Cast me aside to show yourself in a better light

I came out grieving, barely breathing and you came out alright

But I'm sure you'll take his hand

I hope he's better than I ever could have been

My mistakes were not intentions;

this is a list of my confessions I couldn't say

Pain is never permanent but tonight it's killing me

Now, I'm gonna start this one off with a warning—I don't know what the fuck I was saying for any of this.

Seriously, Rowan and I love to make fun of Camp Half-Blood (and later along the line, Camp Jupiter), but, really, for the life of me, the only reason I can name that I have to be pissed at them is because of what they did to a few of us — me, my cabin, Jake, a few of the other head counselors. Really all of us that didn't ask for the post, but were instead appointed to it, be it because of age or pressure from cabinmates or a sense of responsibility of their younger siblings, even though there was someone already in charge.

And it's Chiron's fault that this camp exists, because he needed a place to train heroes, but keep in mind the keyword there — needed. He didn't want this for . . . for any of us, really.

No, Chiron isn't to blame for this.

Mr. D, our director? Bullshit. He hates this place. He was sent here as punishment for . . . I don't know exactly. I wasn't really paying attention. I just try to avoid him. Pissing off Zeus, obviously, but I don't know any more than that. It's not really hard to grind Zeus's gears. Just say the wrong prayer burning offerings. Mr. D hasn't been here that long anyway.

The nymphs, satyrs, and other spirits who work here as servers and protectors and cleaners and whatever else? Please. They just work here. This wasn't their idea. They're glorified servants.

So, who did this? Who sent us here to fight and die for them? Who kills our siblings and wraps us in chains (metaphorically, but rest assured that they can be physical too), forcing us to obey them? Who was the reason that Chiron needed a place to train heroes, that Zeus had somewhere to send Mr. D as punishment, that the dryads and satyrs and whatever have you had somewhere to work instead of sitting by the streams sorting through baskets of berries and singing or whatever it is they normally do?

We all know the answer to that one. The gods.

So, if we all know it, then why am I bringing it up?

I now remember something I haven't thought of in a while — something I heard Chiron say once, that the power of human minds all believing the same thing is what creates gods and monsters and Titans. What pushes them into being. And not just the gods and monsters and Titans themselves, but what they rule over and what personality traits inhabit them. Who they are, basically.

Humans created the gods, and then gods created us (but I don't think I have to teach you all how that works), and then we train and fight and die in their service, and then we can choose to be reborn — most of us, anyway. Reborn into a (most likely) fully human body — no absentee godly parent, no strange camp, no constant training, no wars fought in the service of our pantheon.

We're human then. And then one day, we might shape the gods to our will, or even create new ones — new ones that new half-bloods will have to work their entire lives in the service of. That will be our fault. Whatever happens then, it will be our fault.

We won't know it, though — Lethe-induced memory loss. What a shame and thank the (nonexistent) gods.

My point is, the gods didn't create themselves. Oh, they're fully responsible for whatever depraved shit they did, but they didn't create themselves. There's a power behind the throne there, and, ironically, it's the same power that goes out of their way to bow down to the gods and burn offerings and make them patrons of their cities and all that jazz. They fight in their name, die in their name, just like the half-bloods do. They go out of their way to please them, going so far as to kill their own friends and family members.

And not once, in all of that, did someone speak up and say, "Hey, we created these things. Do you think maybe we can control them?"

No, of course not. Because they don't believe they created them. They believe they just discovered them and are now their acolytes.

That's just how humans are. They make up entities to worship and then argue about whose made up entity is better.

I told you I didn't know what the fuck I was saying.

I should have heeded Jake's advice and gone back into the sewers to talk to Rowan, but I was still reeling from the confusing encounter, and I didn't know what to do. I should have talked to Rowan and let her snap me out of whatever I was thinking, but I also knew that my pride wouldn't allow me to crawl down there, begging for help. I was there last night. And it wasn't like I could pretend I was there to help with Ryan's wrists, because she knew how to change the bandages and had the necessary resources. I did want to see Rowan; for some absurd reason, I trusted her, and I think she trusted me. But I was scared of what would happen if she couldn't help me — and I knew she couldn't. Not permanently. It's not that easy.

In the end, I didn't go to see her.

So I stayed with Nico on the hill overlooking Long Island, saying nothing as we sat quietly, watching the city lights. I wished we could have looked up and seen stars, but the city was so bright that the sky was a dark gray murky with clouds. There was no Milky Way or shooting stars or Northern Lights here — not that we needed them, but it would have been nice. Something to look at other than tall apartment buildings and cars.

A few times, I glanced over at my silent companion, almost waiting for him to say something and break the peaceful but somehow disquieting silence. I didn't understand how he could stay so still for so long — he looked like a living statue, solid stone. Like something expertly hacked out of rock instead of a living, breathing person that had, up until a couple years ago, been relatively bright and cheerful.

I found my mind circling back around for the millionth time to how much he had changed. I remembered the way he had been — his olive complexion, his playfully tousled hair, his emphatic gestures, his quick, excited way of speaking. Somehow, something as common (for a demigod, anyway) as the loss of his sister had turned him into someone else — someone dark and silent and angry who wore black and carried a sword of the same color with ghost-pale skin and unfathomable depths in his eyes. True, he had known his sister for his entire life — if I was guessing correctly, she was his best friend — but so many of us had lost siblings and friends and parents and we weren't running off and turning into bitter, angry emo-goths whose hair fell in their eyes like they were from Japanese anime.

Then again . . . I did change, didn't I? I had plenty of anger and bitterness myself, and God knew I had developed some habits that filled me with self-disgust and anger. I had become a cutting addict, drank alcohol that had been hidden in the back room for God knows how long, tried to kill my best friend, and a thousand other small things I could only classify as misdemeanors.

Maybe everyone has some kind of thing in them, something angry and vengeful, someone who would take their fury out on themselves — or, gods forbid, the world — and it gets brought out in everyone differently. I have to look responsible and in control, so I hide it. Nico has no responsibilities, so he can do whatever the hell he wants. Life isn't the same for all of us, so why should we react the same to different things?

As far as I'm concerned, if you want to wear a bomber jacket, ripped black jeans, and a silver skull ring, growing your hair out and always standing in shadows, what the hell. Do whatever you want. Who gives a fuck? Doesn't even matter if your sister's dead, or if you want to do it just because you can.

Finally, a dark red glow began to spill over the skyline, painting the horizon with a smudged blood color that wouldn't have looked out of place at some reclusive FBI agent's funeral. It almost looked as though someone on the mainland was finger-painting with red wine.

"Don't know why the others never come out here."

It was several seconds before I even registered the fact that Nico had actually spoken. I turned my head and stared at him for another several seconds, but he didn't move. He looked as though he hadn't said anything. For a fleeting second, I wondered if there was a third person present, but immediately discarded the idea; I couldn't hear anything.

I glanced down in confusion. "Was that me?"

Nico rolled his eyes. "No, I just don't talk a lot." He nodded toward the brilliant sunrise, where fiery orange was joining the dark red. "I wasn't kidding. You'd think the others from camp would want to see this more."

I shrugged, resting my head on my arms. "I don't think they know about it, and even if they did, sneaking out would be breaking curfew. They'd probably get eaten by a harpy."

"We snuck out," Nico pointed out. "We haven't gotten eaten yet."

"Yeah, well, maybe we're just lucky."

Nico shrugged, then gave me a slightly curious look. "The harpies . . . they wouldn't actually eat anybody, would they?"

I considered that. As long as I'd been at camp, I'd been hearing jokes about how the harpies would eat anyone they caught breaking the rules. It was just another part of camp — train to fight monsters, burn offerings for the gods at mealtimes, don't sneak out after curfew or the chicken ladies will eat you. I guess I'd kind of believed it, but I'd accepted it without a word. If I snuck out, I would die. Okay, and would you like fries with that?

Now that I thought about it, though, Chiron wouldn't have let that happen. The kind old centaur wouldn't have wanted campers to get brutally murdered just because they were out after dark.

"I don't actually think so," I admitted. "It's just something we tell the new campers."

Nico nodded, like he could respect mentally tormenting younger kids. He stood up, brushing grass and moisture off his battered jeans. "We should head back. Your cabin will be up soon. Apollo kids get up early, right?"

I sigh as I stand up next to him, stretching out my sore legs. I haven't moved all night, and it feels like I have two wooden clubs attached to the bottom of my torso. "It's a stereotype, but for good reason. Yeah, we really can't sleep past the sunrise."

He turned and started walking up the hill, evidently not affected by pins and needles in the same way I was. "You mean, you can't sleep at all? After the sunrise?"

I hurried to catch up with him, grimacing at the jagging pains all up and down my legs. The numbness was easier to deal with than this. "Only times I've been able to sleep after the sun comes up are when I'm exhausted — like, haven't slept in days exhausted, or I overused my powers way too much, that kind of thing."

He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, successfully making it even shaggier. "When you say powers, you mean just healing, or is there anything else?"

I winced, remembering the way my hand had begun to glow when I needed to see in the darkness. "Kind of. . . ." I hesitated, unsure if I should tell Nico about the glow steadily creeping up my arm. I decided that it wasn't exactly a highly classified secret. "It doesn't make me tired, but lately, whenever I have to see anything in the dark my hand's started glowing. . . . Well, not really my hand. It started there, but now, every time, it's a little more of my arm. Almost to my elbow."

Nico looked mildly impressed. "Huh. That's . . . an interesting power, I guess."

I didn't see how a guy who could summon and control the dead saw accidentally glowing in the dark as something to be impressed by, but I wasn't about to complain. "It's not really a power. I've never done it on purpose. But . . . thank you."

He shrugged. "A power is a power. If it's something abnormal and magical that you can do, congratulations. You have a power."

"I guess," I said doubtfully. "That's not really related, though, since it doesn't make me tired. Yet. What about you?"

"What are my powers, or do any of them make me tired?"

"The second one, I guess."

"Then, a definite yes." Nico paused to rest for a moment, turning around and shading his eyes. "If I use too much of any of my powers, I pass out."

"Oh," I said. "Ouch."

"It's not as bad as it used to be," he confessed. "First time I tried shadow traveling, I slept for a week."

I blinked, confused. "Shadow travel?"

He nodded, turning around and continuing to walk. "Yeah. It's complicated, but basically, I can teleport using shadows. That's the short version. I could go into detail —"

"No, I'm good." I was trying not to feel too envious of the fact that Nico could quite literally teleport using shadows while I was stuck with an annoying-ass glowing hand, but whatever. I guess we get what we get. And on the bright side, literally, it's not like I could do anything with more shadows in the sewers.

Nico nodded respectfully, and we finished the walk to the border in silence.

When we reached the camp, the sun had just finished its ascent over the trees and cabin rooftops. Our cabin glittered like polished gold, and both NIco and I had to shade our eyes.

"Is it that bright on the inside?" Nico asked, squinting.

"No," I said, almost apologetic. "It's just . . . I don't know . . . a regular cabin. Plaster. Metal beams. Bunk beds. I don't know. What's yours like?" I hadn't really had time to see Nico's new cabin, and I was admittedly kind of curious about what a cabin for a son of Hades would look like. Black, probably. Like his sword, although I didn't know if it was possible to make an entire cabin out of Stygian iron. Somebody could probably find a way to do it, but I didn't know how.

He gave me an unreadable look, although I thought it contained a hint of pity. "You haven't left the infirmary at all, have you?"

"I —" I shut my mouth before I could let slip that I'd been sneaking out of camp to see people in Long Island's sewers. "I haven't. Just for mealtimes and at night, and that only started yesterday. Other than that, there's been too many injuries for me to leave."

Nico nodded slowly. "It's . . . dark, I guess. Green torches. An altar, although I guess that's a given."

"Well —" I bit my tongue for a second time. As far as I knew, the dusty altar in the corner of our cabin had gone unused for years, but I didn't know how into Nico was about this whole worshiping thing. "Yeah, I guess it is kind of a given."

If Nico noticed anything unusual in my expression, he didn't care enough to mention it. "The beds are kind of . . . I don't know. They look like coffins. Black. Red sheets. Railings."

"Railings?" I said before I could stop myself. "You guys epileptics, fall out of bed a lot or something?" Then I shut my mouth before I can say anything else, because god, that was rude. But Nico didn't look offended — in fact, he looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Uh, yeah, you could say that."

I relaxed slightly at the fact that I didn't have a Stygian iron sword up my ass. "Cool . . . I should go." I glanced up at the quickly brightening sky and yelped. "I should be gone! See you around."

He nodded. "See you."

Hope is for bullshitters.

Hope (speaking of demigods only) is for little kids from big cabins with a dozen protective older siblings they trust with their life. Little kids who have never seen their brother apologize, say they love them and always will, and walk directly into the path of a furious monster. Little kids who have never had to deal with the crushing workload forced onto them by a cabin (mostly) full of selfish assholes. Little kids who still think that being the child of a god and training to fight monsters is the coolest thing since democracy and lunar missions. Little kids who have never had to deal with the fear and insecurity that comes from having to take care of younger kids — are they going to be okay with me in charge, what if I make the same mistakes the others did, what if I fuck these kids up for life.

In short, hope is for bullshitters.

Still.

When I look at the infirmary — with less than the normal number of patients it would have at any non-war time, only a couple, an actual solid meal in my stomach, and my best friend beside me, I can't help but think that we might pull out of this one after all. That we might be okay. Not what we once were — I wouldn't make us be that for the world. But something better. Something more . . . human.

"You did good here," Jake says softly.

I turn and flash him a smile. "We did good."

He smiles sarcastically, dim lights flashing like silver off his dark flint eyes. "Bullshit. I just cut the bandages. For like, two hours." He shakes out one of his hands. "I mean, it's still cramped, but that's not the point. Mindless busywork, really."

"We all had to do it." I shrug. "It sucks, and even if I do like bandage-cutting — which I don't — I'll take any help I can get."

"Fair enough." Jake steps away from me to grab the water bottle he brough, tilts his head back, and chugs the entire thing. "So, I'm assuming you didn't go to see Rowan."

My face burns slightly, and I curse myself for the fact that Jake somehow had the power to make me ashamed. "Um. No."

He snorts. "Of course." He crumples the water bottle with a crackling sound that sends the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. "I didn't really think you would."

"Then why'd you walk away?" I ask.

"Because I was tired." Jake shrugs. "I trust you are familiar with the concept?"

"Yeah, but —"

"Look, Will." Jake's voice softens and his eyes lock onto mine with something almost like gentleness. "I don't know what the hell was up with your bed — or with the wall — but I swear on my cabin's grave, I don't remember doing it."

"And I don't remember trying to kill you," I mutter. "It's still murder if you don't remember."

"And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup." Jake tosses the water bottle in the nearest trash can without even looking. "Speaking of the vandalization of Cabin 7, is all the shit still there?"

"No."

Both of us yelp with surprise, leaping and spinning around, because we did not just say that.

Nico is leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. He's smirking in a very self-satisfied yet creepy way, scuffing one black combat boot against the knotty pine boards.

Judging by the way Jake's glaring at him, he wants to punch that unsettling smirk right off of Nico's face and into next week. "What do you want?"

"Jake," I say in a warning tone. I hardly even know Nico, but for some reason, I don't want Jake glaring at him like that. Something to do with the way he sat with me all night, not saying anything but not needing to. It's the mark of a friend, that's what it is, and friends don't let friends insult friends. As no one ever said.

Jake glares at me for a moment, then relents. "I mean . . . yeah. What I just said."

I roll my eyes. "How do you know none of the shit is there anymore?" I ask.

"Because I cleaned it," he says casually.

Jake and I glance at each other, more confused than ever. Why was Nico in my cabin, why did he clean everything, when was this, why would he do us this small favor? Why, why, why.

"I'm gonna need a bit more of an explanation than that," I warn him, my hand inching toward the dagger on my belt. I've been keeping it there — chances are I won't need it, but it's nice to have it, and to know that it's there — kind of a security blanket.

"And get off the doorframe," Jake adds. "You don't look cool, and that can't be comfortable."

I shoot him an annoyed look, but Nico doesn't seem offended. Instead, he pushes himself off the doorframe and steps into the infirmary. "Should we go somewhere else?" he asks, nodding toward the handful of sleeping patients.

I normally don't mind having private conversations around sleeping people — especially considering if it's patients, they're usually sedated — but curfew's soon, and we might as well get out of here.

I jerk my head toward the door. "Come on. I know a spot by the lake where nobody goes."

I shouldn't be telling them this — I shouldn't be taking them to the spot by the lake. Hell, I shouldn't be going there myself. But it's true that people generally avoid it, and I know they won't notice us talking there. They're all preoccupied with Capture The Flag or some other bullshit, including Kayla and Austin. Jake and I got a break to work in the infirmary (yay). I don't know what Nico said to convince them, or maybe they were just too scared to make the son of Hades do anything.

But he goes with me now without protesting, as does Jake.

The camp is empty when we walk through it — nobody's swordfighting or canoeing or hanging out inside their cabins. They must be off in the woods hunting monsters or something.

"Glad we got a free pass from that one," Jake mutters. I flash him a smile.

"A free pass from what?" Nico asks. I curse under my breath — he was so quiet, I almost forgot he was with us.

"Nothing, really, we just hate the 'games' they play after dinner," I explain. "Stupid bullshit, really. Neither of us are particularly good at surviving. It's a miracle we haven't died yet."

Nico nods, and we continue in silence.

The lake is flat and still as glass. The sun, just starting to set, casts a shimmer of red and pink across the dark blue. Smudged clouds blur the outline of a blood-red sun. Most of the sky is a dark yet washed-out blue color, and white sparkles like glitter flakes are scattered across the treeline opposite the lake. Orange sparks flash through the air, blinking in and out of the trees, and I have to smile. I always loved watching the fireflies.

"Fucking incredible," Jake says softly. I glance back at him, but there's nothing sarcastic in his voice or his expression. I wonder how long it's been since he's seen a sunset, and then I have to pause for a second and wonder how long it's been since I've seen a sunset.

"So, is this your spot?" Nico asks, looking around. He doesn't seem to be particularly affected by the sunset, and his face remains as impassive as ever. Dark flashes of blood red from the sun glint in his eyes; the effect is both unsettling and kind of impressive.

I shake my head. "Not really. There's a spot by the edge — come on." I step over a root and walk down to the rocky patch, keeping my eyes trained on the kaleidoscope of colors reflected in the water and not on the jagged rocks where I first learned who has the power to hurt you more than anyone else.

Jake walks up behind me, slipping an arm around my shoulders. "You have some bad memories of this place, huh?"

I glance over at him. "Yeah, I — yeah." I don't know what I have or haven't told Jake about this place — if I ever did tell him anything, I certainly don't remember — but he still knows.

Maybe I'll go into detail one day, but not yet.

Also, my crush's arm is around me, and my thoughts are even more disorganized than usual.

Still, though, even if Jake was just a friend, I have to admit that having someone close to me, supporting me, feels kind of nice.

"This is the spot?" a second voice asks. Nico appears at my other side, blinking as he looks around as if he can't imagine why this much color exists. It's even brighter here, and I have to squint or blind myself. I kind of wish children of Apollo had the ability to look directly at the sun without burning out retinas, but alas, we have to purchase eclipse glasses just like everyone else.

"Y — yeah." I jerk my head at the ground. "We should probably sit down."

The three of us sink to the ground, although Jake keeps his arm resolutely around my shoulders. I can't help but notice the way his eyes flicker towards us, then down to the ground. He traces one fingernail along a groove in one of the rocks, tilting his head. I wonder if he does that intentionally so that his eyes are hidden by shaggy black hair. I know I've done the same thing, and I can't help but wonder when the last time someone put their arms around Nico, or the last time he trusted someone enough to let them. I kind of want to put a hand on his shoulder of something, but I feel like I'm sitting with a deer — one loud noise, or even a tiny twitch, and he'll be gone.

So I do nothing.

"So . . ." Nico says quietly, "I guess I should tell you guys that I let Ryan into the camp."

Both Jake's and my heads snap around like we're the deer, and someone's shot a gun in the woods to our left. "You what?" I say, unsure if I heard him correctly.

Nico snorts. "Did you think I didn't know what happened to Jake? I'm a son of Hades, Will. I know when people are close to death. I could tell that someone was fucked up in the back room of the infirmary. I didn't think anything of it, though — I just figured it was a patient you had to put in there because you didn't have enough cots for everyone."

I lower my eyes. "I don't think that's ever happened . . . and we had a few extra beds."

Nico shrugs. "I don't really know what goes on in the infirmary — that time five minutes ago, that was the first time I've been in there in a while."

"Thanks for the help," Jake grumbles.

"In all fairness, you really only helped the one time," I point out.

Jake rolls his eyes but holds me a little closer for a second. "Shut up, Sunshine."

"Don't you fucking dare —"

"Anyway," Nico interrupts darkly, glaring at the ground, "like I said, Will, I didn't realize you did anything at first. I didn't realize for a while, actually. Then, when it was night, I was out of my cabin, near the border — I don't usually sleep well; I get nightmares, and it's easier for everyone if I just stay awake."

I give him a concerned look. "That's not —"

"Stay out of it!" Nico snaps. Jake shoots him a look like, touchy. "Point is, I found a — a guy near the border. Looked maybe fifteen. Really tall. Leather jacket."

Jake and I exchange looks, and we both know without saying that he's talking about Ryan Ambers. "I'm almost scared to ask," I say, "but what did he say?"

"He said, 'You have to let me in. Your fucking medic tried to kill my little brother."

The bottom drops out of my stomach. "And you let him in?"

"Not from that," he says quickly, as if trying to prove his own innocence. "I didn't trust him, obviously. I've never seen this kid before in my life, and now he wants to get into camp and do . . . something to one of the medics. I didn't know what. And I — I didn't want any of you to get hurt."

"You should have walked away," Jake says quietly. "You should have ignored him and walked away."

Nico gives him a curious look. "Is that what you would have done?"

"Knowing what I know about Ryan . . . yeah."

Nico tilts his head. "I can respect that. Anyway, he says, 'You're the child of Hades, aren't you? Nico di Angelo. You're the one that can sense death. You know someone was close, in the back room of the infirmary. You know it was your buddy that did that.' By then I was confused as fuck, because I had no idea how he knew so much about me. And then he said, 'You know that medic, Will? I know you do, my brother's told me about you two. You know he tried to kill a guy?"

Shame burns my face. "I didn't mean to," I say quietly. "It wasn't — I don't remember."

Jake rubs my shoulder. "We know, Will. We don't blame you."

"Hey!" Nico snaps. "I fucking do! It's his own damn fault. He never should have drunk the alcohol."

"Well, it's not your fucking business, is it?" Jake asks. "You're not the victim here. It's not your right to decide who's at fault. That's between me and Will."

Nico lowers his head. "Whatever — point is, we basically had an hour-long conversation where Ryan explained about you and Jake and Rowan and — and everything."

"And you let him in."

"I did." Nico stares resolutely at us, and we glare silently back. I almost expect one of us to start throwing punches, but three can play this game, and after a while, Nico speaks up again.

"I don't like people who have shit to work out and take it out on someone else," Nico mutters. "You had problems. You drank to ignore them; you made Jake drink too. You tried to kill him. And I can understand holding grudges."

I drop my gaze to the ground. "And did you watch him?"

Nico shakes his head. "No — I swear I didn't. I stood guard to make sure no one saw him — all three of you were out of the cabin. The note wasn't hard to fake — all he needed was a ripped-up paper with blood on it."

I think about asking where he got the blood, but I decide I'd rather not know. "And the charm?"

Nico smiles creepily. "Shadow travel. Like I said. When you were out of the back room, I went in, got the charm. A while later, it showed up on your bed."

"But you cleaned it?" Jake askes, confused. "Why? Weren't you mad at Will? Don't you blame him?"

"Those are two different questions, Mason," Nico says coldly. "I blame him. I do. Am I mad at him? I don't know. Like you said, it's none of my fucking business."

"So you cleaned it," I finish.

"Sort of, yeah. I figured you'd already seen it, and the point was gotten across, and I didn't want you to have to clean it."

Jake and I exchanged yet another glance, honestly confused. "Why?" I ask.

Nico stares at me. "I know you have to spend pretty much every waking moment in the infirmary, obviously. I know you're exhausted. I'm not an idiot. So I waited until none of you were in the cabin, scrubbed it off the wall, threw out the paper; I saw the charm was hidden under your pillow, so I just left it there."

I'm completely silent — I have no idea what to say. Nico could have completely fucked me if Kayla or Austin had seen everything, but he also cleaned it to save me even more exhausting work. That was . . . some news.

Nico di Angelo continued to infuse me more than ever.

But I was here, not working, distracted from my exhaustion, Jake's arm wrapped around my shoulder, and, really, I'd been in worse situations.

Jake broke the silence. "Should we head back?"

I sighed. "Hell, let's just stay here. See how long it takes for them to come yelling at us."

Nico rested his head on his arms. "I can live with that . . . I wouldn't want to stay with them anyway."

The sun has been steadily creeping toward the glassy surface of the lake, and now there's just a tiny crescent above the horizon. As we watch it steadily sinks below. More stars are scattered now as pale pink and blue spreads over our heads. Bright treads of orange and red are woven through the frost clouds touching the lake.

I don't know why I'm allowing it, but I lean into Jake, letting my head fall against his shoulder. It's a bad idea, and I might be in hot water for it later, but I don't care. I forgot how much I loved having someone to lean on, someone to hold me, and it's even more amazing when I remember that the person holding me is the person who I recently forced into drinking and tried to kill, the person who's somehow managed to forgive me and has even defended my actions. The same actions that came so close to resulting in his death that the son of Hades sensed it.

I don't know why he's still sticking with me, but he is. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

I don't even realize it at first, but Nico's leaned over, and his temple is lightly resting against my shoulder. His eyes are tightly shut, and his expression is agonized, as if he's fighting everything in him to stay next to me.

I don't question it. I don't try to talk to him. I don't put an arm around him, although I'd kind of like to. I just stay silent and appreciate the moment for what it is.

The three of us stay together by the lake until the sky is indigo and the Milky Way is a bright spray across the darkness.

I hope you get your ballroom floor

Your perfect house with rose red doors

I'm the last thing you'd remember

It's been a long, lonely December

I wish I'd known that less is more

But I was passed out on the floor

And that's the last thing I remember

It's been a long, lonely December

— "December," Neck Deep