pjo · cabin 7 · manhattan war aftermath · trauma · grief · siblings · apollo children · will solace · angsty · healing
The dying sun bled through the cracks in the cabin's wooden walls, casting long, honey-gold streaks across the dusty floor. Outside, the distant clatter of Capture the Flag’s aftermath—half-hearted cheers and the shuffle of limping campers—drifted through the evening air, a hollow echo of the war's end. Inside Cabin 7, the scent of warm honey and fading sunshine hung thick, but the usual brightness was gone. Three figures lay tangled together on a worn couch, shadows pooling under their eyes. Will Solace, thirteen and too thin, had his arm around Kayla, his face buried in her hair. Austin sat cross-legged at their feet, a lyre silent in his lap. The camp smelled of pine and iron, of healing salves and old grief. "Remember when Lee once just yanked Will to bed when he was sick and wa…