Now, they sit together in a line on the curb, the two somewhat attractive boys sandwiching the blond girl bent over the map, several blocks away from the no-doubt already infested apartment. Annabeth traces her nail over a detailed map of Brooklyn, with little blue dots hand-drawn in marker spotted all over.

"Okay," she finally says, standing up and stuffing her map unceremoniously into her back pocket. "We're going to the 90th Street entrance. It's closest." Grover and Percy follow her lead, shouldering backpacks on and stretching. Grover hikes up his crutches from the ground, shaking the dust off them and sliding his forearms into the braces.

"Took your time," he mutters, and her hair just about cuts Percy's cheek when she whips around, dropping her open pack and stepping towards him. He can see her rage in the smoggy New York air, but he stands his ground.

"Would you like to see if Rachel can do better? Or maybe I should just leave you behind if I'm not enough for you."

Percy makes to step in, cut them off. "Annabeth –"the satyr starts.

"Oh, shut up. Thalia would back me."

Grover balks, paling considerably. "She's not here." There are tears beginning to form at the corners of both their eyes, though neither would ever make the move to wipe them away and admit weakness in the middle of the streets, the battlefield, the warzone they've come to fear.

"No. No, she's not, but it's okay. Rachel Elizabeth fucking Dare is here to save us all, hmm?"

They stand solemnly still for a moment, cold realization passing between them, both just realizing how much the other had to do with the tragedy that changed their entire lives. She could cry, but she doesn't. She's got things to do, and people counting on her, and she's Seen what will happen if she stops and takes the time to break; inevitable death, once the dracaena catch up to them. She made him her project, and she must fulfill her quest's implications; return him to headquarters safely, and prevent the darker side of the demi-gods' psyche from claiming him.

So, instead of fighting or crying, she bends over her pack again, and Grover looks sadly out over the street. Their quarrel is far from over as of yet, but they both understand that now may not be the precise time and place to start it. Percy wisely steps back from interfering, but notices as her previously quiet searching quickly escalates, becoming more frantic and panicked. He places a hand on her shoulder.

It's flung off with a loud, "They're not here."

"What?"

"It was a gift from my mother, how could I lose it? And my dagger; they're both missing." She tugs the words relatively calmly from deep inside, closing her eyes and sliding a hand through her hair.

"That knife that was next to you in the alley? I left it there, I didn't think –"he starts.

"What've you done, Jackson!" Her fingers attach themselves to his jacket, clutching and burying themselves into the lapels, her nails scratching as she shakes him. "Where did you leave them?" Then she appears to come to, blinking as her hands loosen their grip. She mumbles a quiet sorry as she steps away, her hand still loosely curled as through they've got ahold of him. Her skin cracks, just for a moment, blinding light peeping out, and he can taste her fear and desperation as it drips out of her vacant grey eyes. They unfocus as she drops to the curb.

Both boys stand and stare as she disappears, flying away from them and this reality. Her pupils dilate and her fingers uncurl themselves from their claws, reaching out and drawing pictures in the air that they can't follow or piece together. They dance, slim and pale and clean (for once), and they're graceful and steady as they create images that only she would be able to decipher. The Greek sign to ward off evil is preformed many times, each and every one making Grover nervous enough to gnaw at his blunt fingernails, a habit he'd thought he kicked years ago. Finally, her gaze travels back down the street they'd just traipsed up from, and when they meet Percy's, they are entirely alert.

They freeze for a long few minutes. Percy moves to ask what she Saw, but one look from Grover stops him. She stands. Turns away from them. Moves towards his apartment block. "I'll be back," she says vaguely.

Grover grasps her shoulder tightly. "I thought you said we couldn't go back," Percy points out.

"I said you couldn't." She won't look at either of them. "I have to. My dagger is there."

Grover exhales loudly. "Annabeth, you can't cling to Luke forever," he says softly, piteously. She doesn't scowl, as she usually does when this topic comes up. She doesn't deny, or get angry, or step away from either of them. She does, however, flinch at the name, but only imperceptibly. One step closer brings her mouth to Grover's ear, and she lowers her voice.

"I think that if we want to win this war, we need to keep that dagger away from enemy hands. The Sight has never lied to me before. There's something important about it, but I can't say what just yet," she whispers, pulling her hand from the inside folds of her jacket. She presses a pen into his palm. "Anaklusmos. Riptide. Chiron wanted me to pass it on to him."

With one more undecipherable look in Percy's direction, she jogs down the block, turns a corner, and disappears from sight.