Cogs and gears slid into place as I tinkered; trying to get one mechanism to work, then another, maybe two more. I'd been trying to make this project work for months, but it had become increasingly more frustrating, especially for my cabinmates.

The frame was steel, but the mechanisms were celestial bronze. They weren't forge-welded; forge-welding steel and celestial bronze like Backbiter had been would create a reaction that would kill whoever was invovled. Celestial bronze was an inherently volatile and reactive metal, tentatively held in the balance by the magical enchantments. It made it easy to enchant, and deadly to monsters, but harmless to humans, since those completely uninvolved with magic couldn't be affected by it.

On the other hand, steel was stable, steel was harder, steel was stronger, steel was better for making weapons. Steel could harm both mortals and monsters. But it was nearly impossible to enchant, and carried no energy within it. The energy that celestial bronze carried made monsters implode at its touch; steel would have to physically defeat the monster. Operating in the physical realm carried some benefits, but also many drawbacks.

Forgewelding the two was madness; the celestial bronze would almost scream like a trapped god, and like a trapped god, flail and lash out when forced into a marriage with cold, dead metal.

But a mechanical fit? Not an issue. Steel was strucutually sounder than celestial bronze, if and less reactive, so its application here was a matter of practicality. I began fitting the cogs and gears into the handle, and snapped on a lever.

Good, I thought. So far, so good. In the back of my mind, I could feel something else grabbing my attention, but I deliberately turned away from it. I didn't want to think about that right now.

Cabin Nine was notoriously dirty and dangerous, with soot everywhere and the smell of motoroil and with gears and cogs hanging out in whatever place, making my station a diamond in the rough; everything was in their proper place, with a specific slot for each tool.

I reached down to grab a small screwdriver, then frowned. It was missing.

"Hey, has anyone seen my-"

"Got it!" Darian ran up, wiping his hands on his apron. His pale face was smudged with soot, but it didn't hide his breathless grin. "Sorry Anna, I had to borrow it for a bit. Finishing up my flyswatter."

I frowned, and nodded. "Alright," I said. Without another word, I took the filthy screwdriver and went back to work; the spring wasn't aligning the way I liked.

Before I knew it, everyone began filing out to leave. "What's going?" I asked.

"Dinnertime," someone else said. I frowned. Dinner wasn't supposed to be for thirty minutes; I shrugged and went back to work; can't deviate from my schedule.

Finally, I smiled; the prototype was complete. All I needed to do was test it; I marched off to join my cabinmates for dinner, enjoying the fresh air on my skin as I undid the hair tie on my dreadlocks; that could get quite irksome after a while. It was late summer, so I could get away with jeans and a t-shirt in this weather.

As I stared up into the night sky, I sighed. Being a daughter of Hephasteus meant that you spent way, way too much time indoors, which my cabinmates didn't mind. Neither did I; the sky was an easy thing to stare at, the stars grabbing one's attention, but I could never really figure out what I was supposed to look for in them. Beautiful, yes. An incredible spread? Yes. Significance with how my father and his relatives operated? Yes.

Other than that? I wasn't sure; there simply was nothing that clicked beyond that. Realizing that I'd been lost in thought and nearly wandered into a tree, I chuckled and stepped into the dining hall.

The barbecue was nice, and I hoped my father appreciated it as I sat down to join my cabinmates.

"So what were you working on, Anna?" Darian asked. Darian had been in Bunker 9 for the past few days, as the Cabin split time between the two workshops. With Leo Valdez out in Indianapolis, Jake Mason had taken over again, and he wanted us working on all the ideas that were in Bunker 9. It was a ton of fun looking over the old manuscripts and ideas, as well as building them, but equally fun doing your own thing back at the cabin.

I smiled. "Well, I'll be testing it after we get back, but if it works-"

I told them about the project. How the idea had stuck in my head after calculating the

amount of celestial bronze lost when arrows were shot, how to mix the formulas, and how my inspiration was from not just the ancient greek weapons, but more modern designs as well. Their faces were some mix of shock, awe, surprise, and excitement.

I left the diner smiling to myself, and stared at the stars once again. I traced the sparkling patterns that spiraled across the night sky and tried to follow them. Like celestial bronze, the stars were bright and full of life, but unlike celestial bronze, I wasn't sure what they did. Celestial bronze could be folded, could be turned into weapons and machines, toyed with and turned into something useful. Something with a purpose. The stars just seemed to sit there, glowing balls of fiery gas occasionally being rearranged into patterns by my dad's relatives, I guess.

I sighed, looking around the camp, shrugged, and sat down at my workbench, staring at the tools. I wasn't sure where to go next; this bothered me. The project was coming along well, but I realized, now that it was close to completion, that I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it. Make more of them? Strike out on my own?

There was something I needed to do,

I went back to fidgeting; I began fitting gears, cogs, and wheels together, shoving little bits and pieces together, fiddling with every single little detail. I filed, sanded, welded, and worked until darkness crept over me.

"Anna!" Someone patted my shoulder and I woke up, startled.

"Wait, what?"

"It's 8 in the morning," someone called. "We found you at your workstation.

Asleep."

I smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," I yawned, stretching out and looking at my project. Not quite perfect yet, but getting there.

"Did you finish the ratchet we needed?" I frowned, and then sighed, slapping my face.

"Sorry," I said. "Busy with this." They all sighed.

"That's the fifth time, Anna," Darian said.

"You keep procrastinating," Nyssa chided. "Get it done, otherwise Bunker Nine can't launch."

"Sorry, sorry," I said, nodding, and then went back to my work. The unfinished ratchet sat on my desk; I could do it later.

That night, I sighed, rubbing my face. This wasn't good. I was procrastinating again.

Mother had always instilled in me the value of schedule, rhythm, and punctuality. I got up at regular times, did my chores, built, ate, exercised, all at regular times. That's what kids with ADHD had to do unless they wanted to be pumped full of meds, after all. It was that or completely crash and do terribly in school.

I got good grades; no issue there, especially not in a New York City public school. I could legitimately apply to NYU or Columbia, though I was preferring the former. I'd rather stay in the Lower East Side.

For for whatever reason, I wasn't sure, it was falling off the rails. The personal project had kind of taken over my life completely, but the motivation to stick to my routine was slipping.

The summer was ending, I'd be back in the city soon and figure things out.