Cross-posted on FanFiction, AO3, and Spacebattles

Emiya scanned the rainy horizon one last time. Nothing remained other than dark clouds and the glowing crawl of New York City. He had sent Sally below to spend the celebration with the girls.

"Arty's been tattle-telling, or I guess, has already tattle-told about the change in New York. Has it ever crossed your mind to be a bit more subtle? Especially about, you know," a cheery voice suggested, "this?"

Emiya pivoted, his steps rippling the puddled mix of rusty, golden sand. Each step, as his heels lifted from the thin film of water, left a swirling mess of the glitter-esque substances. Some sank like falling snow to the bottom, while the rest clumped in sheets on the surface, spinning as they broke apart from the oncoming drizzle.

"I take it, you enjoy slicing and dicing them?"

"They're an eyesore," Emiya shrugged, inspecting the smear of monster dust staining his elbow. "Would you rather I shoot them down? That would be much more conspicuous, would it not?" Wiping away the grime, he tilted the brim of his umbrella, unveiling the figure of a blonde man with sunglasses and earbuds.

"Hmm, you have a point. But why do you even bother?" Apollo mused. "Wait, don't tell me… you soft-hearted bastard! Can't stand to leave the children to their devices, can you?"

"Or maybe I don't like monsters spreading their reek."

"I'm sure that's the reason. Anyway, what's the locket for?

"It nullifies all of Lamia's tracking magics," extending his palm beyond the cover of his parasol, Emiya rinsed away the golden sand from his fingertips. "And you? Why the visit? I wasn't expecting or looking forward to a slacker to swing by."

"You wound me," Apollo grinned before pointing at Emiya, who was drying his freshly cleansed limb, "You sure it worked? Seems to me that pests had come knocking."

"Oh," Emiya flicked his hand before pocketing it, "it worked just fine. I had the brat make a call before wearing the pendant, which attracted some nuisances. But it worked. These were from before the spell was disrupted. There would've been a much larger swarm, otherwise."

"Ahh. Well, congratulations. Maybe I should commemorate this moment with a poem, eh? Maybe even a haiku. A Japanese poem for a Japanese ancestry, if your name is anything to go by. What do you say? Quite the honor, isn't it—"

"I'm fine."

"—After all," Apollo blabbered on, undisturbed, "it's not every day that Lamia's spells are countered."

"…I'm good. You can keep those artistic expressions to yourself," Emiya felt his eyebrow tick. Repetition builds resistance. Yet, despite being subjected to hundreds of Apollo's poems, for some incomprehensible reason, he failed to build a tolerance towards the poisonous syllables that sprouted from the man's mouth. "I'm sure your poetry is meant for better ears."

Apollo clicked his tongue. "Your loss. I'll go read them to Arty. She'll love them."

"Right. I'm sure Artemis is craving for middle school poetry," Emiya rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Apollo?"

"Well, Zeus has been pissed," the man answered offhandedly.

Emiya scoffed. "And when is he not?"

"The weather, Emiya. The weather. It's been raining for over a week now," Apollo pointed at the inky sky. "The last time this happened was two years ago. When that Thalia girl died."

"Thalia, huh…" Emiya muttered, tasting the name. "…And? What's the occasion now? He couldn't keep it in his pants a second time? And Hades went after some kid again?"

"Well, yes and no."

Emiya stared at him. "Seriously?"

"That Thalia kid has a younger brother, apparently. But Hades doesn't know. Anyway. That is beside the point. I came for something else," Apollo waved, pulling out his earbuds. "I'd say my memory is pretty darn good, but who knows, maybe I've been a teeny bit negligent. So, remind me, have you ever received my blessing?"

Emiya blinked. "No."

"You sure?"

"If I did, I certainly don't feel blessed."

"Rude," Apollo clicked his tongue before muttering, "wouldn't have granted it even if you begged."

"Wouldn't have accepted even if you offered."

Apollo flipped him off. "What about any other Olympians? I know you've had a run-in with Dite. But besides her, nobody else has been grumbling about a kindergartener throwing thousands of tiny, magical swords in their face. Has anybody else blessed you?"

"Unless their blessings all happen to be duds, then no," Emiya huffed. "I've been on babysitting duty. Haven't left me with many opportunities to bump into gown-up toddlers playing gods, if you haven't noticed."

"Hard to notice anything with all the mist around you," Apollo grumbled, ignoring his last comment. "Well… You see, for the past weeks or so, there's been quite the spectacle occurring in NYC. Midnight. Sudden… Uncontrolled. Like sparks in the dark."

"And?"

"…Except it wasn't light. Or anything visible, for your information," Apollo hummed. "…It was divinity."

Emiya waited as the rain pattered against his umbrella. "…Oh?"

"Familiar yet foreign," Apollo mumbled, stroking his chin. "Like a mix of all our divinities—of all the Olympians and more. But despite the uncanniness… it wasn't ours."

"Ah. That would drive your old man crazy, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed. As far as he could tell, a bunch of imposters were gathering right beneath his nose. And even worse," Apollo paused and smiled with a curious tilt of his head. Even through the shades, Emiya could tell that the man was studying him. "…it was untraceable."

Emiya hummed. It almost seemed like Apollo was thoughtful. And Apollo was never thoughtful. He was a slacker. A playboy. A self-proclaimed artist who spends his days researching for inspiration, only to churn out crap. But he was a god, and knowledge flowed to him like rivers converging to seas. He never had to live arduously—think arduously.

Yet, at this moment, the man stood across from him with a sense of contemplation that did not belong.

"Quite curious, is it not? Because, as far as I'm aware, in this city," Apollo removed his sunglasses and pinned them to his collar. His sharp blue eyes burned into Emiya's. "…There is only one individual concealed from the gods to this degree."

"Oh?" Emiya drawled. "And who would that be?"

"…An item that nullifies Lamia's spells, was it?" He asked, ignoring Emiya's question. "Say, does it happen to do more than that? Like…" Apollo squinted at him, as if trying to find the right words," …voiding the mist itself?"

Emiya tilted his head. "And what if it does?"

"Well, with how dense it is around you…" a smile gradually stretched Apollo's lips as the water beneath his feet started to ripple outwards, "even a god in their true form can be hidden."

The rain lashed against the ground.

Across from Emiya, Apollo's figure began to glow, overwhelming the slow-blinking red of the aviation lights. "We both know you aren't human. But I wonder…"

With a click, Emiya collapsed his umbrella. Perhaps he could have reinforced it, but the gale would lift him off the roof—another inconvenience of his childish stature.

"…Just how far do you deviate from a mortal."

"You do realize," the boy deadpanned, the drizzle stinging pleasantly against his skin as he ran a hand through his glossing locks, sweeping them backward, "that if you proceed, and I was a good old mortal all along, I would be dead."

"Oh, it's alright," the man grinned, tapping his temple. "After all—"

The droplets that clung to Apollo's form sizzled into cloudy wisps. In a burst, all the light in the world gathered around him.

"—My intuition is never wrong."

And he entered divine form.

The blinding radiance was there. Then it was gone.

Sally stared out of the glass wall as the world returned to darkness, the twinkle of the city rendering sluggishly as her eyes readjusted.

"Wow!" The unanimous cheer from the children jolted Sally back to reality.

"Quick, count how many seconds before the thunder arrives!" Rachel nudged Percy.

"Huh? Oh, right!" Her daughter bobbed her head as she stared through the window. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi…"

Rachel joined the fray, planting herself on the carpet alongside Percy as they squinted outside, counting in a diligent chorus.

Smiling at their rocking forms, Sally's mind drifted back to the "lightning" they witnessed. There was a nagging sense at the back of her mind telling her something was wrong. Frowning, she sifted through her thoughts, searching for clues that fed into her uneasiness.

The flash, it had seemed extraordinarily close…

"…Eighteen Mississippi, nineteen Mississippi, twenty Mississippi—"

"—twenty-one Mississippi—wow, this is gonna be a big one, Perce—twenty-four Mississippi…"

That's it.

Sally sprung from the sofa, startling Rachel and Percy into a stuttering mess. "I'll be back, girls."

As she hurriedly exited the living room, Sally heard Rachel's confused whisper of "girls?" and Percy's jumbled squeaks. Yet, she kept going, rushing down the hall with no time to dwell on her slip-up.

Without a doubt, the "lightning" had been close, almost as if it were directly on top of their heads. The thunder that followed should've reached in an instant. But it took too long. The girls had counted twenty-four seconds—and more by now if they hadn't been interrupted.

Sally slid into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and sped back down the corridor. And now, the lightning would've had to be five or six miles out. Yet, still, she heard nothing that resembled the rumbling of thunder.

Sally would like to believe she knew her mythology well—at least much better than the average person. It had become a necessity once she learned the identity of her child's father. Late nights were spent flipping through musty pages, studying stories that would help the kicking baby in her womb. Among the many tales that stood out, Sally recalled one that resembled her experience. One god. One mortal. It was the meeting between two lovers: Semele and Zeus. The princess had asked the god to show her his true form.

And she had perished—consumed by his divine radiance.

For some reason, when Sally recalled that soundless and overwhelming flare, she couldn't help but reach that conclusion. The week had gone too well. The day had seemed like a dream. If so, wasn't bad luck bound to follow? She knew her superstitions were unfounded. That this might merely be her paranoia. That she was jumping to the worst conclusion.

But that light…

Sally stomped into her sneakers, hopping towards the door on one foot, gripping a knife in one hand while pulling on her heels with another. If she had to imagine how the gods manifested their true forms…

Righting herself from a stumble, she twisted the handle.

Then, without a doubt…

The door swung open, and she burst into the foyer.

That monochromatic flare was their divine form—

"Whoa," said a voice.

Her stomach slammed into a short obstacle. Her wrist was ensnared in a steady grip, locking her flailing knife. And as she wheezed, recovering from the winded impact, the familiar notes of rustic fragrance and freshly laundered sheets enveloped her—more potent, like the aftermath of a passing storm.

"Now, now," the voice said, laced with amusement. "I remember telling you to spend time with the kids. Not this—running around like a stabbing and slashing, murder-induced headless chicken. Even preschools teach their brats not to play with scissors, let alone a sharp blade."

She gasped, recognizing who it was. "Emiya…!"

"Yes, Sally?" His calm tone carried a mirthful hint that soothed her pounding chest.

Loosening her grip and allowing the boy to remove the knife, Sally looked down as Emiya took a retreating step with the kitchenware. Her eyes scanned his figure, searching for signs of injury. To her relief, aside from his damp hair and darkened shirt, nothing seemed out of place. "You're… you're not hurt?"

"Should I be? Ah," the boy opened his arms to his sides, holding her knife and his umbrella on either end as if presenting himself to an audience. "Perhaps you were hoping that I was? A wound here and there. Maybe scorched and burned from that little light show?"

"What, no! I was worried—" She shut her mouth abruptly, shooting the smirking boy a stern glare. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Hm, yes," a breath that bordered on a chuckle escaped him, "I'm fine. There is nothing to worry about, Sally. Why don't we head back inside?"

Clenching her lips, Sally blurted out her concerns. "Are you really unharmed? That light… was it… was it a god?"

A flicker of surprise entered the boy's amber pools. "Really, you are too keen for your own good," he clicked his tongue, scanning the blade he confiscated. "And if it was—a god—what were you going to do? Stab them with this? An ordinary kitchen knife? I understand it's a quality make, but I wouldn't place such tremendous confidence in it."

"A-Ah well, I was in a hurry," Sally blushed. "W-wait… So there really was a god!?"

"Hm? Well, yes. That was the implication."

"Y-You fought?" Her heart seized. "The god—you fought the god?"

"Hah, no," the boy drawled, "there was no fighting. He was acting recklessly and made a scene. Just your typical god behaving like an overgrown toddler."

Sally gaped. He was taking this way too casually. "…Did he… Did he enter his true form?"

The boy didn't answer her immediately, opting to study her carefully instead. After a while, he sighed, "You really are too sharp."

"Ah," Sally uttered dumbly, "so it really was… How are you… How are you fine? I thought you weren't a god. You said you weren't, at least…"

The boy hummed, "Let me give you some advice, then." Shaking his head, he made his way around her. "A mortal's soul is of a lower standing to a god, even if it's the weakest of their kind. Hence, the lethality from witnessing their divine forms directly and in proximity. Doing so would kill you, sending you straight to Hades' realm."

"…I've read," Sally gulped, "in some iterations of the myth, that it incinerates the person and kills them…"

"Yes, that happens. However, it's the reverse."

"Reverse?"

"It is not the flame that kills the subject," the boy shrugged, swinging his tight-wrapped umbrella in a diagonal arc, ridding it of clinging water. "The subject perishes. Hence, they catch ablaze. It is a theatrical aftereffect and nothing more."

Sally chewed her lips skeptically. "That sounds… awfully excessive?"

"Oh, it is. But it's true. And it's true because there is a simple solution to facing their divine forms that proves it so."

Sally pivoted, following the boy as he stepped past the entrance. Their figures were flooded by the luminous chandeliers of the residence.

"Your eyes are windows to your soul. And your soul cannot withstand the existence of an entity as theirs," he glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze. "The key is to avoid direct visual contact with their bodies. Do that, and you'll be just fine."

She watched him turn away with that ever-present smirk. The chorus of children became clearer as they strolled further inside. Somehow, the girls were still counting, waiting diligently for the booming clap that would never come.

Deep down, as Sally made certain to take Emiya's instructions to heart, she couldn't help but wonder…

Atop that soaring roof...

And in those silver-curtained mists...

Had the boy shut his eyes?

The grand hall of Olympus was gloomy as the weathered stewed outside steadily—as it had been for the past week and a half. Amidst the never-ending ambiance that trickled from the ledges of the Parthenon, leisured steps echoed through the vast chamber. They grew louder as they approached the open-ended encirclement of massive thrones.

With music drumming in his ears and rocking his sunglasses, Apollo strolled to the center of the hall and stopped. He met the oncoming frown with a carefree smile. "I found nothing, Lord Zeus."

"…Nothing at all?" The bearded man scowled, and a static wave pulsed through the space.

Apollo felt his hair stand as the power swept over him.

"Not even prophecies or… anything from the Fates?" Zeus pressed.

"Nope," Apollo popped the word, satisfied as he felt his father's brewing frustration tick up by a notch. "You know how it is with my Oracle. Hasn't been the same since Hades cursed her all those years ago. She can barely speak in phrases these days."

"Apollo," Zeus stared at him skeptically, "did you at least attempt?"

"Of course I did, father," Apollo shook his head in exasperation. His father was too distrustful. Who did he think his son was? He was Apollo—the star of Olympus, the genius, the visionary, and the ever-trusty sun god! "You should've seen the poor thing. Only skin and bones now. Even my music and poetry failed to elicit anything more than a shudder! And I played and sang for hours to boot!"

To his satisfaction, his father sucked in a breath, understanding Apollo's efforts. "…I see. We… shouldn't strain the Oracle too much. Let's leave her to her devices. I'm sure she will be more informative when the time comes."

Apollo nodded, pleased that Zeus had dropped the matter so swiftly. While it was odd how considerate his old man suddenly was, he couldn't care less. Perhaps even the unsympathetic Zeus found his Oracle's curse too cruel. Making a mental note to read more poems to the poor mummified girl, he clapped his hands giddily, "Anything else, Father?"

"…The Fates?" Zeus grumbled, shifting on his throne almost a bit uncomfortably.

"Oh, you know how they've been," he shrugged. "The same loony bunch since a couple years back, nothing's changed. Still as annoying as ever. I say we get rid of them."

"Bah!" Zeus waved dismissively, sparks running through his beard, "As you always do, Apollo. And as much as I share the sentiment, they are still needed. Just drop it."

"Was worth a try," Apollo shrugged.

Zeus hummed, tapping the handrest in irritation, "Report if you've made even the slightest progress on your investigations. I want to know anything and everything. And as soon as possible. Am I clear?"

"Of course, of course."

"I shall smite this usurper myself…" The king of gods muttered before grunting at Apollo, "You're dismissed."

"Then, by your leave, Lord Zeus," Apollo delivered an exaggerated bow, knowing it'd further irk his father. He straightened himself, flashing his teeth at the annoyed man. Before the inevitable zap could reach him, Apollo's body exploded in a burst of light, banishing the shadows of the throne room. Somewhere in the background, the inaudible curse of Zeus reached his ears as he vanished from the great hall.

Percy gave her alarm a light smack as she mumbled groggily to the sunlight creeping through the blinds. It was too early, so the girl rolled over, throwing her leg around the giant Orca plush, and reburied her face into the pillow. Her nose scrunched as she pressed herself into a slick patch of softness.

She shuddered. And immediately, her body was in motion.

The tomboy sprung up like a spring-loaded toy, sitting rigidly on her mattress as she wiped furiously at her cheeks, trying to rid herself of the lingering drool. After a while, the girl crawled back to the headboard, jerking two pieces of napkins as she pressed them into the spot of saliva. She threw a quick jab into the pillow, her fist sinking deep as she taught the offending bedding a lesson: Percy Jackson was not to be trifled with.

How dare it ambush her with yucky drool, and this early in the day, no less.

Light taps sounded in her room. She perked up. Sending her blanket flying, Percy leaped off the bed and scuttled to the door. She knew who it was without asking. Gabe doesn't rise this early, and he lacks the manners to knock. Therefore, it had to be her mom.

"Hey sweetie," Sally greeted her, stepping inside and locking the knob. She bent over Percy and ran her fingers through the girl's bedhead, sifting through the tangled strands.

Percy yawned as her mother removed the stray curls that still hadn't found their way out of the corners of her mouth.

With a satisfied nod, Sally straightened herself. "Are you ready for school?"

"…School?" Percy asked, cleaning the saliva off her hair. She needed to get a haircut soon.

Sally nodded with a barely concealed smirk. "You're a fourth-grader now!"

Percy blinked. "Fourth-grader?" She didn't like the sound of that.

"Yup," Sally beamed, "I'm so proud! You made it through third grade!"

"Ugh…" Wariness began to bubble within Percy as the situation dawned upon her. In one last desperate attempt, she tried to feign ignorance, "What… um… what does that have to do with fourth grade?"

"Sweetie, when you finish third grade you move to fourth grade. And today's your first day of school as a fourth grader!" Sally smiled with a happy twinkle in her eyes. "You're going to do great, sweetie. I can feel it." Her mom finished with a pump of her fist.

Percy shuddered, unable to share the sentiment. "Uh…"

"Breakfast is on the counter," Sally turned to leave before pausing, "Oh, and don't forget to wear the locket."

"Okay," Percy nodded with a sigh. "I'll be out in a minute, Mom."

Looking down, she fished her blue pendant out of her pajamas and gave it a kiss. It was warm to the touch, emanating her body heat as if it was a part of her all along—inseparable and irreplaceable. Her mom constantly reminded her to always wear it. In Percy's opinion, it was unnecessary nagging because she hadn't once separated from the present since her birthday, and she was determined it stayed that way.

Breakfast had been blueberry pancakes and syrup. It couldn't compare to Emmie's cooking, but it's what her mom made, so she ate it with her usual gusto. Tiptoeing out of the apartment to avoid rousing Stinky Gabe, they were off to school in the busy metropolitan streets.

"Alright, sweetie," Sally smiled, her steps coming to a stop. "Here we are."

Standing outside the fenced school grounds, a mixture of apprehension and excitement brewed in Percy's stomach as she held her mom's hand. She decided to express those feelings in an agonized groan.

"Hey now," Sally lowered herself to Percy's level and pulled the girl into an embrace.

An embarrassed heat crawled up Percy's face and she squirmed as the almost palpable stares of passing kids pricked her skin.

"You'll do just fine. I know you will," Sally patted her back and let go. "Plus, you've done some studying with Rachel over the break, haven't you?"

She perked up, a sliver of reassurance entering her eyes.

"You've got this, sweetie," Sally grinned, and the girl felt the churning in her guts ease. "Do your best and go kick some butts."

With a resolute nod and a jerky wave, Percy bid her farewell. Puffing her chest out, she marched forth, towards the battlefield of pencils and paper. Her mom was right. She could do it. Rachel had been helping with her studies during the breaks between their adventures. Even Emmie popped in for a pointer here and there—it happened that whenever he did, it was to correct his sister's mistake, much to Rachel's embarrassment.

Percy was uncertain whether she should be upset at being dumber than someone four years younger or be content that she wasn't the only one who felt that way. Rachel never failed to disappoint in rearing loud yet ineffective protests against her brother, especially when her "big sister authorities" were threatened. Being the diligent and loyal friend, Percy had followed the redhead's charge ceaselessly, only for both to come scurrying back—in what Rachel had stubbornly declared as tactical retreats despite Percy's skepticism—and huddled in their little corner, licking wounds left by sharp and complicated words.

"All bark and no bite" was the phrase the boy had dispatched them with.

At least they understood its meaning. What a rare instance that had been.

Often, the insults were so beyond their elementary school minds, that they would spend afternoons hiding in discrete bases of operations—random spots in the penthouse that Rachel deemed their strategic mobile outposts—decoding what the boy had said as they huddled over a dictionary. Occasionally, an angry hiss or frustrated wriggle would escape them as they deciphered yet another insolent word.

Percy had flipped through the dictionary more times this summer than she had her entire life. As a result, her vocabulary had improved by leaps and bounds. It wasn't on Rachel's level, and she doubted she'd ever match Emmie and his snark, even if she was given a hundred more years. However, her repertoire was catching up to the average kid her age—and that was progress she couldn't be happier with.

"Perce!"

Jolted out of her thoughts, Percy looked up to see Rachel waving exaggeratedly on the steps leading to the school's entrance. Behind her friend was a shorter redhead, Emmie, who simply dipped his chin in acknowledgment, a stark contrast to his sister's bubbling energy.

"Rachel! Emmie!" Percy grinned, bounding up to the siblings.

"Morning!" Rachel returned with enthusiasm as she hopped off the steps, landing before Percy. "Man, I hope we're in the same class this year."

"Huh?" Then, the realization dawned upon her: class selection. They were seemingly randomized. The only pattern Percy noticed was that the troublesome students always appeared to be spread evenly throughout the different homerooms. The same went for the studious kids. It was as if the school was trying to balance them. Never had she been this grateful to be considered one of the problem children, because this significantly raised her chances of ending up with Rachel. "Ughh… I completely forgot about that. You think they put us together?"

"They better!" Rachel huffed, crossing her arms.

"Now," Emmie interrupted as he nudged Rachel to the side.

The latter retaliated by jumping on him and hanging off like a clingy monkey to a tree. If only her friend hadn't been noticeably larger than her baby brother, then maybe the kids passing by would stare less.

Or not.

After all, Percy had only ever seen such displays between little kids—whom she was clearly not, now that she was ten years of age—and their parents, and not between an older sister and their younger brother. Thankfully, she's long since acclimated to the scrutiny of others, so she wasn't particularly bothered by the flurry of looks they were attracting.

"Before the two of you get carried away," the boy strode up to her with his sister piggybacked to him, nibbling on his auburn locks. "Here."

Reactively, Percy reached out, accepting the beige nylon bag with both hands. It was hefty and she could feel the rigid outlines of containers through the insulated fabric.

"Your snacks and lunch. It's the same as Rachel's," he jabbed his thumb into the girl wrapped around him, eliciting a startled squeak as she released a tuft of wet, chewed-up hair. "And she'll show you how to reheat them, if necessary."

Ignoring Rachel's bickering in the background, Percy grinned dumbly at the packed lunch, licking her lips despite having breakfast not long ago. "Thanks!" She beamed at the boy.

Maybe school would be just fine, after all.

"Is Lacy still attending school? Or is she staying at Camp year-round?" Sally asked, stirring away at her iced tea. It had been over a week since Percy began her semester, and her daughter was doing great. There were no more fake smiles or forced bravado that Percy put on for the sake of reassuring her. And she knew exactly who she owed her thanks to.

"For now, I'm having her stay at Camp," Robert sighed, sipping on his own drink across from her. "Apparently, the Cyclops was a rare case. Monster appearances have—according to Chiron—dropped to historic lows in a little bit over the past year. We'll see, if the trend persists, I'll probably move her back to school. Some of the other kids have been expressing similar opinions."

"Similar opinions?" Sally was a bit dumbfounded. Given the slightest opportunity, Percy would be out of school before the teachers could blink. Apparently, that trait might be exclusive to her daughter.

"When I was there, some of the more adventurous or smarter kids—especially this one called Annabeth—had been very vocal about it."

"Smart?" Sally guessed that was another difference between demigods.

"She's a child of the goddess of wisdom…" Robert furrowed his brows, a hint of hesitance in tone. "…I've been told."

"…Wait, wait, wait," Sally raised her hands in a pause. "The goddess of wisdom? Of craft and warfare? Patron of heroic endeavors? One of the Olympians?"

Robert sighed like he knew where the conversation was headed. "…I believe so."

Glancing around furtively, Sally coughed into her fist and continued in a whisper. "I mean no disrespect… but wasn't she supposed to be a… you know?"

"Brainchild, apparently."

"Oh."

"Like how her mother's birth came to be in the myths."

"Oh," Sally blinked, momentarily lost on what to say. "That's… cool, I guess?"

"Right. Anyway," Robert pursed his lips, "how's the progress with the lawyer? Have you at least gotten in touch?"

"We've spoken a few times by now. Currently, we're preparing the documents and evidence needed for the divorce." Opening her tote bag, Sally gestured at a sizably packed folder. "In fact, I'll be seeing him right after with these."

Over the past month, wishing to not intrude on the Dares any further, Sally had reconnected with Robert, giving him a rundown of her predicament. Given their shared encounter with the Cyclops, the man had been more than eager to help. According to him, he had yet to repay her for saving him from the incident. Not that introducing her to an attorney would ever suffice in his books, but he said this was somewhere to start. He even paid for the fees, an overwhelming twenty thousand dollars that Sally could never hope to scrouge. If she had that money, she would've long since bought a few more firearms and hid them around their house.

"There's been good progress, then?" Robert asked.

"Yep. This is the last of the bills—rent, electricity, water, and tuition," she exhaled long and slow, another piece of weight lifted off her chest. "After this… Well, after this, we start going over the evidence."

Briefly, Robert's gaze drifted to her bandaged arm before he looked away with a sigh. "…We could always try to expedite this… through more… direct means if you want."

"Well," Sally smiled, looking down at the injury—another addition amongst many that she was carrying. "I don't want any loose ends… If he's to go, it must be completely. And locked up behind bars for as long as possible."

"…If you insist," he sighed again. "But please. Be careful. And if you need anything, I'm always available."

"I'm home," Sally called as she closed the door behind her. Voices of grumbling men and cards slapped against surfaces reached her before she could remove her shoes. The room was musty with cigarettes and sweat. Changing into slippers, she passed the men playing poker on the couches, greeting them as she headed behind the kitchen counters.

"You're back late…" Gabe said gruffly, not bothering to hide his irritation. Lazily, he brought his arm up. The reddish embers of the burning cig pinched between his stubby fingers brightened as he took a slow puff. His friends glanced between them and lowered their gazes back onto their cards.

Pursing her lips, Sally flipped on the faucet, letting the cold tap run over her hands as she waited patiently for the man to continue. She moved about the kitchen, producing ingredients from the fridge as she started on dinner. It was the best way to appease the man—to show him that she was diligent in her "duties."

"…Again," he finished, expelling a cloud of smoke that obscured his face in the dimly lit space.

"Sorry Gabe, I was held up by work," Sally put on a smile with ease, knowing his beady eyes would surely catch on to her expression. "The staff after me was on sick leave, so I was asked to cover for her."

Gabe grunted, his eyes scanning her suspiciously. "Extra shifts, huh? You've been out a lot lately, Sally. What are you really up to?"

The whispering of the men ceased. If the room was already quiet before, now, it was dead silent.

Sally's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. "Just trying to make ends meet, Gabe. I want to make sure we have enough to get by. I even picked up some of your favorite beer on the way back." She pulled a six-pack from her tote bag and set it on the kitchen counter, hoping it would be enough to distract him.

Gabe's eyes flicked to the beer, and she saw a flicker of interest. "Yeah? You know I like the good stuff."

"Only the best for you," she said, her voice steady. "I thought we could have a nice evening together. I'll make the dips for you and the boys, and dinner will come after that. Chimichurri tonight."

"Chimichurri?" He seemed to consider this, his gaze softening slightly. "Fine. But next time, don't be so late. You know I don't like it."

"I know, Gabe. I'm sorry," Sally said, relief washing over her as she moved to sit down beside him. "But see? The extra shift is pretty nice, isn't it? Got your extra beer and the steak to go with it."

He grunted in response, taking a long swig of his beer. The tension ebbed away, and the chattering of men resumed.

Sally exhaled through her nose, trying to relax. In truth, the splurge for food and beverages came from Percy's eating expenses. Emiya had been packing lunch and making dinner for the girls, even bringing Sally food on the occasions they met. It was only a temporary solution, but for now, it was enough to keep the peace.