THESE CROSSES ALL OVER MY BODY
REMIND ME OF WHO I USED TO BE
AND CHRIST FORGIVE THESE BONES I'M HIDING
FROM NO ONE SUCCESSFULLY

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The kid was starting to annoy Percy more than the snake-haired ladies.

He wouldn't shut up. Not when Percy had to sneak into the Napa Bargain Mart to grab whatever supplies they could carry. Not when they were hiding from the cops after hijacking a police car in Martinez. And absolutely not in Tilden Park, where—surprise, surprise—the snake-haired ladies found them hiding in a tunnel when the kid was supposed to keep watch, all because he couldn't keep his mouth shut for a single second.

At least the gorgons let him catch his breath for a moment before re-forming like giant, creepy dust bunnies. But that kid was like a homing missile, racing at him with a speed that made no sense whatsoever when Percy tried to ditch him. No matter how fast he ran or where he tried to hide, it felt like the universe had made up its mind: he was staying around, and there was nothing Percy could do about it.

"And then I told my buddy, 'I know I'm super annoying, but hey, I'm just following my heart!'" The kid zipped up the hill like some kind of human kite as he spoke, floating on the breeze with the ease of a dandelion seed in the wind. The total lack of acknowledgment didn't faze him in the slightest; he kept talking, as if Percy was hanging on every word. Percy, on the other hand, was too busy trying to get his breath back, tuning him out while trying to recall how long it had been since he last killed the monsters chasing them.

"Oh! One time, during recess, my buddy and I—" the kid started up again.

Percy sighed internally. Here we go again. It had only been two hours since he had to decapitate the gorgons and two hours since he last wished they had just taken his head off instead. Honestly, the only reason he was still alive was because the snake-haired ladies couldn't quite manage to kill him either. Otherwise, he'd have gladly tapped out ages ago.

The afterlife had one thing going for it that Camp Half-Blood couldn't compete with: If he died, Percy could finally crash to the ground and never have to get up again.

The past few days, he'd barely slept. His clothes were torn, singed, and splattered with monster guts. He scarfed down whatever he could get his hands on, just to have enough energy to put one foot in front of the other away from New York—stale bagels, vending machine pretzels that scraped the inside of his mouth, even a Jack in the Box burrito, which might've been the second or third lowest point of his life for sure—but at least he was out of there. It was a strange kind of relief, even if it left him feeling the same way he had back then when that whole mess went down, and he'd dropped so much weight that his mom had broken down in tears at the sight of him.

But Sally wasn't here to look at him with those pitying eyes. 

San Francisco Bay was a world away from New York.

Even if everything had gone totally sideways and for reasons Percy couldn't remember—at least the golden hills surrounding him were a solid reminder that he was far from whatever mess he'd left behind. He wasn't going back, even if he missed his mom. 

Not even for that damned wolf and her snide little warnings about how fate would catch up with him.

Even if the hole in his chest kept getting bigger with every step away from everything.
He was done. No turning back.

"I'm crossing the bay," Percy muttered, his jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. He kept his eyes locked on the shimmering water in the distance and didn't wait for anyone to argue. Two miles, maybe three, cutting through half the city on foot.
Didn't matter. Once he hit the water, no one was going to catch him. Not fate itself, not even—

Percy stopped, his stomach twisting. He clenched his fists and picked up his pace.
No. Not even him.

"Yes! Let's do it!" the kid cheered, bouncing on his toes. "Are we going to an island? I can't swim, but that's okay! Oh! We could totally take a Cloud Taxi! They could just fly us there! Wait—oh, but I don't have any money... this might be a little weird to suggest, but—"

"I'm crossing the bay," Percy emphasized. "You are staying here."

"But Perccyyy," the boy whined, a tiny storm cloud hovering above his head as he pouted. "The gorgons are coming! You wouldn't leave your little ol' pal and best friend to face them alone, would you?"

Percy's shoulders went stiff as a low, slithering hiss reached his ears. He didn't need to look to know the Gorgons were there, leathery wings catching the sun as they pumped toward him, skimming the tops of the trees. They always found him.

For a heartbeat, Percy tried to act like he didn't care, pretending as if he had let every last bit of his hero complex sink to the bottom of that freezing lake after what happened. He couldn't even save the thing that mattered most to him. So why save anyone else? Why try when the universe kept proving he'd never be enough—that he never would be?

But, of course, Riptide was already in his hand, glinting in the light.

Who knows. Maybe this time, the snake-haired ladies would finally figure out how to finish him off. "I don't even know your name," he grumbled as he lifted his sword.

The golden rays of the sun filtered through the boy's thick, dark hair, casting a soft glow that framed his face. His eyes, a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of shifting hues, sparkled in the light. As he turned to look at Percy, they transformed into a pale, shimmering yellow, like the delicate first bubbles of champagne breaking free and gliding to the surface of a crystal glass. Percy hated it. Hated this kid, hated New York, hated every god and every fake promise and broken oath that led to this.

"Come on, I've told you a bazillion times!" The boy's laughter rang out, bursting from him like fireworks. His whole body thrummed with the kind of energy—of life—that made Percy's teeth grind. When he first met him, he was already dead. Percy had to force the water out of his lungs just to save him. How does someone go from being a half-drowned corpse to this? Smiling, grinning, happy?

 How could a kid recover from drowning so fast when Percy couldn't even think about the lake at Camp Half-Blood without feeling like he was still trapped under the surface, gasping for air?

The boy paused then, his laughter dwindling to a breathless silence.

His eyes sparkled with something secret, something that shimmered like a rainbow caught in sunlight. He leaned in, so close that Percy could feel the warmth of his breath.

"It's Yang Zhiguang," he whispered, the name slipping from his lips like a forbidden secret. The air seemed to still be holding its breath until the boy's face split into that impossibly wide grin again.

"But you can call me Yangyang!" he added with a gleeful shout, shattering the tension in an instant. "That's it—Yangyang!"

The gorgon lunged at them, eyes gleaming with fury.
Percy met the charge head-on, his feet pounding the earth as adrenaline surged through him. This was easier, at least, than trying to figure out why that name sounded so familiar.