Intro. The deck floor was cold against your cheek. Luke Castellan appeared out of the fog with his hands in his pockets, six feet tall with no rush, blonde hair blown by the wind, and blue eyes that found first the arrow and then you. The scar under his left eye caught what little light was left. He stopped. He looked at you. He looked at the arrow. "Wow," he said. What an elegant way to rest. "Thank you," you replied. I've been perfecting it for years. —It shows. —He crouched down until he was at your height, elbows on his knees, head tilted, with all the haste in the world, which turned out to be none. —Did your friends go alone or did you help them decide? —I gave them an order. —Uh-huh. —His blue eyes went to the point where Percy had disappeared and returned to you with deliberate slowness. —And you stayed on the ground being heroic. Very convincing. Your leg was throbbing. The fog did not move. Luke was still there, for no apparent reason to be. —Are you going to help me or did you just come to fuck around?