…”

“Charles, I’m a counselor. I have people I can talk to about my bigger problems. I promise you, I’ll go to them if I need to.”

Charles looks skeptical. In his defense, there are some limits to what Desmond can usually divulge.

He knows Chiron would hear him out. He’d probably have some really good advice, too. And Mister D would probably at least entertain it before telling him where he messed up. Mister D is on Olympus more than he’s not now, though, and Chiron is busy picking up that slack. Neither is exactly an option for the moment, and this is too big to just drop on them in passing.

So, he’ll live with it. And the consequences, if it comes to that.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Rebecca recognizes Layla when she’s out on the town. Rebecca is mostly out so it looks like she has a social life. She doesn’t expect to actually do much.

Layla, in contrast, is clearly out with friends. All of them seem to know one another well, too. Rebecca maybe could see doing that with Clay; he’d seemed a good sort of dude. Minus the whole ‘getting tangled in gods and monsters’ thing, but Rebecca is more than willing to lay that at Des’ feet. It only feels fair, given that she’s run into him twice, now, and both times she got pulled into that kind of mess.

She’d be glad to never get tangled in that again. She’s pretty sure if she saw Desmond again it would be best to just turn around and walk the other way.

“You’re the courier, from a few days ago!”

Rebecca nods.

“Lucy seemed to like you!” Layla smiles. “Let me get you a drink!”

“Um… That seems like a leap.”

It’s the only thing she can think to even

say

. Whoever these people are, for all she knows they’re also Abstergo employees. She can’t trust them, and it would definitely be weird for a normal courier to make that much of an impression on some employee.

Layla shakes her head, “She was having a really rough day. Whatever it was, you made it better so I’m buying you a drink.”

A man with light brown hair nudges her and says something in what isn’t English, but

definitely

isn’t Italian. Layla nods, looking for all the world like she’s just had a revelation.

The thing is, Layla isn’t even tipsy from what Rebecca can see. She had been reserved at Abstergo, but here she seems to be full of life. She’s gregarious, and her personality fills up the space around her.

“You don’t have to get something alcoholic, if you don’t want. But I do want to treat you to something as a thank you!”

Lucy was having a rough day, but she’s close enough to this coworker that Layla remembered Rebecca’s face? And wants to repay what was otherwise a non-favor? It’s not like showing up and being kind of awkward was bound to actually help.

Except Lucy knows Rebecca. So clearly seeing her again

had

helped.

Layla gets up to walk to the bar with her. She’s got the kind of straight-backed posture Rebecca wishes was effortless for herself. As it is, she can keep a straight enough posture, but she always ends up giving up at some point. It’s gotten better over the years, though; she used to slouch way more than she does now.

Rebecca takes a soda. Something basic that won’t mess with her too bad. She needs her faculties about her.

“My dad doesn’t drink, either.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You weren’t drinking when I saw you, either. Or, you were but it looked like coffee. I should have seen it, but Luca was the one that noticed.”

Rebecca nods. So, she’s normally observant, and her friend makes up for it? It trips a few alarm bells for Rebecca, for sure.

“Any particular reason?” Rebecca asks, mostly to make conversation.

“Why do I drink or why doesn't my dad?”

She shrugs. “Why not both?”

Layla laughs. “Dad’s religious. Same with my mom, actually. I’m… Not sure, really. But I’m not opposed to drinking, myself. I think the unwritten rule with my parents is ‘as long as they don’t have to hear about it’, though, so I definitely lucked out there.

“Any reason for you?”

Rebecca considers it. Control is one factor, sure, but she knows that’s not the only thing. She gives some vague enough answer to get by, hoping to break off from this.

She wants an impression of Layla, sure, but she isn’t sure this is the best time to do it. Will she get another shot, though?

Layla invites her to sit with her and her friends. “We aren’t heavy drinkers, for sure. I’ve been sipping the same beer for the last thirty minutes. Most of us are on our first drink, still.”

It’s a calm enough group, too. Academic, for sure, which is what makes it surprising to hear that Layla had dropped out of college. She’s so forthcoming about it, too.

“What about you, Rebecca?” Luca turns to her. He’s been one of the other more open members of Layla’s little group. The two of them feed off each other, their energy seeming to flit back and forth like a never-ending ping pong match. “What brought you to Italy?”

“Family.” She shrugs. “I have some family that’s supposed to live here, but I haven’t had any luck reconnecting, yet.”

Luca nods, like he fully understands. Rebecca doesn’t know enough about him to say one way or the other, but she knows that this situation with Lucy - not even officially family, but as good as to Rebecca - is not exactly a

common

one. He shifts so he’s leaning towards the table. “I know this city fairly well. If you would like help, I would be glad to offer it. Family… That’s important.”

He is more somber now than he has been all night. Layla, without seeming to realize it, mirrors that. She nods along to what he says before offering her own perspective. “My family is back in the States. I get how lonely it can be. If you need someone to talk to, you can get a hold of me.”

She pulls out a business card, scrawling a different phone number on the back. “Abstergo requires us to have cell phone numbers. You can get to me using that number, any time. Promise.”

Luca says something to Layla in the language the whole group had been using earlier. She rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Thanks…”

It’s so freely given. Just an offer of camaraderie. And, yeah, Rebecca is still skeptical. Layla offering camaraderie and a warm reception doesn’t change the fact that she works for Abstergo. That she could be the enemy.

She can see why Lucy would befriend her, though. A fellow American working in Italy on the same project… it would be too good to pass up. Is that why Rebecca is so worried about it? That it seems just a little too perfect?

Is she overthinking this? Is she seeing ghosts and specters where there really is just a chance meeting?

She doesn’t

know

. And she’s so used to knowing who the enemy is and where they are - they’re the Templars and they’re

out there, outside the Farm

- that she finds herself forcing herself to pause. To think this through.

Layla has nothing about her that reads as an enemy. And, sure. The Templars are good at hiding and manipulating things behind the scenes. But that doesn’t mean Rebecca has to fall into the trap that everyone is an enemy until proven otherwise. Sometimes it’s just a person working a day job.

She lingers a little longer. She could really like these people, if she thought she could trust them. Unfortunately, she isn’t sure if or when that will be the case.

Rebecca makes her excuses eventually, though. And the brisk air as she walks back to her apartment is enough to make her almost miss South Dakota. This time of year it’s usually bitter and there’s a constant threat of snow. She didn’t really mind it, though, and she started to find it comforting. Time to be snowed in, time that Darren usually used to enforce more breaks on her work than he could in the Summer. Time that she got to spend working on other projects, even, that weren’t always entirely Assassin related.

She misses it.

*

Annabeth is sketching while her mind wanders. Mostly to keep her hands busy; she isn’t even really paying attention to what she’s doing.

Clarisse had sent her an Iris message. Desmond and Charles had come back late and they hadn’t left again. Where before they were leaving fairly regularly - for roughly three days once a week before - now they’ve been at Camp for almost two full weeks. Annabeth isn’t trying to keep tabs on her brother, but she definitely likes knowing where he is. Clarisse hadn’t even asked if Annabeth had wanted updates; she’d just started sending them. Usually via letter, but for things that were more recent, she didn’t hesitate to send an Iris message. The more the thing with Luke escalates the more she worries.

It isn’t like Luke is hiding the fact he hopes to pull the entire group of four along with him. When he had her captive, he talked about how when he brought Kronos’ new “Golden Age” in,

all four of them

would have this fantastic life. How they would be spared, would be honored. She doesn’t believe it - how can she, when she has seen what happened to Luke? How much he changed? - but something about that made her nervous.

Kronos… Nothing about his stories suggest he would actually allow that. And Desmond doesn’t handle authority well. He gets along with Chiron and Mister D because they mostly let him do his own thing with this project of his. Even when he was a counselor, he was one of the ones that gained enough trust to be left to his own devices.

She’s heard him talking, though, with some of the other counselors. Usually when they thought other campers weren’t around. He isn’t as angry or upset as Luke was. He isn’t even as aggressive as some of the counselors still on their side.

But he definitely has his own grievances, and his own things that would be inadvisable to say in front of the gods. And she remembers how their mother kept him out of the room when they discussed what to do with Percy and Thalia after the fight on Mount Tam in December. Their mother knew he had these opinions, and accommodated it on Olympus.

It doesn’t entirely make sense to her. It’s not that she thinks Olympus operates perfectly, but…

It was better than the alternative, wasn’t it? Or was that the point?

She could ask Desmond in her next letter, but… It feels like a face-to-face conversation. It feels like something that needs to be asked in-person and where she can see him and hear how he’s saying what he’s saying.

Her pencil breaks. She scowls as she goes to sharpen it. She should be paying more attention if she wants any of this to be useable. Resources aren’t entirely scarce, but they aren’t abundant at Camp Half-Blood, either. There can be delays in getting them, especially when things slow down in the Winter. She’d never really noticed it before, but…

She shakes her head. That’s another thing. Desmond has been talking to her about stepping aside. He’s almost twenty-one, and she’s slated to be the next Athena Cabin counselor after him. He’s not leaving, and he’s said if she agrees then he’s going to be around to support her. But she isn’t sure what to make of that.

He had talked about it before, sure. But it had felt distant before, like an idea. After the fight on Mount Tam, though, a lot of things changed. She isn’t sure what it is that’s changed for Desmond. All she knows is he’s still bothered about it.

She looks over her sketch. It isn’t anything specific, not really. It started as trying to sketch a building from her Dad’s work from memory, but she’d started straying into other things.

The gods won’t go down without a fight. And Desmond is committed to the campers, so he wouldn’t side with Kronos to begin with.

That’s it. That’s what’s scaring her.

She knows the stories well enough to know that Kronos won’t take it well if they aren’t willing to bow to him. And Desmond, as close as he’s worked with the gods, is someone she wouldn’t trust if she were in Luke’s shoes. Whatever Luke may think about the future, Desmond would be a risk until the day he died.

If she were Kronos, it would make the most sense to eliminate that threat. She freezes. She sets her pencil down as her hand starts to shake.

You’re scaring yourself

, she reminds herself.

You can’t know what he’s thinking. You can’t predict the future. You can only plan for the possibilities.

Her mother’s guidance would be so appreciated here. But she can’t ask for that without more information.

She breathes in, breathes out. She puts her supplies away before she risks losing them.

“Annabeth?”

Her dad is standing at the entrance to her room. He looks as awkward as she still feels, but he’s here, at least. She’d love to talk to Desmond about all this, but he’s all the way at Camp. More than that, he’s still the most senior one at Camp. They’ve talked about him stepping aside and her becoming the Athena cabin counselor when Summer rolls around - not entirely a sound idea, given they’re gearing up for war - but even that’s only one thing off his plate.

She might be able to wrestle the head strategist duties away from him, too. It might take some time to get others on board, but that would leave his work for the gods and then his work on the engineering side.

“You okay?”

She considers her answer carefully. She doesn’t like making her dad worry. Neither of them has really figured out where the boundary is supposed to be. He’s her dad, sure, but she’s been gone for years. She’s still gone every Summer, which she knows her stepmother has opinions about.

“If she’s part of this family and she’s gone all Summer, when there is the most time, how do you expect her and the boys to bond?”

How does her stepmother expect Annabeth to have her priorities on her stepbrothers when there’s a war gearing up? Then again, she’s not… She doesn’t necessarily know what to make of the demigod side of Annabeth’s life. And, if she’s honest, Annabeth can sort of sympathize. Would she put in that amount of effort if she wasn’t directly involved?

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t know how to get around calling him ‘Dad’, either. She isn’t fully comfortable with it, but he

is

her dad.

He wasn’t the one to fight off monsters, though. He wasn’t the one that let her sleep next to him when she had nightmares as a kid. He didn’t teach her to survive on her own, either. She has an older brother that did all those things, and it feels strange to… To use a title that so many people use to mean the person to teach that. She never needed a dad before, not after she and Desmond found each other.

“You can talk to me. I might not know your world like you do, but sometimes talking, having a sounding board… Sometimes that can help.”

“I… I know.”

She doesn’t want to put him in danger, though. And the more a mortal knows, the more danger they’re in.

He nods. “Do you want to go out? We could get dinner, just the two of us, if you wanted.”

He’s making an effort, now that she’s around so much, to spend time one-on-one with her, too.

“Sure.” She chafes against the guilt clawing at her. “And… I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m trying. I promise, I’m trying.”

Her dad sighs. “Annabeth, you don’t have to force it. Your stepmother is more frustrated with me than she is with you, anyway.”

“It doesn’t feel that way…”

Her dad nods. “I know. And she doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, either. If you didn’t have so much on your plate already, I’d try family therapy.”

“Because a family therapist will know what to do with ‘I’m a demigod,’” Annabeth mutters. Her dad laughs, though, and she finds herself following suit.

“Come on. We don’t have to figure out what we’re doing right away, but you’ve been cooped up in here all afternoon. It’s a Saturday, and you said your homework was done. Let’s go out.”

She goes. Maybe things will feel clearer when she gets back.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Desmond turns over in his bunk. There are four Athena campers that are year-round campers. Even with the war on, several have opted to go home for the school year, something he can’t fault them for. He hadn’t felt confident enough in their safety to encourage it, but he understands why they chose it.

They need to feel like something in their life is normal. Like not everything is collapsing in around them.

He thinks about the book Aphrodite had passed to him. About what he read in it. He had… he read it a few times, trying to make sense of it. Demigods know about various parts of divine law they can call on - prayers are one, sure, but so are blessings and mercy pleas. They’re ways demigods can interact with…

Enough

. It won’t do him any good letting it fester like this.

He turns again, laying on his back this time. He’s supposed to lead. And sure, Annabeth is supposed to become Counselor this Summer (partially to free him up for the work he needs to do on the project and for the war effort) but it doesn’t change the fact he’s still a leader here.

So how is he supposed to lead them in war?

He tries not to think about Luke. Is he having doubts about leadership? Is that why he’d come to find Desmond?

Had it been an attempt to trick him? To take out a potential leader before he came in for the attack? To take out someone who knew him well before he left?

Desmond knows better than to make assumptions about what Luke might or might not do

now

. It’s been several years by this point; he is likely to have changed just as much as Desmond has. They aren’t seventeen anymore.

Finally, he has to admit defeat. He gets up to sit on the porch in the back of the Cabin. It’s cold, and the blanket he takes with is barely enough to cut through a fraction of the chill.

Luke had come to find him. He’d asked him to leave. And he’d thought… what? That Desmond would?

“You should be sleeping.”

He turns to look at his mother. “Couldn’t.”

“Unfortunately, I find that many of my children struggle with sleep.” She sits down next to him. The only time Desmond ever sees gods sitting, they’re usually on Olympus where he already feels like a barely tolerated guest. It feels odd that his mother would sit beside him on the porch to her cabin, like she was a normal parent. “You did what you thought was right.”

Desmond did, but he isn’t so sure, now. “And if I chose wrong, there could be some pretty horrible consequences.”

Athena is silent for a moment. He almost thinks she’s left entirely until he glances over to check she’s still there.

She is, and she’s looking up at the stars.

“Hermes, he hears about the contracts on the Styx. They’re technically under Hades’ purview, but Hermes often has to run errands or messages regarding them.”

Oh. So now he might have pissed off a god, too. That’s promising.

“I didn’t know that.” Desmond fights off a sneeze. “But should I even be told that?”

His mother laughs. “You’re trusted with far more of our secrets than I think Zeus is strictly comfortable with. But you’ve proven yourself worthy of that trust, as much as you have worthy of the grace in criticism.”

“I’ve always wondered where the line is between that and blasphemy.” Desmond tries to make it sound like a joke, despite the way his nerves are jumping. He hasn’t had enough sleep to be having this conversation. Maybe that’s why his mom picked now.

She laughs, though it is short. Maybe he was too obvious, or maybe he was successful. He isn’t entirely sure.

“You’re a rare sort. Maybe the legends won’t speak of you, but you’ve still made a mark on Olympus in your own way.” She shakes her head. “But that’s not what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Based on that comment about Hermes, you know Luke showed up.”

“And you didn’t strike him down.” Athena’s attention turns from the stars towards him. Her son. Someone she has full authority to judge at any time. “I’d like to know why.”

There is no right answer to this question. His reasons… He doesn’t even know all his reasons.

“If someone comes to you under a flag of surrender, do you strike them down?”

Athena doesn’t take much time at all to respond. “Did he have a flag of surrender?”

“He came alone and unarmed. I wouldn’t assume he’s the same as when he left, but… If he wanted a fight, he would have come prepared for one.”

“So you heard him out?”

“At best, we’d have a surrendered enemy. At worst, we’d have more information about the enemy.”

“At worst he could have tricked you and killed you in the middle of the woods where no one would find you. And where would that leave those that look to you for leadership?”

“In a bind.” Desmond thinks about it. He’s wondered the same thing so many times. But Luke hadn’t attacked. He hadn’t had a weapon.

She waits for him to say more. When he doesn’t, she asks another question.

“You didn’t give me your reason for it. You gave me the strategic reason. Why didn’t

you

strike him down? You, who has been hurt and watched others be hurt by him.”

The bile in his throat as he thinks about Annabeth. She has gray streaks in her hair, now, and while they might fade with time it’s still a constant reminder that

Luke did that

. Luke tricked her into holding up the sky. Luke trapped Artemis.

The scar on his arm… Luke tried to kill Percy. And maybe he would have succeeded if Desmond hadn’t been there, there is no way to know. Not for sure. Percy has a gift for fighting, but Luke had been training for years.

Desmond had hoped Luke was surrendering, he knows. He’d also just been caught off-guard.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” Athena touches his shoulder much like a mother would if she were comforting her son. It… feels odd compared to the tone of their relationship over the years. “You’re a good man, Desmond. Many of my children, they get lost in their work or in their minds. Your father was much like that, too. That you are as aware and immediately empathetic as you are is a testament to your character.”

“I don’t know.” He barely hears her. “I… I wanted to believe he was sincere. But all I could hear when he talked was the ways it would go wrong. All I could think about was how everything would play out if I agreed.”

“You are still my son.” She sighs. “And for all you and your siblings are gifted in strategy, that sort of foresight is its own burden.”

She waits for him to collect himself.

“Hermes told me that Luke had made an oath to you. On the Styx, no less.” She is looking out across the green behind the cabin, towards the woods nearby. “Do you think he can honor it?”

Desmond doesn’t know that, either. Whatever he says, though… He doesn’t know how that will affect the oath. Luke swore on the Styx to make things right. Whether Desmond doubts him or not, doesn’t that mean he should give him a fair shot?

“I don’t know.”

Athena hums as she takes that in. Desmond gave up on ‘right answers’ in this conversation, but he’s wondering if he’s hit the ‘screwed up’ territory yet.

“I didn’t expect you to. I am not entirely sure what I was expecting, truth be told.” She inhales long and slow, and Desmond wonders what is going on in

her

mind. She’s the strategist for the gods, even if Zeus doesn’t always listen. She is the goddess of wisdom. “You should know, though, that after his initial anger, Hermes was… glad to hear of your decision.”

“What?”

“Hermes cares deeply for Luke and always has. I think he sees that oath as hope for him.”

No pressure,

Desmond thinks.

“I turned him away. Back to Kronos.”

“You turned him away to face his mistakes.” Athena sounds bitter. She stands. “And while I do not pretend to know what his fate will be after all this, I can thank you for giving Hermes hope. And I can caution you to not be so reckless with your mercy.”

He barely bites back a laugh at that. “I’d think mercy is the one thing we probably should be reckless with, right about now. How else do we show the demigods that have aligned with Luke that they can safely change their minds? How else do we stop them from running closer to Kronos?”

Athena is gone before he’s even finished talking. He’s not particularly surprised.

It’s hardly the first time he and his mother have had such philosophical differences.

*

Luke looks at the dark water, polluted with dreams and wishes, and tries not to think about his mother.

She had… She had given her blessing. That’s the important part. Even if she hadn’t really

understood

what she was agreeing to, she had said the right words. She had agreed to this.

It’s not that he wishes she hadn’t. Kronos… He doesn’t want to know what he would have demanded, had she had a moment of lucidity and declined. Had she resisted at all. He’s glad he doesn’t have to find out.

It’s more that he wishes he wasn’t in this position. That he didn’t have to take on the Curse at all, and that he wasn’t looking at the River Styx and trying to figure out which point of himself he thinks is the easiest to protect. The easiest to keep from being struck accidentally in battle.

A place usually covered by armor, definitely. Something that has more protection than his

heel

. Maybe…

He thinks about it. There have been few times anyone has tried to land a strike under his arm. It’s not exactly the most convenient place to aim in a fight, unless someone has a spear. Even then, that’s more of a strike of convenience than anything else.

Under his arm. Under his left arm, even. His non-dominant hand, the one that will be less of a target, given his preference for the sword.

Now or never…

He doesn’t want to do this.

The Styx cloys over him. Its ice draws him in and it feels, for all of a few moments, like he’s going to drown.

Focus on the spot.

He focuses on the spot under his arm. He feels the urge to open his eyes under the water. Fighting it is one he loses.

He’s in Kronos’ cavern. The same place he first met the Titan, in his dreams. Luke wishes he could shake his past self, even as he watches him walk towards the pit. Even as he watches iterations of himself approach.

Except… Something is wrong. The angle… He’s

looking up at himself

. He’s…

By the gods, he’s in the pit. He tries to scream, but he feels something cold grip at his throat.

Not yet, little Demigod.

How? This is supposed…

He pushes against it. He tries to swim against the force on his neck and -

Focus on the spot.

He returns his focus there. He still feels like he’s going to fall deeper into the darkness of Tartarus.

He watches himself walk away. A younger version of himself.

He watches a warrior walk in as his younger self leaves. He’s got long enough hair that it peaks out from under his helmet. Brown.

His helmet is bronze, with feathers etched in such a way they span out from the eyes. His armor is a mix of bronze and leather. One of his bracers has the relief of some sort of bite mark on it. The other has a crack along the arm. He shouldn’t be wearing it…

His spear. That spear is so painfully familiar.

The end of it - the end with a smaller point, meant mostly for killing those already on the ground - is pushed into the darkness. At first, Luke only feels fear. He has the force around his throat or he has a spearpoint. Neither one is a good option.

He’s choking.

Focus on the spot.

The warrior becomes clearer. Luke can see something in the slit down the center. The eyes are a familiar brown. There’s a silver, Athenian coin wrapped in leather and tied on his belt. Small details all start swarming Luke and he gets the impression…

He can get out of this. He just has to trust. He has to trust, and he has to focus on what’s immediately in front of him.

The spear. Why else would he put the less lethal end in, if not to serve as a lifeline?

Luke grabs onto it, focusing on the spot under his arm. He’s so alone in all this, an act of simple camaraderie feels like someone has embraced him. Like he’s being pulled into warm sunlight and brighter days.

How long has it been since he felt like the future was there, and worth the effort? How long since he has felt that hope?

He surfaces in the same spot he went under. He sucks down what air he can, trying desperately not to wonder if it worked.

The warrior… He has his suspicions. He wants to forget them, though. He wants to push it from his mind or lock it away such that it will never cross his mind when he must reach out to Kronos.

Kronos will know, eventually. Either he will find it in Luke’s mind or he will know once he takes over Luke’s body. There is no getting out of this, now. Not…

Not for a long while. At best.

He has a promise to keep, though. And…

He looks at the Styx again. This time, he looks at the details he can see. The dreams, the wishes…

The promises.

He won’t let his oath be one of those. One way or another, he will make things right. He can’t stop the ritual as it stands now - there are too many components that are

designed

for if someone has second thoughts. Redundancies and the like.

But maybe he can find a way to fuck it up. Or, failing that, he can…

Well. He knows where he’ll be weakest. Maybe he can play the long-con. Kronos won’t let his guard down for a long while, but he has to eventually. At least, Luke would like to hope he would have to.

He’d been defeated before because he trusted his wife, Rhea. He’d thought she would never betray him. That’s the kind of trust Kronos isn’t liable to give out again, for one. For another, Luke hasn’t been exactly

stellar

on that front. Kronos sees his connections to Thalia, Desmond, and Annabeth as weaknesses. He sees any sign of hesitation as an indication of a lack of faith or loyalty.

He isn’t wrong. Luke has very little reason, by now, to really trust Kronos. Even hoping he would honor his word feels like desperation and denial more than it feels like any sort of plan.

He doesn’t think about the warrior in his vision. No matter what he thinks of it, he won’t put any more consideration into him than that. He was there. He offered Luke his spear. Luke never saw his face.

He never saw his face.

By the time he leaves the Underworld behind, he’s convinced himself well enough the man in the vision was no one. That he saw a stranger in the vision. He doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t look back into the Underworld, either.

He saw a stranger. The curse is set, he took on his responsibilities in order to aid the mission. He is a loyal servant of Kronos. He will see his friends to safety.

None of it rings true to him. But the more easily he can make it come to mind, the more present it will be. And this sort of plan, as ham-fisted and improvised as it is, is the best he can possibly do. He doesn’t have much to work with, and the expectation was set before he even went to the Underworld that he would update Kronos upon his return.

Kronos can have exactly the update he expects. Luke took on the curse. There was an unclear vision. It was, as far as he can tell, successful. Nothing interesting happened at all.

He keeps telling himself that.