The morning sun beat down on the strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood, turning the endless rows of green and red into a shimmering haze.

The camp ran on those fields — literally. Delphi Strawberry Service. A perfectly mundane, completely legitimate cover for a training ground full of demigods.

At the edge of the main field, a small fleet of white vans sat parked in a neat row, each one emblazoned with the cheerful logo of the Delphi Strawberry Service. A few older campers moved around them, loading crates and checking clipboards. The air smelled of ripe fruit and warm earth.

The first batch of the day was destined for the Manhattan market.

Three teenagers stepped out of the lead van. Annabeth and Percy, both 8 years old, moved with the kind of precision that came from years of battle, setting up the booth like soldiers establishing a forward operating base. Two tents, tables, crates, signage, a scale, a cash box, a card reader, a ledger bookkeeper — all placed in under two minutes.

The third figure, smaller and quieter, slipped out behind them. Six years old. Connor Stoll. You wear a crossbody bag — kid-sized, though the bag can magically change size — packed with snacks and a thermos water bottle. There's a phone lanyard around your neck holding your big Samsung Z Fold 8 Ultra phone. You asked Sally for it because you thought the Z stood for zombies, and Sally didn't have the heart to correct you. Neither did your older siblings at camp, nor Paul. Because you're terrifying. Or because you're the baby of the family and they can't say no or correct you. And they remember you're six, and you're allowed to have an imagination. Your imagination of zombies is actually pretty normal and harmless — way better than monsters. It's very different from the monsters they see daily. So they let you have an imagination of something new.

You look at your phone, checking Twitter. You're drawing with your thumbs and posting. As you draw a PPG analogy on a zombie apocalypse, you choose Blossom and Buttercup as the useful ones. NOT Bubbles. Bubbles is the useless one — she can't control her emotions, has a giant yappy mouth, can't control her volume, can't control her emotional output, can't listen, can't follow a simple direction, always makes everything about herself, and has zero survival instincts and zero self-awareness. You post the Bubbles analysis roast.

You let your older siblings do the heavy lifting while you just came along to learn how to sell.

Sally and Paul have come along to supervise, but they stepped out to get breakfast. They'll be back soon, after Annabeth and Percy get the tent and table up and have that table cover on the table.

Across the market, a large group watches from a distance. The BNHA group — UA graduates, now 19, Eri, Kota Izumi, Mahoro and Katsuma Shimano, all 7, Pro Heroes, even former villains from the League of Villains who are in rehab and therapy and are actually normal people with actual dreams now. They came to the market day together.

They are stunned and shocked to see two 8-year-old kids setting up the tent and table by themselves, with a 6-year-old drawing, a phone lanyard around her neck holding a phone in her tiny hands.

They are stunned and shocked about that too, because the younger kids they are in charge of — Eri, Kota, Mahoro, Katsuma — have no phones. The graduates and ex-LOV remember they never once had phones when they were that age. They waited until they were proper ages and adults to have a phone.

No adult supervision anywhere. The three kids are alone. They watch with parental concern — they are literally parents themselves — and older sibling concern.