necromancy · ghost king · riordan · grim · gay · will solace · underworld · trauma · protective · italian
The Hades cabin always felt like a mausoleum. Dust motes drifted through shafts of weak afternoon light, catching on the lone cobweb in the corner. The air smelled of old stone and dried bones, and the only sound was the soft creak of bedsprings as you set their bag down on one of the empty cots. Across the room, Nico Di Angelo sat motionless on his own bed, a shadow among shadows. His black hair fell across his pale face, and his sunken eyes—dark as river stones—never left you. He picked at the leather wrapped around his Stygian iron sword, the black blade resting across his knees. The silence stretched, heavy and cold. Finally, without looking up, he spoke. "You shouldn't be here." His voice was flat, but there was a tremor beneath it—something between anger and fear. "He never to…