"Okay, I know this is controversial, but I have to say: smash."

Percy's jaw dropped open, and he guffawed. "Seriously? Smash?"

Anastasia pointed the bottle of vodka at him and said, "Okay, okay, but let me explain."

The two of them had made it their mission to explore every crevice of the Cave of the Nymphs, which turned out to be a huge task. It really did seem to stretch under the entire island, although Percy suspected it might stretch even further than that. To ease some of the tension between him and Anastasia–and to get it out of his room–he had brought the bottle of vodka that Thalia left him. The demi-titan had drank a little here and there in her life, so while she was no pro, she was also no stranger to the bottle. To his surprise, drinking actually seemed to help them get along better. He had only experienced people get worse when they drank–becoming narcissistic or abusive or toxic. He had heard that some people became more laid-back and fun under the influence, but that had always seemed like a pipe dream, until now. For once, the two of them were talking and laughing and having a good time like normal people, passing the bottle back and forth.

"I know he smells bad, but that's why Appalling invented cologne," she began.

"Uh, I don't think the sun god invented cologne," he said, refusing to use the nickname she had come up with for him. They were both avoiding powerful names, especially for her sake, but he wasn't completely sold on all the aliases she wanted to use.

"Plus, I want to feel small in his big, strong hands," she plowed on, undeterred. "And a bull is like, top five sexiest animal, easily."

"Ew," he groaned. "Don't ever say that again, ever."

She shrugged. "I could do worse than the minotaur. I want to see what's under those tighty-whiteys."

"Okay, no, bad opinion," he said. "One of your worst. Five sips."

"Five?!" she shouted, but dutifully raised the bottle to her lips. He counted them out in Russian, to her delight. She was giving him lessons in Russian, and he had to say, it was going pretty smoothly. He had never realized it, but he seemed to be a natural at learning languages. He didn't excel in reading or writing, of course, which is what prevented him from doing exceptionally in Chiron's Latin class (that, plus the history lessons), but listening and speaking seemed to be a piece of cake. It certainly didn't hurt that he could tap into her thoughts to help him translate as they went, too.

She smacked her lips together and gave a refreshed sigh, then handed him the bottle. "Alright, it's your turn. The Kindly Ones."

"Nooooo," he groaned, "which one?"

"Your old teacher," she said with a grin. "And remember, if there's even one circumstance where you would, you have to say that, andelaborate."

He swirled the bottle of vodka around, thinking back on his sixth-grade pre-algebra teacher Mrs. Dodds. He definitely found her monster form grotesque, but even when she was disguised as a human, she hadn't been appealing. He just wasn't into mean old ladies with knit hats and leather jackets.

"I have to pass," he said. "Nyet."

"Oh, come on," she protested, "what if she shapeshifted into someone really hot?"

He screwed his face up in thought. "Do I still know that it's her, though?"

"Yes," she said slowly, the wheels turning, "but it's the only way you're going to pass your math class, and if you hit it right, you get extra credit." She wiggled her eyebrows.

He shook his head. "I don't really think that's a fantasy of mine. Sorry."

"Ugh, fine," she said. "Three sips for being lame."

The liquor burned as it slid down his throat, but it didn't hurt as badly as he thought it would. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about vodka yet, but Anastasia apparently loved it. The taste didn't really do anything for him, but now that they were about halfway through the bottle, he was starting to feel warm, and he was opening up more to Anastasia. He didn't think he was drunk–at least, not the way he'd seen other people be drunk–but he was definitely in a good mood.

"You always ask bad ones," he said. "My answers would be more fun if you would just suggest better monsters."

"Okay, like who?" she challenged.

He sauntered over to an outcropping of rock against the cave wall and hopped up onto it. "How about the hydra?"

She scoffed. "The hydra?"

"I like a girl who can multitask," he said with a shrug and a sly grin.

She walked over, slowly shaking her head. "You're not taking this seriously. I take this shit very seriously, Jackson."

"Oh, I am serious."

"Why did you say no to Snakehead but yes to the hydra?" she asked with a laugh.

Eyes bugging, he took another sip. "I couldn't be with someone who had hooked up with my dad."

"Fair, I guess. That eliminates a lot of people." She snatched the bottle from him and fixed him with a half-teasing, half-warning look. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who fantasize about the Sirens."

"Fuck no," he said, then added in Russian, "fuck no," for good measure. "Never, but especially not after getting to see them up close with you. They're kinda disgusting."

She scowled only for a moment before chuckling. "Yeah," she said, and the two laughed together. He was glad that she wasn't arguing or getting defensive right now.

You should bring me vodka more often.

Suddenly, she ripped the bottle from her mouth and pointed at him. "Oh! I have it! Someone you might smash: Charybdis–"

"Charybdis?"

"–but in her original form," she finished. To help him, Anastasia conjured an image of what she knew Charybdis had looked like before Zeus had cursed her to take her current form. Instead of a horrible, gaping maw with braces and an overbite, she had been a beautiful woman with strong muscles and silky flowing hair. Percy had to admit, he couldn't see a reason not to.

"I mean, sure, I guess," he said. "Why did Uncle Z curse her like that?" He groaned. "Is she one of his exes or something?"

"No, no, I don't think so," Anastasia said, wracking her brain. "Oh, it's because–oh…"

Percy's jaw dropped.

"Okay, I forgot–"

"She's my SISTER?" Percy exclaimed.

Anastasia held up her hands in defense. "Hey, my bad." She gave an impish grin. "But, I mean, some people do fantasize–"

"No. Jail. You know what, take six sips for that."

"Hey–"

"As punishment!"

She brought her hand to her cheek. "OhHhH nOoOo," she wailed, then chugged the vodka. When she was done, she plopped the bottle on the ground with a hard thud and bent over backwards, planting her hands on the ground to create a bridge. With liquid courage coursing through her veins, she heaved her legs off the ground and raised herself in a handstand, then separated her legs to form a front-to-back split in the air.

Percy clapped a couple of times. "Not too bad."

"Oh, that's nothing," she said, bringing her legs together again and pushing off into a handspring. She launched into a series of backflips, somersaults, and tumbles, laughing in glee. Percy watched her for a while in idle fascination. He had never seen her act this happily before; the emotion on her seemed jarring, as if joy were supposed to be incompatible with her nature.

His gaze wandered down to the bottle on the ground. He wanted to take another drink, but he didn't want to get up. On a silly impulse, he focused on the vodka inside the bottle, imagining it flying into his hand. He felt a familiar tugging in his gut, but the sensation was dull. To his surprise, the bottle stirred, spinning around and teetering back and forth before finally tipping over and rolling on the ground toward him. He gasped and leapt to his feet, locking eyes with a stunned Anastasia, who had frozen in a bridge.

"No fucking way," she said, her eyes gleaming fiendishly.

He turned his focus back to the bottle on the ground at his feet and willed the liquid to lift the bottle off the ground and fly into his hand. The alcohol wasn't as responsive to his commands as normal water was, but he felt more confident in this state. His will was stronger, he was sure of it. Haltingly, the bottle of vodka began to rise in the air, shakily righting itself, when the alcohol suddenly shot out the opening and swirled in a cyclone above his palm. The bottle dropped to the ground with a thud.

"No!" Anastasia shouted, lunging for the bottle and checking it for cracks.

"Sorry," Percy said, barely registering her concerns to gawk at the vodka tornado in his hand. "Holy shit, dude, how cool is this, though?"

Anastasia sighed deeply. "Okay, I think we're in the clear. They make these bottles very durable." She held out the container to him, and he commanded the vodka back inside. She inspected it for leaks, and, finding none, the two of them cheered.

"Okay,nowI can admit that is a fucking cool power."

"You bet your ass it is," Percy said, puffing his chest. "I have all the cool powers between us."

She scoffed. "There is no possible way you could think that is true."

"Except I can? Because it is?"

"I can literally control people with my singing," she said, hands on her hips.

"Not me, though," he teased.

"Well, you don't count."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, big whoop, you can make people dance or turn them into thoughtless zombies. Not exciting. I can control basically any liquid, apparently–"

"But that's all you can do–"

"No, I can also talk to horses," he protested.

"Well, I can talk to snakes."

"I can breathe underwater and current-travel."

She stomped her foot. "I can do those things, too!" she huffed. "Plus, I can shapeshift into any living person."

"Not for that long, though," he argued, "and you're not that good at it. You could barely keep it up in the Sea of Monsters. If we're measuring cool powers by how useful they are–"

"No, hey, wait," she interrupted, "I've been practicing my shapeshifting. I can do it for a lot longer now."

"Practicing?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "There's not much to do down here. I've been practicing a lot of my abilities."

He gestured broadly with his hand. "Do go on."

She grinned. "Okay, check this out." She conjured a stream of fresh water out of midair and commanded it to form the shape of a pommel horse, then cooled the water until it froze in place.

I can make both, but fresh water is easier,she explained as she lifted herself onto the horse and swung her body around. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"Not bad," he admitted.

"You could never do something like this," she said smugly, sitting down on the bar.

He drew back in surprise. "Yes, I could," he said, commanding water from the nearest lake to himself and copying Anastasia's pommel horse creation. It took a bit more concentration for him to freeze the water than it had for her–for a nerve-wracking moment, he worried it wouldn't work, but then the water turned to ice before him. He crossed his arms in satisfaction.

She shook her head and said, "No, that's not the same. You used water from the lake. I created it out of thin air."

"But you have to do that," he protested. "You can't control water that already exists. You can only control water that you create. Trust me, if I had to choose between the two, I would take my power over yours; it's a lot more useful."

"Then you just lack imagination," she said. "Can you do this?" With a snap, she willed the water she had created to disappear in the blink of an eye.

"I can do you one better," he said, and with a snap, the icy pommel horse he had formed shattered, the fractals flying back to the lake from whence they came.

She vehemently shook her head. "That is not better."

"I disagree."

"No, you don't, you're just arguing for the sake of arguing."

He shot her a shit-eating grin. "I would never, ever do that."

She flipped him off, and he chuckled. She wandered over to the nearby lake.

"I want to go back to the oasis," she said. "Don't forget the vodka."

"Of course I'm on vodka duty, I'm the only one who can take it underwater and still keep it separated," he pointed out. "My powers are more useful."

She ignored him, and he followed her below the surface, whipping off his shirt as he did. The lakes near the edges of the Cave of the Nymphs seemed to be mostly saltwater, whereas the closer to the cave's center they traveled, the fresher the water became. He had a bittersweet relationship with the sea these days; he still felt more energized by it, more intrinsically at home, but being in salt water was also a constant, physical, inescapable reminder of his punishment. He wondered if it would ever stop feeling uncomfortable to have to bare his chest every time he was submerged in seawater.

"Water also strengthens me," he added. "Another point for me."

"I draw energy from water as well," she said. "I just don't use it for violence."

Many of the lakes were connected underground, so Percy and Anastasia had found it was possible to get around the Cave almost entirely underwater if they wanted to. The tunnels were dark, and some were so tight that they had to crawl, but it was doable. Percy, of course, could will the water around himself to propel him forward, but Anastasia had to claw her way through the tight squeezes, a fact he mentally rubbed in.

The water became brackish quickly, and Percy grabbed his shirt out of his back pocket and held onto it uncertainly as they walked through another lake. Brackish water was a toss-up; he was never sure at what point the mark would cause him to double over in pain if he continued to bare it in front of Anastasia. But, on the other hand, if he put on his shirt too soon in water that was still salty, the mark would punish him for that as well. He walked with his shirt clutched in hand for a while until he finally started to feel the drop that accompanied the transition from saltwater to fresh, and he hastily pulled on his shirt, relaxing after a moment when nothing bad happened.

"Can we current-travel now," Anastasia griped.

"Yes," he replied, going ahead and zipping through the underwater channels without waiting for her. They rematerialized within moments of each other at the edge of a small island, dead-center in Melissani Cave. The island sat underneath a sliver of an opening in the cave ceiling that allowed sunlight to shine through, causing the oasis to grow many fruit-bearing trees, a lush explosion of greenery in the midst of an otherwise mostly lifeless expanse. Percy and Anastasia weren't sure what exactly was on the land above, or what people saw if they looked through the crack, but it didn't seem to matter. The Mist did its job.

The beach of the island, if it could be called a beach, was rocky rather than sandy, and the island itself had points of elevation. Percy and Anastasia liked to hang out against a relatively short rocky cliff that overlooked the surrounding water. It was beneath this cliff that they surfaced, strolling onto the thin stretch of land between peak and shore. Percy willed himself dry, then rubbed that in Anastasia's face as well.

Ignoring him, she approached a familiar portion of the cliff wall and ran her fingers along it. She couldn't read it without his help, but on the cliff, he had transcribed the words the Fates had spoken to them in her father's palace in bright blue paint. Next to it, he had also written down the prophecy he had received from the Oracle. He sat with his back against the rock and gazed at the crystal-blue waters as she traced the words with her finger.

After a long silence, he said, "I looked up 'obsequy,' finally." It was the last word of the Fates' riddle that neither of them had understood. He had put it off for a while, but eventually, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. "It's like a funeral, basically. We're marching toward our funeral rites."

"Not ours. Mine," she corrected.

They let those words linger in the air, mulling over the Fates' warning in tandem. Beneath their bitterness and resentment was a growing sense of resignation these days, a subconscious acknowledgment that they could not change what the Fates had decreed for them, and that's simply how it was. Percy always felt like his hard feelings came in second when he was around Anastasia. Her despair, her loss, her sacrifice was so sharp; she was commanded to die at a certain time and place, and she had been granted the knowledge of that time and place, in stark deviation from the normal course of one's destiny. Acutely aware of how that knowledge was impacting her, Percy had to think that perhaps it truly was better not to know.

She had two modes when she became overwhelmed with thoughts of her looming demise: one was to scream and rant and rave about the pointlessness of life and how much she hated her father, and the other was to withdraw within herself, becoming mute, refusing to even communicate through thoughts. Even though Percy was of course aware of everything inside her mind, he knew he would be unable to get her to engage with him when she was in this state, and that was precisely the state she had entered into as she traced the writing on the wall. Nodding toward an unresponsive Anastasia, he walked once more below the water's surface to leave.

"Calli?" he called out, shirt in pocket, willing himself straight downward, deeper into the water. "Calli, are you there?"

In a few seconds, she materialized in front of him, glowing and angelic. She made a motion as if she were going to hug him, then, glancing at his bare torso, seemed to decide against it. He wondered for how long that was going to be awkward.

"Uh, hi," he said with a sheepish grin. He hadn't spent much time talking to Calli lately. For the first few weeks since Anastasia went into hiding, he used to run into her a lot while he was coming and going from the Cave of the Nymphs, but that died off pretty quickly. He had honestly considered that maybe she was avoiding him, just like all the other nereids and naiads.

"Hi, Percy," she said softly. "How have you been?"

"Good," he lied. "Can't complain. You?"

She shrugged. "Oh, you know, keeping busy." She pushed her hair behind her ear and then left her hand there, her fingers tangling themselves in her tresses. The silence between them was heavy. Looking up at him, she asked, "So, how is school?"

"Oh, you know," he said, "awful."

"Oh." She drew back, stunned.

"Yeah, I might be failing some of my classes," he said, rubbing his arm, trying to sound nonchalant. "But who could say?"

She looked sad. "Oh, that's…I'm sorry."

He waved her concern away. "Oh, it's no big deal. I'll turn it around. I've just been…" he considered how to conclude, then said, "going through some shit."

She twirled her hair around her finger thoughtfully. "Maybe Annabeth could tutor you," she said.

"Nah, she's already tutoring Thalia. And she won't even talk to me lately." He realized he was scowling and tried to relax his forehead. "And besides, she's got her own stuff to worry about."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Calli said, reaching out to touch his arm. She hesitated for a moment, hovering over his skin, and when they finally touched, he felt an instant wave of calm emanate from her fingertips. He wasn't sure if the effect she had on him was real or imagined at this point, but it hardly mattered to him.

He smiled at her, trying to mask his sadness. "I've been missing my friends," he said quietly.

She blinked, drawing in a deep breath. "I know the feeling."

He tilted his head. He wanted to ask her why she had been so distant, to tell her he needed her friendship, but he knew he wasn't in the right headspace to say it well. Yet, that didn't seem to matter to his mouth.

"Where have you been for the past couple months?" he asked.

She drew back. "Where haveIbeen?"

"I just haven't seen you around," he said, worried he had hurt her somehow.

"Well, I don't just hang around here waiting for you," she said, crossing her arms. Her words were curt, but her voice was low. For some reason, they were both practically whispering. "You could have come to me."

He winced. "I know."

"All it takes is calling my name."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been…"

When he didn't finish, she arched an eyebrow. "Going through it?" she offered.

"Sad," he said finally. He wished he could come up with a better word, something more articulate, to describe the profound emptiness he had been experiencing. He felt perpetually drained of energy, of emotion, of motivation. He spent countless days and nights aching for someone to comfort him, to understand, but he felt unable to force himself to talk to anyone. He wanted to fight through the fog in his brain and find a way to communicate to her all that he was feeling.

But he had nothing.

Her eyes pierced right through him, as if she could see right into his head, and her lip trembled. Tenderly, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, gently rubbing his back with her hand, carefully laying her face to one side of his chest. He almost felt overcome with emotion, and he didn't know why. He had thought he couldn't say the right things, that it was hopeless to try. He had barely said anything. But it was enough.

They stood like that for a long time, floating in each other's embrace, simply breathing. A school of fish swam by and greeted him excitedly, chattering to each other about the son of the sea god and the nereid. A jellyfish circled them curiously and then swam off. He felt weird about having her in contact with so much of his exposed skin, but he didn't want to move. It wasn't a bad weird, just…different.

She finally lifted her face and gave him a sweet smile. Her eyes looked so mournful.

"I've been worried about you, Percy," she said, her voice thick. "You've seen a certain side of your father lately, something that I was hoping you wouldn't have to experience for a long time yet. When heroes see this side of their parents at this age, it usually doesn't go well. It's hard to grapple with." The hard truth in her words was undercut by the sensation of her lightly tracing circles on his side with her fingers. He found it hard to concentrate. "It's hard for demigods because you get used to your mortal parent. They're the ones who raise you. Then, you meet your godly parent, and they're completely foreign. They can't be to you what a mortal can. They're fundamentally different."

He thought about Aglaophonos on Siren Island acting like Anastasia, who had been gone for seven years, had merely skipped curfew once. He thought about his father's conversation with his wife, and the emergency meeting on Olympus that had immediately followed, and all the safeguards the gods had put in place to keep other demigods in the dark. He thought about Kook trying to convince him that Poseidon was really a good guy, despite it all. Maybe immortals weren't meant to parent mortal children. Maybe it, all of it, was a mistake. Maybe the Fates hadn't gone far enough.

"I always knew my father wasn't going to be a dad to me," he said gruffly. "I don't need him to be that. I just thought…" He took her hand in his so he could focus. "I just thought he would care more about me, is all. I don't need him to parent me. I just thought he would care."

"He does, Percy," she said, so fervently that he was tempted to believe it. "Please don't give up on him because of all this. I know it seems bleak, but it's not hopeless." She let go of him with her other arm and clasped his hand in both of hers. "Things can get better. Things can always get better. You haven't done anything wrong, and people are going to see that eventually. I know you can be the great hero your father needs." She stared intensely into his eyes. "He needs you, Percy.Heneedsyou."

He wasn't fully convinced, but her gaze was so overwhelming that he found himself nodding. "If you say so," he muttered, his voice cracking a bit.

"Hey," she said, softening a bit, her tone becoming a little playful. "I need you. Okay?" One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Not a lot of people that I meet around here stick around. In fact, knowing what I know now, I'm pretty sure a few of them left to join the Great River's cause."

He blinked in surprise. "Wait, really? The people that have abandoned this shore?"

"Not just Long Island," she said, nodding morosely, "but Manhattan, Staten Island, the New Jersey shore. You name it. These are some of the most difficult waters to live in, and some people just couldn't handle it. They resented your father for it."

He studied her face. "Do you?"

She sighed deeply. "Maybe I'm silly. Or maybe I'm just too hopeful, too much of a romantic, I don't know. But I'm loyal, through thick and thin. I believe in people, and I believe in brighter days. I don't want to be here either, but I am because that's where the king wants me, and I won't leave him. I know it's not an easy fix, so I'm choosing to give him grace."

He thought hard for a minute about her words, rubbing her hand with his thumb. "If anyone can change for the better, improve the sea, it's him," he said, "not the titan."

"Exactly."

"And me," he added. "I'm not waiting to convince my dad to give a shit about pollution so that his people don't leave him. I mean, I'm still going to do that, if I can, but I'm also going to do whatever I can to make things better myself." He smiled at her. "I made you a promise, and I meant it. I have some of his nature in me, and powers that are so much bigger than I realized. I think I can figure something out."

She smiled back, but her smile quickly soured. "Percy," she warned, "that's very sweet, but it's dangerous. You'll get sick. It's incredibly toxic. These are some of the most polluted waters in the world."

"I don't care," he protested. "I can't do nothing. I have to try."

She screwed her face up, then relented. "Let me at least show you what you're up against."