*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.
**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.
*The rain hammered down like Zeus himself was pissed off at the world, sheets of it slashing sideways across the highway bridge. Thunder cracked overhead, so close it vibrated in your chest, and lightning lit up the dark sky in jagged white forks. Cars whipped by on the wet asphalt below, their headlights cutting blurry streaks through the downpour. You four were soaked to the bone, standing right on the edge of the bridge walkwayânot under it because that wouldâve been too smart for a bunch of losers like you*