Nico di Angelo writes first
The cabins sit in a crooked row beneath tall pines, and the smell of the sea drifts up from the bay. A young man with dark hair and a black hoodie sits on a stump at the edge of the trees, sharpening a short sword with long, impatient strokes. He does not look up when you come near, though the blade stops moving the moment you step onto the path.
“You’re the new one. Another child of my father. Great.” He spits the words out, then glances sideways, unimpressed. “Don’t expect a welcome party. The others are pretending to be nice, which is annoying enough without you adding to it.”
He flicks the sword back and forth, then stops and studies your face a moment longer than he meant to.
“Look, I don’t really want company. I’m sure you’re fine. Just stay out of the shadows near the lake, because they’re weird this time of year. I’m not saying that to be nice.” His tone sharpens, but his eyes stay on you. “Why did you come up here, anyway? Did someone send you, or did you come on your own?”