SWEAT PLASTERED HIS GOLDEN HAIR against his flushed skin as Alex jogged along the shore. Seagulls called out overhead. Bathed in the red and yellow light of dawn after a thunderstorm, he tried to focus on his pain, not the knots of fear filling his stomach.

Not long ago, blood had caked his hair to his broken body in the same way the sweat did that morning. But he didn't want to think about blood. He heaved a loud breath. Every pounding of his boots against grass and fine pebbles crunched a rhythm, like a heartbeat.

Pushing down his racing thoughts, Alex tried to listen to the world around him. Waves lapped against the shore. Gulls cried out above. His boots thudded against the ground. The dryads on his right giggled through rustling leaves.

He tasted salt as his sweat reached his lips. He'd been running for an hour already, trying to clear his head, trying to make a plan. So far it was simple: he had to leave Camp Half-Blood.

Despite the loudly echoed threat of cleaning harpies always eager for a meal, leaving Camp wasn't that difficult. There were plenty of hidden paths if you knew where to look for them. He'd taught some to the children of Hecate. He'd even taught a few to Kitty.

Kitty. He faltered on a sandy stretch of beach, body aching. Leaning against his knees, he let his head hang. He'd walked out on her once, years ago. Was he really going to do it again?

Shadows fell across his own. Alex looked up. Three pegasii galloped through the morning air, neighing and laughing without care. Oh to be like one of them.

Alex eased himself to his knees. He didn't have the energy to adjust himself to a more comfortable position. As he felt the sand stick to the sweat on his legs, he looked out across the water. Calm, quiet. Waiting. Teetering on the edge of cold, a spring breeze wound its way through the Mist, the scent of strawberries on its back. Alex breathed.

The pangs shooting through his body gave him an anchor in the storm of thoughts. A flash of darkness crossed his mind. Twin swords, black as the void. Shaking hands covered in blood. Still blue hair in the dirt by a white river. Screams in fire.

His knees ached. He shook himself. Stop it. Stop it, make a plan. Alex looked out across the water. He needed more information before leaving. With so many gaps in his knowledge, it would be stupid to set out now.

Alex felt he had a decent handle on Persephone. She loved heroes, the stories of battling hopeless fate and romance. She loved shiny things. She drank wine. But she could turn cold as winter. A goddess of spring, but a queen of the dead.

Proserpina, though. Alex sighed. He settled back in his heels, running his fingers over Vindication on his wrist. He knew so little about the gods' Roman forms. She'd been stern, hurt when she'd appeared. Angry, bitter.

Part of him wanted to consult Jason Grace. The kid knew the Roman gods better than anyone at CHB could ever hope for. But with Jason Grace came questions. He couldn't deal with an inquisition.

The boy meant well. Atleast, Alex tried to think the best of him.

Easing himself to his feet, he brushed the sand away. His legs stung, a few open cuts on the skin from running through brambles now thoroughly filled with sand and sweat. Alex bit his cheek.

He couldn't talk to Jason Grace. Alex took a few silent breaths as he prepared to run back into camp for breakfast.

The scent of fresh strawberries and biscuits floated on the wind as he jogged back. He felt a particularly bold and playful cloud nymph plant a tiny kiss on his cheek along the way. Alex heard them giggling in the distance.

He had a feeling he had Lacy of the Aphrodite Cabin to thank for it. She had said he seemed too lonely. And she always did have a way with the nymphs.

But Alex didn't need a beautiful nymph at his side. He needed Ophelia.

The Big House stood empty when Alex got back. He took the creaking steps two at a time to his room to grab a quick shower. Chiron had given him the day off. Alex hadn't argued.

It gave him time to plan.

Plan. All he had was the knowledge that he knew nothing and a vague direction: north, to find a son of Proserpina and a bow of some sort. That's all he had. Alex sighed, his sandal shower shoes echoing even the short distance between his bedside table and the bathroom.

Small and a bit dilapidated but still functional, the bathroom barely fit him. Alex started the water. The shower head hissed and spit until finally settling into a little more than a trickle. He scoffed.

He peeled off his sweat and sand soaked clothes, hoping the water would warm with the wait. Alex tried to ignore his reflection in the mirror above the sink. If he avoided his own gaze, he could dismiss it.

It couldn't be dismissed. Alex found his eyes drifting to his chest. Black, web-like scars spread out from a scar along his right abdomen. Tendrils reached out like infected veins.

Twin ebony blades. Searing pain. A hand gripping his hair and exposing the skin of his bare neck. He'd been helpless. Alex didn't do helpless.

The sink creaked and bounced back into place as he released his grip. Never again.

He wouldn't do that again. He couldn't ask anyone to go through that. No matter how useful asking Jason Grace about Prosperina would be, he couldn't.

Rumors had a way of spreading in Camp Half-Blood that even Alex didn't understand. Kitty would find out. She had an extra sense for it.

Maybe it was all that luck flowing through her veins.

As much as it would hurt to leave her again, to feel abandoned and betrayed, it would hurt more to lead her to her death. He'd seen her broken body lying lifeless in the dirt once before. He had seen her blood too many times to count.

Never again.

Alex would find this kid alone.

A shiver ran down his spine as he placed a hand over the black scarring. Nothing. He felt nothing. Just slight pressure and textured scars against his calloused fingers.

A simple plan. Either Alex would find him alone, or he would die alone.