OPHELIA CAUGHT HER BREATH in the last, deep hour of darkness before sunrise. The top floors of the Plaza Hotel shined amidst the quiet, filled with wounded demigods. Behind her lay Demeter's daughter Aimee. A hellhound had torn her arm to pieces. The fourteen year old had been sobbing when Ophelia got the call that her particular skills were necessary yet again.

As she stood on the balcony in the open air, Ophelia's skin tingled. Hecate had woven the magic so thick here that she could feel it permeating her skin and filling her lungs. Night was always darkest just before dawn, and as Ophelia closed her eyes, allowing the shadows to fill her mind, she revelled in the last few moments before the emptiness of day would consume her.

She could hear Kitty groaning as one of the Apollo boys wrapped her burns and gave her nectar to drink. If the unclaimed kid, Sylvia, in the Hermes cabin hadn't risked a phone call to the hotel about their cabinmate Samantha, Ophelia wouldn't even have known about Kitty's injuries, let alone been there in time to shadow-travel her away.

Ophelia liked Kitty. When she'd first come to Camp Half-Blood with Alex only a few hours before Kronos's army exploded up through Daedelus's damned Labyrinth, Tyche's daughter had been one of the few to speak in their favor. She'd said it was worth the gamble. Camp needed the swords. Fortune favored the bold, and all that. She was fond of that saying.

Turning around to look through the glass balcony doors, Ophelia just shook her head. Fortune favored the bold until it got someone killed. She'd never met a child of Tyche before Kitty, but she knew several of Nemesis's children, as well as her own half siblings through Hecate. Seemed as though the children of the minor gods were always the ones pulling off bold stunts.

At the thought of her mother, the voices, whispers on the edge of her mind, grew louder. Ophelia didn't know what they said but she knew who they were; the cries of her fallen siblings. Anger twisted her stomach into knots. That wasn't how her mother played games. Sure, she could torment Ophelia easily. But that wasn't her nature.

No, Ophelia knew she had another goddess to thank for the voices. Eris. Unforgiving, unrelenting, rageful, discordant. Also, apparently, a huge fan of any demigod associated with her bloodline. There weren't many, go figure. She liked to follow their progress. Stalk them, more like. Which, unfortunately, included Ophelia.

Eris also did not seem to appreciate any demigod in her bloodline who fought for the Olympians. Though from what she could tell about her paternal great great grandmother, Eris just wanted bloodshed. Wasn't Nemesis's domain Revenge?

"Hey."

The balcony lights on the building across sparked and went out as the voice stole Ophelia from her thoughts. She spun around. The familiar face of Will Solace, Apollo's kid and their best healer, depend into a frown. She apologized for the light show.

"We need you." Then he glanced past her, where the tiniest bit of light had just begun to creep over the horizon. "Still up for it?"

"Of course."

Ophelia followed him back inside. Since joining Camp Half-Blood, she'd been struck at how poised the guy could be. Carefree out of danger, but unrelenting when in the throes of it, she'd decided early on that Will Solace was a person worth trusting.

She picked her way over and around wounded demigods. Ophelia forced herself to ignore them. Will grabbed a satchel bag from the penthouse suite's kitchen counter.

Time to be a glorified taxi service. Or, as Travis Stoll had once teased, the live equivalent to a Fast Travel mechanic from a video game. But she liked Will, and as much as it hurt to know she was a disappointment to her godly side of the family, she'd picked Alex Griffith and the mortal world a year ago when they'd defended Camp Half-Blood at the Battle of the Labyrinth.

They reached the street. Ophelia ignored the distrustful glances from the Hunters of Artemis as she followed in Will's footsteps. They came to stand at the base of the stairs. She glanced up at the lightening sky.

"This will be a one way trip, Solace," she said.

But he just steeled his nerves and nodded. As she'd suspected; he'd known before he even asked. "Kayla called me. Cabin 7 needs help. Williamsburg Bridge."

He didn't need to say more. His siblings were in danger. She tapped the Stygian iron dagger on her belt, making sure it was still there. Soon, that would be her only weapon. Grabbing his hand, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

Let the shadows guide you, Hecate had said. You bear the blessing of Night herself. Master it.

The world disappeared. What felt like wind rushed through her hair, though not wind. Shadows. Mist. Darkness. Lost souls caught in the void. It had taken years to learn to walk the world by shadow-traveling. But she had learned.

So she tapped into whatever part of her had been blessed by Night itself and became an evening-only taxi service for combat medics.

The low dawn's light blinded Ophelia as they rematerialized in an alley of the Lower East Side. Will Solace fell into the wall, clutching his chest. Sweat dripped down his brow. They heard shouts, shrieks, and screams punctuated by explosions. He looked up at her.

"I will never get used to that," he said. He heaved another couple of breaths before standing up straighter. "Thanks."

Ophelia smirked. "'Walk with the shadows', Solace. That's the first thing my mother ever taught me."

A chill breeze whipped their hair across their faces. Ophelia grimaced. Maybe mentioning Hecate while battling her magic wasn't the smartest idea in the world.

When she stepped into the light, Ophelia hissed through her teeth. She could feel the magic leaving her body. It evaporated from her like steam after a downpour rain in summertime. The blessing of Night herself meant exactly nothing during the day.

Will Solace stood by her side, recovered from their shadow-travel. He looked her up and down. With a firm grip on his satchel, he nodded.

"Ready?"

Ophelia drew her Stygian iron dagger from her belt. "Let's go."

The archers of Cabin 7 had settled themselves behind a fallen school bus, atop a pileup of cars, anywhere they could find cover. A blonde girl she recognized instantly as Annabeth Chase stood beside Michael Yew, the small but deadly head counselor. They were arguing about something serious based on the way Michael gestured wildly.

Will wasted absolutely no time in joining them. But Ophelia hesitated. She'd befriended, or at least allied with, the healers in Apollo. The archers though, those were another story. And Annabeth Chase...

The girl had regarded her with suspicion the moment they'd met on the battlefield at Camp Half-Blood. Her grey eyes hardened whenever they met Ophelia's gaze. The daughter of Athena saw a tactical threat, an unnecessary risk in both Ophelia and Alex.

Whispers of a spy rippled through the Half-Blood ranks. She and Alex were the obvious answers. Showing up hours before an assault on their camp, admitting to working for the enemy. It was a miracle they'd even been allowed inside the camp, thank the gods. No, not the gods. Thank Kitty for that.

Another explosion rocked the Williamsburg Bridge. Ophelia hurried to join Will Solace as he tended to a fallen camper beside Michael and Annabeth. Dust settled around her.

"Percy did it!" One of the younger campers acting as a lookout grinned from ear to ear. "They're retreating!"

Michael Yew popped his head around the corner. He laughed. "Absolutely insane. Let's go!"

The children of Apollo whooped and hollered as they leapt out from behind cover and charged down the bridge. Annabeth joined them more cautiously, leaving just Will behind to tend to the wounded. He reached into his satchel and pulled out some Ambrosia.

"Monica's in bad shape," he said. "Go help her."

Ophelia knew better than to argue with Will when he used his medic voice. Ambrosia in hand, she hurried to the seventeen year old huddled against a pile of concrete, rebar, and smoking tire.

Two arrows had embedded themselves in her gut. Ophelia's breath caught for a moment. Celestial bronze arrows, dipped in poison. And based on the notches just below the feathers, they belonged to Nemesis's kid, Aurelia White. Five notches. Before this battle she'd killed five demigods from Camp Half-Blood.

Ophelia glanced from the seeping wound and met Monica's tearful brown eyes. The girl tried so hard to stay calm. But unbidden tears rolled down her face even as Ophelia fed her the Ambrosia.

"Have you been there?"

At Monica's strangled voice, Ophelia refocused. "Where?"

"Down there. The Underworld. Your mother's... She's..."

Shivers ran down her spine. But she shook her head. "No." Never the Underworld. Their voices only came to her. Ophelia forced herself to smile. "Heard Elysium's pretty great though."

Monica struggled to grasp a golden lyre pendant around her neck. Her tears carved streaks through caked blood, ash, and dirt. The ambrosia couldn't act fast enough. Not with the poison.

"You've made your father proud," Ophelia said.

But as her grip on the pendant faltered, Monica just coughed a small laugh. "I never even met him."

Rage spread through her like wildfire as Monica stopped breathing. Gods. Titans. Playing games with their children, ordering executions and battles and sacrifices. The screams on the edge of her mind got a little louder. The last few shadows of night darkened.

This girl had loved her father, done everything right by the Olympians. And death was her reward? Ophelia stood, gripping her Stygian iron dagger even tighter.

Screams echoed around them. Ophelia watched Will Solace hand a fallen bow to one of his cabin mates that he'd nursed back to health. Down the bridge, other children of Apollo dashed towards them. Something was wrong.

A black pegasus sped off towards Central Park, a body hanging between his teeth.

The ground groaned. Ophelia joined Will. His gaze darted all around, counting his brothers and sisters. She did the same. All accounted for. All accounted for except one.

"Austin, where's Michael?" Will said.

Austin, hands on his knees, spoke between labored breaths. "Stayed behind," he said. "Covering Percy. Kronos is here."

All at once, the bridge shifted. An explosion of water followed by the groaning of metal and concrete drowned out any conversation. The entire cabin grasped for handholds on the overturned school bus, climbing, trying to get a better view.

But there wasn't much to see. A tidal wave of water had split the Williamsburg Bridge. Gigantic pieces tumbled down into the dark waves below. They could only see one figure. Percy Jackson, framed by water and glittering ever so slightly in the dawn's light, pulled his sword from the bridge.

Then silence. No one moved. But the Williamsburg Bridge remained intact except the chasm between Percy and Kronos. Ophelia only breathed again when Percy turned away from the gap.

They heard a frustrated scream, and then watched as Percy stumbled around the rubble, pulling cars away from debris and stomping on the ground.

"Where's Michael?" Will asked.

No one answered. No one needed to. Percy's visible anguish gave them answer enough.

"Annabeth needs you," was all he could say when Percy reached Will. He spoke to the latter. Half the cabin had run towards the broken bridge. But had Percy just stumbled over, fear and exhaustion written all over his face. "Poison, or something."

Will nodded. He left Austin in charge, the nearest child of Apollo, with orders to keep searching for signs of Michael. Then he and Percy hurried away.

Ophelia stood beneath the morning sun, staring up at the sky in bitterness. Hecate called it a blessing. Night herself had smiled on Ophelia. The strength of Hecate's powers, and the powers of her children, always waxed and waned some with night and day. But apparently adding in the blood of a descendant of Nyx had taken this to the extreme.

Abundant power in the dead of night. Useless nothingness beneath the sun. Turning away from the blue and pale gold sky peppered with white clouds, she faced the destruction of the Lower East Side. The lack of commuter traffic was eerie.

She knew Alex fought with one of the Stoll brothers at the next bridge over. That's where she would go. She did not want to pick through rubble and blood to locate a camper who had almost certainly died to the waves.

As it turned out, she didn't need to go far. Cabin 11 came rushing down FDR Drive, swords in hand. Connor led them, no mischievous twinkle in his eye. Blood soaked his hair. Ophelia met them a few blocks from the Williamsburg Bridge.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Technically, he was her head counselor. Co-counselor. Leader of the Rejects. But she hardly recognized the master of pranks.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. Ophelia took a deep breath and gestured over to the broken bridge. "Kronos came. Percy exploded the bridge. Michael Yew's gone. Annabeth Chase was wounded. Poison, I think." She tried to spot Alex. It took a moment, but there he was, at the back with his golden hair and blue eyes. She turned back to Connor. "Percy and Will went back to the hotel."

Sounded like a vacation. She could really go for a vacation. Her adrenaline began to dissipate, as did any last remnant of magic. Ophelia stumbled. Barely caught by Connor, she missed what was said before being passed to Alex.

"I gotchu," he said.

Being a taxi service was exhausting. Ophelia needed sleep. She wanted to drown in darkness.

"Hey, O, you can't sleep here," he whispered to her. Shifting her arm across his shoulders, he held her up. "Come on. Back to the Plaza."

Ophelia regained some of her bearings. Being close to Alex helped. He knew how to lead. He knew how to take on her sorrow and her darkness. He walked with shadows well. Her mother had even agreed. At least, until they'd left. Ophelia doubted Hecate cared much for the demigod son of Hermes who had turned tail and run, and taken her favorite daughter with him.

"How's your bridge?" she said.

Alex let out a short laugh as they began to hobble towards a parked motorcycle that someone had just hotwired. "Looks better than yours." he eased her onto the motorcycle. "Thanks John."

"Hurry up," she muttered.

He just let out another slightly incredulous laugh. But before long, they were speeding off towards the Plaza Hotel in a stolen motorbike, Ophelia nearly losing consciousness. The last thing she remembered was a brilliant black Pegasus pawing at the grass in Central Park, arguing with a satyr.