disclaimer: i don't own anything, except for the things i own obviously.

0.11

Being cuffed to a metal pole while sitting on a linoleum chair and waiting to be interrogated brought back memories for Roman Sokolov, ironically named in the sense that he himself is the son of a Roman God.

Just feeling the smooth surface of Camp Jupiter's table reminded him of the time the Feds clamped down on his father's operations and the fleeting sensation of fear expanding in his chest when they interrogated him. It wasn't until he snapped his fingers and like all demigods belonging to this crazy world of Gods and Monsters, he manipulated the Mist to twist their minds.

His little neat trick with the Mist saved his and his father's asses, but it wasn't soon until Camp Jupiter caught wind of his activities of shooting up anybody who got into their way of dismantling the cocaine empire his father had built with his bare hands that they finally pinned him down and threw him into Katadiki to rot.

"You hungry?" Footsteps punctuate the peace and silence that had accompanied Roman before. The voice belongs to a girl. She is tall and blessed with the poise of a sword fighter—relaxed yet vigilant, as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Her slender features match her equally slender figure and her head is a long spill of dark hair as black and glossy as volcanic rock, woven in a single braid down her back. The worry lines around her eyes make her look older than she probably is. Reyna, the infamous daughter of Bellona, comes striding in, carrying a chunk of files in her arm with her terrifying gold and silver greyhounds following at her feet. "We can get you something to eat before we start."

"Nah, just too sober for this bullshit." He sends her a shit-eating grin, which doesn't faze her. The girl who faced Mother Earth herself will not be as easy to fool as the loser agents the FBI had sent to track his father down.

"Sorry, Camp Jupiter has nothing alcoholic." The edge in her voice suggests she's anything but apologetic. "So...Sokolov, it's been awhile since you have been here at Camp. What do you think of the new renovations?"

"I like the new fancy coffee shops. Very hipster, very Brooklyn."

"Sorry, we don't have anything that's reminiscent of Manhattan. Not all of us can afford Soho penthouses made from drug money."

"Nah, it's all cool. I'm easy to please." Roman is all wide smiles and bright eyes under her scrutiny. Despite her jabs and her sharp words, Reyna seems violently stressed out, rattled. She is shaken by the events, wrought with worry and concern about how people had bypassed the enchantments and magical barriers of the camp with such ease. Interesting. Maybe you can get around this.

"I'm reminded that you are. Now," Reyna replies sharply, all business and no play. Ugh, he has forgotten how unfun she was. "I'm going to ask a few questions. Remember to speak of the truth or Aurum and Argentum will maul you. My dogs don't like liars."

And maybe not.

Roman roll his eyes, playing along. "I solemnly swear that the evidence given by me shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"Relax, this isn't a court case. Just a light questioning." Reyna clicks the pen that she removed from the breast pocket of her V-neck and pull out a notepad.

Then what's with the goddamn third degree?

Roman tighten his lips into a strange mixture of a sneer and a smile. He knows this game of cat and mouse- he has done it with those annoying goddamn feds. It's all passive-aggressive sarcasm, trying to get one on the precipice of anxious. It's not going to work on him. Besides, he handled Reyna before. "Of course."

"What is your name?"

"Roman Sokolov."

"Your full name."

"Roman Daniel Sokolov."

Reyna looks indicatively at her dogs. The gold one, Aurum, nuzzle its nose into Reyna's thigh. She stroke it's head before returning to him. "You're telling the truth."

"You sound surprised."

"You sound surprised."

Roman chuckle merrily, diffusing the sense of harsh tension within the two."You have a point."

"Good. Now we continue. What was your sentence?"

"Distributing drugs among campers," Roman recipes methodically. Reyna arch a sharp brow expectantly. "And murders of several Feds but that doesn't really matter."

Reyna folds her arms, inciting the imagery of an angry teacher on the verge of lecturing her student. Here we go. "Katadiki isn't a prison for demigod crimes, Roman. It's a prison designed to hold demigods. Just because you murdered mortals instead of demigods doesn't mean it's not murder. That's the kind of 'it's them, not us' bullshit that sounds similar to racism; just because they're of mortal blood doesn't mean they're in any way less superior or any less important. You don't have to be related to godly beings to be any better; we're just different. It's like saying people who have relations to minor gods are less superior than those who are Big Three's children. It's not true. We regarded your crimes of murder the say way how we regard the murder of one of our own."

"Wow, inspiring. Real J.F.K level speech there. Almost as memorable as 'Four scores and seven years ago'."

"Stop fucking around, Roman," Reyna sigh, rubbing her temples with the tip of her pen. Poor thing; she could do with a line or two. "And let's get on. Shall we?"

"Your call, Princess."

Reyna sharply flips open another page. "So Roman, you're the son of Victoria, one of Rome's patron goddesses, and a son of a man who leads one of the world's largest crime syndicates, or more specially, the world leader in cocaine supply. Is that true?"

Why tried to deny it? "Yes; we're the Pablo Escobar of the 21st century."

Reyna aptly nods when Aurum confirm his truth by nuzzling its nose into her thigh once more. "Have you ever heard of a demigod crime organisation?"

"A crime organisation for demigods?"

"Yes." Reyna produces a thin device- blaCk, shaped like a smartphone but unlike any smartphone he has ever seen. It has no logo, no brand name, not even a serial number. Whoever made this must be a private benefactor, he gathers, which means they had access to some super-high-level connections to the American government. Only private agents working for the CIA or NSA would have that kind of phone. "One of our campers had deduced that the clue sent makes reference to a crime syndicate. And when I think of crime syndicates, I think of you, Sokolov. So what do you know?"

"I don't know anything," Roman says simply. Aurum narrows its eyes and growls viciously. "Seriously, I don't. All the crime organisations I know are mortal ones; all mortal. Or at least, I think they're mortal."

Aurum reel back hesitantly, it's beady amber eyes watching him.

"Aurum says you're hiding something."

"Wow, that's a talent. You can speak Dog?"

Reyna cast him an annoyed glare, "So you're sure there's not a crime syndicate tied to demigods? None at all? Not even mafias?"

"I'm not sure," Roman says honestly, "I only ever dealt with defaulters or informers or pesky federal agents. I've never been the one who made contact with other gangs or mobs. I mean, I know the Genovese controls West Side of Manhattan and buy our coke supply. We get our arms from them but we never cross territories. Don't want a war to break out. Dad always said it's bad for business so we didn't make much contact with other syndicates before."

Reyna pulls a thinking face. "So you're Dad's organisation don't really do business with other gangs in New York? And that none of them has linked to demigods?"

"Well, not that I heard of."

Reyna narrows her gaze into a squint, detecting the lie.

"Maybe a whisper," Roman's grin is full of sharks and knives and all the world's sparkly things. "Here and there. Gonna cost you for me to talk."

Reyna grips the slim handle of her sword so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Sokolov, I will literally set Aurum and Argentum on you and sit here merrily as they tear you to shreds."

"Go ahead," Roman mock, watching in mild fascination as Reyna's features seize up in irritation. This is far too fun. "Kill me. But guess what? You won't get your info."

Her dark byssal eyes remain fixated on him as if she's trying to extract secrets from his soul and for a compelling moment, Roman's almost tempted to divulge everything but he bit his tongue. Maybe it's some kind of weird magic, drawing him to spill everything. No, not until he gets what he wants.

"Fine," Reyna sets her jaw, clicking her teeth together. "What do you want?"

"Well first, I'd like to get these handcuffs off. And then I would like some whiskey. I take it straight, by the way. No mixer with ice. And lots of it, please. I'm pretty fucking thirsty."

Reyna lets out a laugh. "Um, no. The handcuffs are non-negotiable."

"Then I guess I'm not talking. Good luck with whatever you're doing."

Reyna clenches her fists. He could see the desperation in the tension of her shoulder. "Fine! I'll take off the handcuffs and get you your goddamn whiskey. But if you so much try anything, I swear to God Aurum and Argentum will bite your head off. Understood?"

Roman lean back in his chair and smile wanly. "Crystal clear, sweetheart."

Winnie is dreaming.

Dreams cage her like an imprisonment of altered memories, a current of images so vivid she thought they were real. Winnie saw a dark-haired girl with cruel eyes and a smirk in a cloak and another boy- green eyes and curly brown hair in the same cloak chanting over a crystal ball.

And worst of all was her mother standing on an empty back road; the background behind was bleak and distorted into clumps of thick fog. A black Mercedes appeared at the end of the road. Headlights beamed ahead, illuminating the fear on her face. It started to gain speed, running towards her, and soon it was ten yards.

Five.

Three.

A bloodcurdling shriek arose, terrified and high-pitched. It belonged to her. Winnie was screaming at her to get away when lights shattered through the jagged pieces of the scene and broke apart her subconscious.

The room is sharply lit; the harsh, incandescent jets of lights pierced into her eyes as she blinked awake. She didn't recognize the place. The sun is out, for once, and the sky is robin blue. She groans as the walls swayed and dark spots danced in her field of vision. She works her fingers, wiggled her limbs out of hibernation and used her elbows to prop herself upright.

"Had a nice night?"

It's a girl. She's sipping from a champagne bottle, her dilapidated form is lounging lazily on one of the chaise chairs as she scrolls through her phone. The view of her sharpens with harsh colours. With voluminous raven hair piled up into a loose beehive, a perfectly sculpted ski-jump nose, a figure-hugging strapless white dress and an ornately sequined red matador cape flung casually over her milk-white shoulders, she looks like a movie star. A cigarette flagrantly dangles out of her mouth, despite the flammability of its structure. She looks really familiar and Winnie couldn't match her face to a name in her memory until she realizes the girl has the same cruel eyes of the girl in her dreams.

Winnie is flummoxed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"A simple 'good morning' would be sufficient," The girl tsks, "And what a shame. Don't you remember me?"

"Don't be coy, Lyra," Another voice interjects. Winnie's head snaps towards the voice in alarm and nearly topple out of her bed. A boy enters the room through the open threshold, daintily holding a tea jug with the palm of his band by the bottom and with his two slender fingers by its glistening porcelain handle.

Winnie gape at him. "I know you! I saw you...at the party. You're-"

"Will," he finishes pleasantly.

"But how did I-? Where am I?"

"You're in a hotel room, sweetie," Lyra answers, sickeningly sweet. The way how Lyra's eyes are wide and ever so slightly creased at the corners, as if she knows a secret you'll never catch on, makes Winnie uneasy.

Winnie's memories are a blurry haze- all she remembers is the party, bits and flashes of drinks, Will, Michaela, then a bathroom and all-consuming darkness. Panic begins to encroach her. She looks at her body for signs; she's not wearing clothes she recognizes. Oh God, oh no. Has she been... wondering if she's been…

"It's not what you're thinking," Will interrupts her train of thought as if he could read her mind. "I swear, we're harmless. We just need a chat."

A strangled sound disparages out from Winnie's throat. "You- you drugged me! I barely know you two and you drugged me and you brought me here in this nondescript hotel-"

"Oh please, 'Four Seasons' is hardly ever nondescript," Lyra waves her cigarette dismissively, "Besides, I don't think I'm a complete stranger to you."

"Lyra, stop it," Will admonishes hotly. "I don't think she knows anything about demigods."

Winnie feels like her head is about to explode. "Demi-what?"

Will sighs, rubbing the sides of his head, and turn to her. He seems relatively kind and endearing, despite the situation. "Winnie, I think it's time somebody gave you a talk."

Roman sips on his whiskey freely, bathing in the freedom of being unshackled as the alcohol slides down his throat like a river of pure heat. God, it's been so long since he had alcohol. He can't wait till he gets out of here and returns to his favourite thing in the world- coke. He knows it's addictive and he knows it's bad but it just hits that sweet spot so good and makes him feel invincible, confident...like he can do anything in the world. He closes his eyes and takes another gulp, savouring the gasoline.

"So Reyna, what do you want to know about demigod crime syndicates?"

"Well, first of all, is there even such a thing?" question Reyna professionally, "And if there is, how many are there?"

"Well, I don't know how many but I've heard of one or two mafias that are purely made out of demigod members. They're mostly former rebels from Gaea or Kronos's armies from the past wars...or they're just random demigods who are willing to fight or kill any magical being for a quick buck or two."

Reyna's eyebrows knit in confusion. "But I thought all the rebels had been rounded up and locked up in Katadiki."

"So?" Roman shrug, "Some have managed to slip under your radar and stuff...all I know is yes, there are some demigods who have been taken in by these syndicates and mafias. They're the demigods who either a) don't believe in the goody-two-shoe bullshit of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter or b) don't know any better. I've come across one or two demigod mafia members before but I never been close to joining or whatever." Dad would kill me for infringing my loyalty codes.

Reyna inhales deeply and fidgets with the holster for her Imperial Gold dagger. "So demigod mafias existed."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Is there a demigod crime syndicate called the Order of the Night?"

"Wait, Order of the Night or Order of the Knights? As in silent K knights?"

"The one with the silent k," respond Reyna immediately.

"Yeah...but they're...an ancient mafia. They were famous, not just to the demigod world but to the mortal world as well. They used to influence all the political royal families to do their bidding but that was back in the fifteenth century. I don't even think they exist anymore."

"So?" Reyna snorts, "Greek Gods existed two thousand years ago and they're still here."

"But...their location of business was in Italy; more specifically, Malta," Roman finishes, remembering the research he had undertaken in his spare time. His father has always looked up to the Order of The Knights, who were so powerful during the Italian Renaissance that they could even force the hand of the Pope. "No offence but I don't get how an ancient medieval Italian mafia has something to do with what's going on now."

Reyna taps her fingers on the table, her nails clattering loudly. The sounds echo through the interrogation room. "Actually, that makes sense. This Isaiah guy wants us to find him an artefact. I'm guessing this is an artefact that has something to do with the Order of the Knights." Her eyes widen. "Holy shit, that's it!"

"What's it?" Roman swirl his whiskey and takes a long, thirsty sip, slightly bored and wondering when he could go. After all, he already did his part. He told her everything he knew. And yes, he's being honest (shocker).

"We have to look for an artefact that has something to do with this mafia, Order of The Knights. Where did you say this organisation is?"

"You mean, was," he corrected her, "It doesn't exist anymore."

"Bullshit," she dismisses confidently, a smile beginning to worm onto her face. It's the first smile he had seen on her since she has been here. "You said their area of operation was in Italy, right?"

Roman nod, tipping back his glass. Only ice is left. Damn it. "Yep, Malta especially."

Her eyes glint crazily in excitement. A beeping sound shatters the silence of the room. Reyna retrieves out a black device- the phone that was parachuted down into Camp Jupiter. Roman's gaze flicker towards the device's screen. It has a new message. And it's from Isaiah.

Guess you finally worked out where you have to go. See you in Malta.

"So demigods...are real? And the Greek Gods exist? And I'm somehow one of you?"

Lyra folds her napkin delicately then toss it away. Somehow, Lyra and Will had convinced her to take their conversation down to one of the cafes opposite the hotel. Their booth is in the far back corner of the shop, in an alcove that isn't easily visible from the front, and no one is around so their antics will not draw too much attention. "Pretty much."

"You're crazy. Both of you. You need to see a shrink, like now. This is the real world and things like that don't happen."

A silence ensues, a weighty stillness that settles in the space between them and so thick it could cut the room in half.

Will links his fingers together, "I'm sorry, Winnie. But it's true. The Greek Gods are real, everything from the Greek myths exists."

Winnie gawks at Will, waiting for all of it to be a joke.

…It has to be.

She didn't even believe in religion! Everything is simply preposterous- even in contradiction towards her father's profession and specialisation in the occult. She has always preferred reason over faith- hence her journalism degree- which is why she doesn't believe in an omnipotent and benevolent higher power. She has never bought into the whole Christian belief of how Jesus is her saviour, much less this circus freak show of Pagans.

"Myths aren't real," Winnie scoff in corresponding incredulity. "There's a reason why they're called myths."

Lyra and Will exchange a look. "Show her," Lyra encourage.

Will's lips twitch. "Watch this." Will hold out his hands and mumble something Winnie didn't catch, then his fingertips glow and Lyra's napkin lifts itself midair and begins dancing while levitating. After a while Will telepathically enchant the napkin to return back to the table.

Winnie is speechless, her whole belief system crumbling. She has lived her whole life learning about mythology and the occults under her father but she also knows how to separate what's palpable and what's not. Though after what she's been just shown, everything she thought is right has been thrown out the window. She's not entirely sure of what to think anymore.

"Wyn- can I call you Wyn?" Lyra asks placidly, ending her train of thought. "Magic is real. And you can keep telling yourself gods aren't real but it isn't going to make it go away. The Greek Gods are powerful, temperamental and are part of a civilization that has lasted for thousands of years. The memory of this civilization is solely the reason why we have survived so long. They had invented amazing things and conquer vast lands. People who believed in them didn't make them up; they're not that stupid. Anyway, coffee?"

Winnie ignores the offer of coffee. "Okay so let's say- let's just say- gods-" It even sounds odd to say it aloud, "- these Pagans do exist and they're somewhere in this world." Her voice breaks a bit, "W-what does it have to do with me?"

Lyra's smugness might be one of the creepiest things Winnie had ever come across. "Well, that's the golden question, isn't it? I've got a bit of a hunch, Wyn. And I feel like it started back where you were born. Where are you from?"

"Um, Massachusetts?"

"Specifically."

"Salem. Salem, Massachusetts."

"Of course it is," deadpans Will.

"Time for a road trip," Lyra announces, whipping out her phone. "We'll take the Chrysler."

Winnie put her hand out in surrender, appearing thoroughly confused- a feat considering their conversation just a few minutes ago. "I'm sorry, we?"

"Yes, what about it?" Lyra looks at her as if Winnie is trying to be stupid on purpose.

"Um, I'm a college student. I have classes and a life and a girlfriend."

"Oh honey, I can take care of that," Lyra laughs. She snaps her fingers. "There, you've never existed in their records."

"Wait, what?"

"Winnie, you just found out you're a part of a magical world and the first thing you want to do is jump straight into college life?"

Winnie registers Lyra quizzically, "Um, yes?"

Lyra sighs and focuses her stare on Will, "She needs to get her priorities in order."

"I'm right here."

"You were meant to hear that. Now come on, Winnie," Lyra lick her lips, wetting them, "Don't you want to find out who you truly are all along?"

"Straighter, come on."

Juliana hardens her grip on the sleek barrel of the rifle and levels her arms further up as she squints at the target fifty feet in front of her. Then she pulls on the trigger. "Fuck," she mutters under the breath as she missed the bullseye by the margin. "I hate this. Why can't we fight with normal weapons? Like swords?"

"We live in the modern age," Daewon Kim, son of Mars, explains stiffly, brandishing his own rifle- an M16. Daewon paces around the space before he focuses silently behind a target and shoots; it's swift, efficient and precise- three bullets lodge itself at the centre of the dummy, right at its heart. Alright, we get it, Julianna thinks, ticked off. Not at Daewon. Mostly herself. "It's time we start to learn how to adapt."

"But we're Greek demigods?" Chris points out rather obviously. As Reyna and the others- mostly Nico, Frank and Chiron- are currently undergoing an emergency meeting right after the interrogation of the prisoners, she and Chris were given the special treatment of having a little detour around Camp Jupiter. Which Juliana thought was a complete lame way of saying okay, you kids go run along and play while the big guys discuss very important world-threatening stuff bye-bye. It's unfair, condescending and not to mention, belittling. It's like they think she and Chris are a bunch of twelve-year-olds who couldn't handle being in mature meetings. She's almost eighteen for Hades's sake- that's only four years younger than Reyna.

Nonetheless, the tour results in them checking Camp Jupiter's newest facilities, one of which happens to be a cool target range and an indoor military assault course. As Juliana marvels at the massive rifle and machine gun collections displayed upon the built-in racks, she mentally notates to herself to restock on their automatic machine gun collection for the Ares cabin.

"That's not the point," Daewon counters, quite patiently. Julianna's surprised. Daewon had said he was a son of Mars but he's nothing like the boys from Mars' Greek counterparts. Most of Julianna's siblings are bloodthirsty, violence-driven meatheads who have no appreciation for things such as patience. So far, the vibe she has gotten off Daewon is silent, reserved and mature. She first thought he was a son of Minerva or something. "As fighters, we have to learn to make do with what we have, right? So yeah, traditionally swords and daggers have been the way we fight. But as an American in the 20th century, you have to learn how to shoot a gun."

"Besides," Julianna grin at Chris in the attempt to lighten the mood, "Aren't you a Republican?"

Chris appears affronted, the splash of freckles on his nose and cheeks becoming more prominent under the lights of the target range. "Okay, just because my Dad is a pastor, does not mean I'm a Republican. And by the way, I'm for gun control and I'm very liberal. I'm actually bisexual-"

"Let's not get into any arguments concerning your political affiliations," Daewon interrupts firmly, "And focus on picking up skills that might be useful in ensuring your survival. Chris, why don't you try giving it a go?"

"Me? You'll trust me with a gun, seriously?"

Julianna tucks in a wayward strand of her dark curly hair behind her ears and stifles the urge to roll her eyes. This guy is just too much. "Yes, oh my god. What is the worst can happen?"

"Are you seriously asking that?"

"We're wearing bulletproof vests," Daewon supplies, pointing at his chest. "You might be natural at it, you never know."

"I'm a natural at sucking, if that's what you mean, but okay." Chris marches over to Daewon, who gingerly passes him the rifle. Julianna quickly switches her gun controls to safety as she steps back and allows Chris access to her spot. She notices his hands shaking.

"You'll be fine," she assures him kindly, taking a tone that's similar to when she's comforting one of her crying siblings after he had hurt himself. Chris doesn't look any more confident but he nods at her.

"Try this one if it's your first time," Daewon advises as he treads over to the wall of guns. He retrieves one, an old-fashioned Mauser with a gold-plated shortened barrel and a white ivory case over the grip. It looks like something out of a museum, especially with the Germanic oak leaf and acorn pattern engraved on it.

Julianna scrutinises further before the realisation dawns upon her. Her intrinsic knowledge on weapons as a child of Ares kicks in. "Oh my God...I know this gun. It used to be owned by a son of Ares."

"Close," Daewon confirms for her. "He was actually a son of Mars."

"It's...one of the most iconic guns of the 20th century," Julianna says, "It...well, it belonged to Göring."

Confusion mars over Chris's delicate white boy features. "Who?"

Julianna wants to hit him at the back of his head. "Are you retarded?'

"I don't think it's politically correct for you to use that term-"

"Oh my God, it's basic World History! It belongs to Hermann Göring; he was Hitler's right-hand man and one of Germany's best sharpshooters during World War Two! Even though he fought for the worst reasons, well...he did accomplish a lot of great things," Julianna admits reluctantly, "Like he was a horrible man, yes. But great? Definitely."

"Depends on how you define greatness," Daewon says, "But yes, this is one of history's most famous guns. Despite its small size, it was rumoured to be extremely efficient. It's semi-automatic so it's also perfect for machine gun situations as well as snipers."

"So...what you're saying this was a gun who belonged to a very famous Nazi?" Chris summarises.

"If that is all you got from that, then yeah pretty much."

"Well…" Chris trails off uneasily, adjusting the gun in his grip. Even though he's fidgety and uncomfortable, Julianna realizes he kind of look...right with the gun in his hand. Usually, guns are like swords. Either they're too heavy, or too light, or too long, but this gun seems to belong in Chris's hand. It's how she felt with her sword, Runner- the one her father has given her on her sixteenth birthday. "I guess I can give it a try."

"Do you want me to help you?" It blurts out of Julianna's mouth before she could restrain herself. What the fuck?

Relief washes over Chris; it floods all over his face and the anxiety drains out. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Julianna steps closer towards him. She could feel the heat coming from his body as she mirrors his stance. He's not much taller than her- just by a few inches- so his chin meets her nose and she tries not to dwell how small the distance between them. Or how awfully blue Chris's eyes are- they're so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, and they are dark periwinkle, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting colour. What am I doing? This is not me. Julianna shakes herself out of her reverie and clears her throat awkwardly.

"So okay, first steady the gun and focus on your target." She reaches out and grabs his arm, guiding them up.

"Yeah, and?" Chris prompts her to continue on.

"Then well, you aim, steady your hands, firm up your muscles and shoot." Following her instructions, his finger rests on the trigger before he inhales deep and presses hard. The gun goes off in one loud single blast and in a dust of gunpowder, a bullet launches itself out and plants itself into the dummy's heart. The familiar scent of artillery shell wafts into the air.

For a moment, everybody is too stunned to speak. Everyone just stood, frozen in a mixture of shock and awe.

"Holy...shit," Chris chokes out, staring at his own hands, then the gun. "Did I just-"

"That was incredible…" Daewon scratches the corner of his head. Even he's caught off-guard. He looks at Chris with brand new eyes. "Chris, what the hell was that?"

"I really don't know…" Chris swallows, lips parting and revealing a pristine row of teeth in the muted darkness. He glances at Julianna. "Maybe it's Julianna? I don't know; I'm usually quite useless."

"Well, it appears you're not that useless," remark Julianna. Surprise tinges her eyes, which morphs quickly into grudging admiration, meeting pale blue as she nods her head in validation towards him.

Chris is not too convinced. "Yeah…"

"Try it again," Daewon suggests. This time, Chris doesn't wait for Julianna's instructions. His body naturally aligns himself with a proper position and his face screws up in concentration. Pressure applies to the trigger and then that hair-raising sound. Bang!

Bullseye, once more.

Suddenly, a commotion erupts behind them. They turn around simultaneously, only to find Leilani Kehala, arriving into the target range, looking worried. She's breathless, panting heavily as she slows down in her sprint. "Guys, guys, Chiron, Reyna and Nico need you at the Principia. Now."

Julianna blinks. "Wait, all of us?"

"No, just you and Chris. They said it's for the quest. Oh, and Mars- I mean, Ares- is here."

Dread settles at the bottom of Julianna's stomach.

Oh no.

ha i'm alive! anyway, this chapter is finally written. please review xx they warm my HEART