A/N: Hi! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Thank you, my dear readers. Please, read, relax, and enjoy!

When Colt arrived at the Jackson's apartment building, it was well into the dark of night. Probably not the best time to show up at someone's house, but at least she was there.

She decided to sneak into the building until she reached the Jackson's apartment. Knocking with a few light raps on the door, Colt sincerely hoped Percy's mom didn't mind the late hour. It was very rare anyone actually called Colt to do a job for them were they lived especially if they had never met before, so she was a little unsure of the proper protocol in this situation.

She knocked on the door a couple more times. It was hard to decide if this would be more or less awkward with Percy there to introduce her. Though, knowing Percy, he would probably forget introductions and look for his mom's cooking (the best food ever, he had informed her many times) instead.

Sally Jackson… was not what she had expected. From Percy's tales (the only thing she had to go off of, researching his family seemed a little too invasive for her taste), Colt assumed Sally would look like some kind and benevolent angelic goddess. Colt didn't have any point of reference for that, but it didn't seem to matter because Sally Jackson was nothing Colt could have ever researched. She was indeed what Percy had described her as, but he missed one key fact: mortality. Sally had kind eyes, a warm stance, and messy hair, its mess came not from being ignored but released after a hard day of work. On the other hand, Colt could see the streaks of gray resting among the brown hair, the subtle signs of wrinkles present on her face that came from just as much worry as joy, and worst of all, the pain resting behind the kindness. Before the young hunter was indeed an angelic warrior of kindness and benevolence, but she was still mortal, still human, and maybe, Colt thought, graciously nodding to the older woman guiding her into the house, that was why Sally Jackson lived up to all the stories told.

The two women wove quietly through the small apartment. Sally made no move to introduce herself (not that she needed to) or start a conversation, so neither did Colt. Sally led Colt into a bedroom. Even in the twilight it was obviously drenched in hues of blue and very obviously a boy's room. She had worked with enough male hunters to know. Though the clutter and clothes and various things strewn about the room showed that someone stilled lived in this room, there was a feeling of emptiness and a distinct uneasiness that the room was less lived in and more lived with, as if the person lived here and yet at the same time didn't quite live in the room, everything in the room was frozen waiting for the owner to come back again.

"This is Percy's room," Sally told Colt, flicking on the light and shutting the women in the room. "I'm sure he won't mind you in here."

Colt wasn't as certain about that as Sally seemed to be but she didn't argue. "Thank you, Sally." Gingerly, as though she was trespassing and may hit a trip wire at any moment, Colt lowered herself and her bag onto the bed. She looked up to the elder woman. "If it's alright, I'd like to start with interviewing you to get a better idea of the situation to help focus my research."

Sally looked almost startled for a moment. The look quickly disappeared to form a small smile, a joke known only to herself. "I think that's fine. We'll start at breakfast."

"But I-" Colt began to protest, only to quail under a very motherly look. It was like Ellen had manifested in this woman, all scolding and warning forced into one beamed gaze at its target. Bull's eye.

"You've been driving since I called haven't you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You need to sleep. Rest up, anything else can wait."

Among Percy's stories of his mom came the stories that when his mother decided something, you did not change her mind. Colt nodded, accepting defeat with as much dignity as she could. "In the morning, no later."

Sally smiled, slipping out the door with a quiet "Sleep well, Colt."

Despite the kind wish, sleep did not come easily to Colt. She faded in and out of consciousness. The clock glaring times in a seemingly random order to her blurred sight. She usually didn't have trouble sleeping in unknown places; it was, after all, what she did for her job, nor was she a stranger to sleeping when danger lurks and might possibly take a bite out of her. But this wasn't some motel room or some new hunt; yes, others were just a phone call away, and yet it didn't seem right, like this was a sacred place. She supposed in a sense it was sacred—this was Percy's room, the one normal and comforting place in a world of strange and disaster, and entering it, especially without him, seemed wrong.

The next time Colt surfaced to the world of the living, it was not to the accusing stare of the clock, but the curious face of a young man—a teenager, maybe fifteen at most. His hair may have been blonde in his life, but death had dulled it to the color of dirt. His shirt she recognized to be a replica of Percy's Camp Half Blood shirt, but instead of bright and cheery, this boy's shirt was torn and had several dark splashes—blood or dirt that could never be wiped clean. Colt's heart ached for this boy; he was so young and his face so open and innocent that it made Colt pause, a finger hovering over the trigger of her gun that she always kept under whatever pillow belonged to her that night.

He mouthed something.

Colt sat up, one hand on her gun, the other inching towards her flashlight snuggled in her bag. "What?" she asked the demigod, he had to be one with that shirt. "I can't hear you."

He mouthed the sentence again, this time reaching out for her. She rolled backwards off the bed, coming to a crouch behind it, gun and flashlight trained on the boy. She was willing to listen, but touching was strictly prohibited until she knew if he was friend or foe.

He repeated himself again, then he disappeared.