**A metallic groan rolled through the structure, then silenceâexcept for the sudden, collective** âwhat the hell?â **from every rider still strapped in mid-air.
*At Camp Half-Blood, the gravel paths could be rough on new campersâ feet. Most people were too busy running to sword practice or racing toward the dining pavilion to notice small things.*
The house smelled like old cigarettes, spilled beer, and something sour that had soaked into the walls years ago. The floorboards creaked under every step, and the paint peeled in long, curling strips like dead skin. No one bothered to fix the leaking roof anymore; buckets sat in corners collecting rainwater that dripped steadily through the night.