Intimidation

Annabeth wraps the tape around her wrist, then up and through the space between each of her fingers, before securing them with a round over her knuckles. As she clenches her fist experimentally, her gaze drifts to the television at the corner of the ceiling.

"Here's a message to the viewers at home, the rumors about the release of new education technology by Way—"

"Honestly, I doubt that's of interest to anyone right now. We all want to know about the Luthor scandal. Where are we with that? Any breaking news?

"You're such a gossip, Viola—"

"I'm a news anchor, Clarence."

"—But I'll tell you what I've heard, straight from the courts. Luthor pleaded not guilty at the arraignment."

"Not guilty? Come on, we've all read that article, even my nephew and he's ten! When have you ever seen Lois Lane's name on the byline of something she hadn't vetted herself? She took down that trafficking ring last year by literally going undercover."

"My reaction exactly! They're holding him until he goes to trial on the 29th. That's next Friday folks, only ten days until Lex Luthor stands before the jury to pay for his alleged sins. Fastest date I've ever seen, that's for sure, the courts must be working overtime on this one. Ha!"

"So what, no bail?"

There's a brief pause before both news anchors burst into laughter.

"No, Viola, I don't think they're letting the billionaire with a private jet go on vacation before his trial."

The man shakes his head, still smiling good-naturedly.

"I met him a couple of weeks ago, at that children's fundraising gala he hosted, and he was so, well I hate to say it, but charming. You think you know a guy, Viola, and then—"

"He turns out to be a homicidal maniac? Been there, Clarence, and far more often than you'd think."

Annabeth snorts at the screen. Reports like these, led by television personalities with varying levels of seriousness, have been playing since late last week. She muses on how long it will be before they start to discuss LexCorp's new management instead. It's only been a day since Luthor had been officially fired, but she expects the rumors to start circulating soon, and for the company to put out an official announcement within the next few days. Not for the first time, she wonders if jail cells get cable.

"Chase!"

The voice is almost demanding and blinks Annabeth out of her thoughts. A woman with pulled-back short braids beckons her with a tilted head and a sharp smile. "Another round?"

"Two losses aren't enough for you?" Annabeth teases back, earning a scoff.

She shakes her mind free of Luthor for now, sets her shoulders back, and steps into the ring.

LINEBREAK

On Wednesday after work, hair pulled and pinned back tight, Annabeth makes the walk to Caesar Contemporary under the safety of a dark shapeless hoodie and her invisibility cap. Slipping in behind an exiting patron, she finds the bathroom first and settles into a chair. It's one of those high-end restrooms, with a small powder room preceding the main stall area, the interior decorated similarly to the glimpse she'd caught of the museum upon entry.

From the outside, Caesar Contemporary hadn't been much to look at, an assuming eggshell white building with two columns caging in the entrance. Most museums had some sort of exterior stonework or detailed carving depicting the type of pieces that lay inside but this one had none of that. It even lacked the usual minimalistic Luthor touch she has come to associate with his office and home. The word, unmemorable, comes to Annabeth's mind.

A glance at her watch signifies that it is fifteen minutes past closing. A pair of stout footsteps echo down the hall, stopping outside the bathroom. The door opens, and a dim flashlight traces the edges of the room before the guard switches off the ceiling lights and disappears around the corner. Annabeth waits another fifteen minutes, then makes her move.

The museum is dark, moonlight filtering through the large, windowed roof and casting long slanted shadows along the walls. Leo isn't here today to disable the cameras, something about her siblings needing his fire powers for their war games strategy (which, naturally, takes precedence over this) so Annabeth keeps her flashlight hidden away in her backpack and slinks along the granite floor, eyes narrow.

She passes a few rooms of scattered paintings, a mash of abstract expressionism and photorealism, the light too dim to study them extensively. It doesn't seem like there's much to look at anyways. The art is beautiful, but nothing about the gallery feels out of the ordinary. Moderately tall ceilings, open archways between rooms, and sculpture centerpieces. Annabeth takes it all in, before moving on.

Somewhere deeper into the museum, she finds the entrance to another room. She peers close at the bronze plaque, brushing her fingers against it. Hall of Heroes. Annabeth furrows her brow and walks through the archway.

The room is shaped like an octagon, with enormous fifteen-foot statues lining seven of the eight sides. A trickle of dread makes its way down her spine as she circles the space. Even without the written descriptions at the bases, she recognizes these people. Genghis Khan, Al Capone, Blackbeard.

If she had had any doubt about Luthor's involvement with the museum, it vanishes in an instant. Hall of heroes, how dare he, Annabeth thinks viciously.

Closer to the door, one of Benedict Arnold sneers at some invisible enemy. Annabeth glances at it, distastefully, before turning once more, and stops in her tracks.

Overcoming her surprise, she steps closer to the new statue. It's hard to examine the details in the faint moonlight, but Annabeth knows for a fact that it's fake.

It's a carbon copy of a statue she had seen only days ago, in Luthor's office, exactly the same, from the material to its pose, hand outstretched in an inviting gesture. The other Julius Caesar was real. Luthor would not display anything but genuine, authenticated art in his private home, which means this one must be a forgery. An imitation. But why?

Annabeth circles the statue. There's something off about it all, she can almost feel it when she walks. As she racks her brain, the clouds above her shift and the full force of the moon shines through the roof. The crystallized specks in the granite glow in response. As she watches them dim once again, Annabeth sees it.

Every other statue in the room is perfectly aligned within a tile, with another starting a foot away from the bases and leading into the center of the room, where several points come together. But the flooring in front of Caesar is unbroken, a single, long slab of granite in the shape of a triangle. It's the only difference among the otherwise symmetric layout.

She stands in front of the peculiar statue once more. Luthor had financed Caesar Contemporary under the name Julian Alarie. This has to be the key.

Annabeth frowns and tries to imagine Luthor standing in this very room, admiring the sculpted forms of his so-called heroes. She leans forward on her toes, lifting herself up. Luthor is only a few inches taller than her current height. The statue's arm floats inches from her face. Follow me, he seems to say, staring down at her.

Annabeth stares back.

Oh.

She reaches out and grasps the stone, the elbow joint giving way, ever so slightly. Heart beating faster than usual, Annabeth wraps her fingers tighter and, with more force than before, shakes Julius Caesar's cold hand.

Suddenly, the tile below her hisses and sinks further into the rest of the floor, almost causing her to stumble. The pane under her feet starts to slide back, and Annabeth lets herself be shifted along until another platform reveals itself underneath, with a tunnel-like opening in the center. She steps onto the new surface and peers down the hole.

All of a sudden, all Annabeth sees is the darkness, smells the putrid odor of acid, and tastes the smoke and burnt flesh on her tongue. She's whipped back in time, three years ago to a place she has spent hundreds of hours healing from. One moment is all it takes for all that time and effort to instantly melt away, leaving Annabeth shock-still. Her breath quickens. This time, there's no Percy, no heavy warm weight to keep her grounded, no flicker of hope, no—

No. Annabeth blinks, hard.

Then again, furiously this time, dispelling those thoughts as quickly as they had come.

This is not Tartarus.

This is a megalomaniac's pathetic excuse for an evil lair, and she has work to do.

Cautiously lowers a foot and finding a hidden step, Annabeth takes a deep breath and descends into the darkness.

LINEBREAK

Every muscle in her body pulled tight, she makes her way down the staircase, an endless circle of left turns. Slowly, the air around her lightens, and she can make out the steps in front of her. When both of her feet touch level ground, she hears the heavy scraping of the granite above, sliding shut.

Her surroundings mirror the octagonal room from upstairs, but with two open archways instead of one, opposite each other, leading the way to unknown areas. Pale florescent lights line the ceilings, letting her see far better down here than up there. There are no visible cameras here, but Annabeth doesn't dare to remove her hat. Adjusting her backpack, she ventures through the opening on the right.

Luthor's lair is strikingly empty, is what she finds. The layout resembles the museum, with its spacious rooms separated by narrow open doorways. She passes some extremely futuristic-looking computers and another room with a large glass casing bathed in green light. She doesn't know what it means but the entire sight makes her shiver. It's not what she's looking for, though.

Annabeth turns another corner and nearly has a heart attack.

Across her, near the back wall is a tall, looming statue of Lex Luthor, face etched with lines sharper than the man himself possesses. The bronze base is identical to the ones resting above her in the hall of heroes. Annabeth's face folds in incredulous disgust. Did Luthor...plan on adding his statue to the exhibit?

Keeping an eye on it until it leaves her field of vision, she continues on. Approximately near where the bathroom is located in the museum above, Annabeth finds a stairwell and peeks down the railing. Two more floors lay below her. She sets her shoulders back and descends further.

Level two of Luthor's lair resembles LexCorp's R&D labs. The hallways are laid out in a vaguely gridded system that might confuse some, but Annabeth has walked the research floors at her place of work many times and investigates with efficiency. She passes many closed doors, labeled laboratories or storage or testing rooms, and she wants so badly to peek into them all, document every last one of Luthor's dirty little secrets, but Annabeth reminds herself that she's here for one specific thing. The actual exploring can come later.

After she covers the second floor, and her search proves unfruitful, she crosses her fingers and goes down the last flight of stairs.

Level three has no visible pattern in its layout. Far creepier than its predecessors, Annabeth thinks it resembles a cross between a basement boiler room and a graveyard of scrapped technology.

She steps over thick corded wires and rusted piping, winding her way around large steel boxes and indistinguishable shapes of metal. Behind every new door is another surprise, another room filled with abandoned inventions. It's a shame Leo missed this, Annabeth thinks. But she can hardly contain her own curiosity so maybe letting the son of Hephaestus sit this one out was a small blessing.

Whatever she's looking for, it must be on this floor. If she's right, Luthor had only used it once, more than a few years ago, so it only makes sense for it to be lumped together with the other secrets buried in this cemetery.

Annabeth slinks down a new hallway, deeper into the unknown. Down here, the lights flicker eerily. The walls are coated in a thick layer of dust, and her feet crunch along the unfinished flooring. Her eyes start to water from the unfiltered air. She comes across a strange outline in the wall, shaped almost like a door, but like it's been sealed shut for years. There's no handle, however, so she continues on.

Somewhere in the tens of doors that she's opened, her hand turns yet another handle, and it catches her eye instantly. She hadn't known exactly what it would look like, but something in her gut tells her this is the one. A large, boxed computer sits on a rolling stand, wheels locked into place, with a hefty crane-like structure protruding out from the back and folding over its front. Suspending from the tip of it hangs a thick cylindrical tube. Annabeth reaches out and dusts off the glass casing, revealing four vertical metal rods and heavy wiring between them. Underneath the cylinder, there are six sharp prongs, arranged in a circle facing down towards the ground.

Annabeth takes as many pictures of the machine on her phone as she can, from every possible angle, before approaching the computer. Although several of the thicker cables extending from the back of the machine remain unplugged, the monitor display lights up after pressing a few buttons. After reaching into her backpack for two objects, she places her glasses on her nose and inserts a flash drive into one of the many grooves along the side of the screen.

EventData

EventDate 01/16/2017

SubjectUserId LEX-RFNN743d9H2

AuthenticationPackage 0x05a2d4

TaskCategory Testing

TargetLocationName Gorman, CA, USA

TargetCoordinates 34.81, -118.83

TaskStatus Fail

FailureReason %%3754

TargetMagnitude 2.5

EventData

EventDate 02/07/2017

SubjectUserId LEX-RFNN743d9H2

AuthenticationPackage 0x05a4c2

TaskCategory Testing

TargetLocationName Point Reyes, CA, USA

TargetCoordinates 38.07, -122.81

TaskStatus Success

FailureReason %%0000

TargetMagnitude 4.0

EventData

EventDate 03/13/2017

SubjectUserId LEX-RFNN743d9H2

AuthenticationPackage 0x05a7b6

TaskCategory Deployment

TargetLocationName Odawara, Japan

TargetCoordinates 35.26, 139.17

TaskStatus Success

FailureReason %%0000

TargetMagnitude 6.9

Annabeth grins sharply as she reads through the event logs, despite what it means about what Luthor has done. She presses a few more keys and a loading bar pops up, green slowly overtaking beige. When the download is complete, Annabeth pockets the drive and finally, finally feels like she can breathe again.

She knows she had been right all along, but the proof in her hands is a comfort she's been waiting for. When she's done, she thinks, with a vicious streak she reserves for a special few, he's going to be buried, forgotten like a bad memory, and left to rust, just like the rest of the junk down here.

LINEBREAK

As Annabeth pads up a flight of stairs to return to the makeshift laboratories, she hears it, her first mistake.

A brief sound of something akin to scraping metal, so quiet her demigod hearing just barely picks it up. She stops in her place, the hair on her arms ramrod straight, gut blaring danger alarms like a persistent siren. It had come from above her, echoing faintly through the open stairwell.

She reaches towards her head in paranoid habit. Her hat is still there. On the balls of her feet, Annabeth slowly makes her way to the first floor.

Her ears twitch at a few more sounds, too soft to distinguish, but she follows them anyway, sticking close to the walls and corners. There are no doors up here, which is both a blessing and a curse. She avoids being heard entering a room, but the possibility of being snuck up upon is much higher than she is comfortable with.

As she gets closer to the source, she can make out brief heavy footsteps and the sound of ragged breathing.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you are here."

Annabeth's blood freezes.

"I learned something interesting the other day. Would you like to hear it?"

He's here. Luthor is here. Her heart drops. He's supposed to be detained, in custody, awaiting trial. How did he get here? How did he get out? Why—

Annabeth hears another shaky inhale. With an anxious hand on her head, she peeks around the corner.

There he stands, in an immaculately ironed suit, looking nothing like he had just been arrested, nothing like the orange-style jumpsuit she had been imagining. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows on his cheek, and although Annabeth cannot see his full expression, Luthor's profile is deceivingly calm. On his right side, he's flanked by a male guard in angry black clothing. Armed at least thrice over, his face betrays no emotion.

Only a few feet across from Luthor is another man in a chair, with wrists and feet zip tied to the armrests. There's a bruise across his left cheek, another spotting his left temple, and his breaths are coming in short gasps like he's been hit in the stomach.

Annabeth should leave, turn and flee right now, back up to the museum while she still can. But, looking on in horror, she knows she cannot.

Luthor presses something on a phone and the voice recording of him with the safety company, the one Annabeth had slipped to Clark, who in turn had given to Lana, fills the air for just a few seconds before he mutes it once more.

"This phone call was recorded from my home," Luthor says, softly, "You see how that is an invasion of privacy, don't you?"

The man in the chair nods hesitantly along.

Annabeth's eyes widen unconsciously. Where had he gotten that? He couldn't—someone had to have given it to him. But who? Only a handful of people even know it exists, so...

He's coming back.

Annabeth grits her teeth at the memory. Abernathy.

"It's interesting, you see," Luthor continues, as if he doesn't see the man captive before him, "I was in my office, alone, everything exactly how I had left it. No one in or out. The only new variable had been my clothing. You see, I had bought a new suit for the gala that evening, which, bears no effect on the situation, except," he pauses, "for that fact that I had checked my coat that night."

Realization dawns on Annabeth at the same time as it does on the bound man, both faces paling rapidly.

"I had left it, unattended, at a location you were meant to be guarding."

She remembers those hooded eyes, blinking in and out of focus as she called upon the mist, the curved shape of the chin she had slammed her head into. She had forgotten, but Annabeth recognizes him now.

Luthor leans down into the man's space, not touching him, but close enough to watch the lump in his throat bob with fear.

"That's no coincidence, is it?"

"I didn't touch your jacket," the man gasps, before Luthor even lifts a finger, "I swear!"

Luthor studies the man for a moment. "If you didn't," he muses, "Then someone did. What did you see?"

Cowering in Luthor's gaze, the man's eyes dart back and forth. "Nothing, I think," he stammers out.

"Think?" Luthor's eyes flash dangerously.

"No, I know, I didn't see anything!"

Luthor steps back. The guard on the right takes his place without instruction, slugging the captive across the face, no doubt darkening his existing bruise. Annabeth clenches her jaw and her fists but remains still.

"I'm not going to ask you again."

"I swear! I didn't, I-I, some things about that night are a bit hazy, but only because it was so long ago. I didn't see anything!"

The guard lands another hit, to the stomach. The man's head lolls forward as he continues to mutter denials. Every muscle in Annabeth's body is on high alert. It's okay, she tells herself, the mist will hold, the mist will hold, and Luthor will see that he doesn't know anything and release him. The mist will hold, it has to.

"I don't think you understand the severity of the situation," Luthor says, his tone soft again.

Annabeth doesn't like what that means.

Luthor takes another small step back and is joined by second, taller guard who emerges from another doorway, yanking a small, bound, child beside him. He tugs her further forward, and she falls in front of Luthor's feet.

She looks up and then towards the captive with red-rimmed and tear-streaked eyes. Immediately, the man's demeanor flips, and he tries to lurch forward, but the restraints hold him back. He tries again, muscles straining in vain against the ties.

"Get away from her!" he shouts, "Don't touch her!"

Luthor stares back, cold and indifferent and completely apathetic. He jerks his head slightly to the left. The guard who brought the girl in reaches back, unsheathing a gun from its holster. He brings it forward and levels it against the girl's head, as her father stares on in horror.

"Please," the man begs, "Please, don't."

"What did you see?" Luthor repeats, unaffected.

The guard cocks the gun.

At that exact moment, Annabeth Spurring into action, she scrambles furiously for a distraction, something, anything.

"I, okay, I—" The man's breaths come faster now. He squeezes his eyes tightly. He blinks rapidly. He squeezes and opens them again, "I think, I saw someone. I don't—"

The guard digs the pistol harder against the girl's skull, making her whimper.

Annabeth reaches into her backpack, trying desperately not to make noise.

The man repeats the motions with his eyelids again, straining them so hard that veins start to appear on his forehead.

"They were—fiddling with a jacket, yours—"

"Who?" Luthor growls.

The child starts to sob quietly.

Annabeth retrieves her target, hands shaking, and aims it.

"A woman," the man gasps, the mist finally shattering under the pressure of pure desperation, "She had—"

Suddenly, the guard holding his gun to the girl slaps a hand over his eye, and, instantly, trains his weapon on the spot around the corner where Annabeth stands, quietly, clutching her now switched-off flashlight. She backs away, slowly.

"What is it?" Luthor hisses, turning to face Annabeth's hiding spot, "Is someone there?"

"A light flashed in my eye, sir," the guard responds, carefully neutral, creeping towards the source, towards her.

The shorter guard steps in front of Luthor, gun drawn, and waits for any sign of a threat. Luthor allows himself to be protected, but Annabeth can see he's doing his own scan of the area.

The man in the chair presses his lips together, trying to calm his crying daughter with a reassuring look.

Once out of the first guard's direct line of sight, Annabeth walks slowly, keeping her footsteps just barely audible, to the opposite end of the floor, turning right and left, then right again. Only the first guard follows, a few paces behind, gun out.

Annabeth reaches her destination, the statue of Luthor, and slips into the space between its back and the wall. The guard comes into view, surveying the room. After clearing it, he moves to leave down the hallway, but Annabeth reaches out and drags a fingernail down the stone. A squeaky screech fills the air, and the man whips his head around to the statue.

Annabeth holds her breath. He creeps closer.

At just the right moment, she shoves, hard.

The statue teeters forward, and although the guard attempts to scramble backward to avoid it, Luthor's stone body falls on top of him. His back thuds to the ground with a groan, pinned into place, and the limbs of the rock crack loudly against the concrete floor, breaking into pieces around him.

Annabeth turns and sprints back.

As she does, she hears Luthor and the other guard's feet, stampeding down the hall towards the sound of fallen stone.

When she reaches her original hiding spot, she sees the little girl, crawling into her father's lap. He tries to hug her, but his wrists remain firmly bound, as much as the girl tugs to free them.

"You imbecile," Luthor's voice thunders from several rooms in the distance, shaking the metaphorical rafters, and causing both the man and his daughter to wince.

"Hey," Annabeth whispers, trying to startle them as little as possible, "Come with me."

The man bolts in his seat, frantically looking around.

"Who's there?"

"Shh! He'll hear you. Now hold still."

He freezes not at the command, but in fear. It's good enough. Annabeth grabs the steel dagger at her hip, gingerly wiggles it under the plastic, and slices through. She repeats the movements for the other wrist and both feet.

The man immediately scoops up his daughter, holding her against his shoulder, closing his eyes in relief for a moment.

"Let's go," Annabeth insists, "He's going to return any minute."

"Who are you?" he repeats, eyes flicking left and right, "I don't even know—"

Oh, for gods' sake, they don't have time for this. She doesn't know how long Luthor will mourn his larger-than-life replica. She rips the Yankees cap off her head.

"You're her, the one in the coatroom," the man whispers, eyes wide. His daughter mumbles 'ghost' into his neck.

"Explanations later," she practically hisses, "Escape first. This way."

Annabeth drags him out of the room and down another hall and he follows without much protest. It's mostly from shock, but she'll take what she can get.

They turn another corner. Annabeth can see the spiral staircase in her sight, beyond one more open archway.

"The exit," the man inhales sharply.

He takes a step forward, but Annabeth's ears twitch and she pulls him back by the back of his shirt, just in time to miss Luthor and the remaining guard enter from the opposite doorway.

"I don't know how he got loose, but if he thinks he can escape..." Luthor seethes out loud, pressing both of his hands roughly against the outline of a rectangle along the wall, "Initiate lockdown."

The staircase spirals down into the ground sharply, a floor panel hissing closed.

"Find them," Luthor snarls into thin air, then gestures to his guard to follow him back the way they came.

"We're going to die in here," the man beside her mutters quietly, back against the wall, then seems to regret it when his daughter's grip tightens around his neck.

"No." Annabeth sets her jaw. "I'm getting us out of here."

The man fixes her with an incredulous and angry look.

"I don't even know you. You're the one who got me into this whole thing, planting some bug in his jacket, and for what?"

Annabeth opens her mouth.

"Actually, don't tell me. I'd be worse off," he grits, holding tighter to his daughter.

"I wasn't going to," Annabeth snaps.

Then, she takes a deep breath. She isn't mad at him, she's just frustrated and worried, and more than a little guilty for her part in all this.

"Listen," she begins, calmer, "If you stay here, Luthor's going to kill you both. No matter how much information you give him, he's not going to let you go. I'm your best chance at getting you, both of you, out alive."

He stares at her for enough time that Annabeth gets antsy. Luthor's footsteps are still very distant, but she can't stay here for long like a sitting duck. The floors are expansive, full of winding routes a person could get lost in, but the walls feel suffocatingly small.

"Okay," he says, finally, through clenched teeth, "How are we going to do this?"

Annabeth scans the octagonal room that used to hold the staircase.

"When Luthor pressed his hands against that wall, I think he used a biometric scan to lock this place down. He's the only one who can open it back up."

"He'll never do that," the man argues.

"I know," she says, frustratedly, "I need to think, but not here. Too much open space." Her eyes look left and right. "We have to go down to the second floor."

"Away from our only possible exit?" he demands in a hushed whisper, shifting his daughter to the other arm, "Are you insane?"

"It's not exactly an exit right now, is it?" Annabeth shoots back, "Besides, would you rather stay here? With Luthor and his trigger-happy guard dogs?"

The man purses his lips but relents at her glare.

"Lead the way."

LINEBREAK

Annabeth gestures silently down a long hallway. Her companion follows, reluctantly, but he follows, nonetheless. Annabeth has gotten them this far and he knows he has no other choice.

She holds up her fist and he stops in his tracks. A quick glance around the corner and Annabeth unclenches her hand, continuing on. Finally, she reaches a specific door, quietly clicking it open and, after the man and his daughter enters, closing it just as softly.

"We're safe here for a little bit," she says, listening for any distant noise and thankfully finding none. "It'll take a few minutes for Luthor to clear the top floor. Two points of entry, if he comes here, he'll likely come through this one." She points to the door they had used. "And we flee through the other."

The man nods, unconvinced, but he doesn't argue it either. With some distance between them and Luthor, however temporary, he's more jaded than he was previously. He's angry, she can see that much, but he doesn't voice it. Whether that's because he doesn't want to give away their location or because he's too preoccupied with worry to let it out, Annabeth can't tell.

He finally sets his daughter down, and she immediately wraps her arms around one of his legs, wiping the still-falling tears on his pant leg.

Annabeth channels as much of her camp counselor personality as she can and stoops with what she hopes is a comforting smile. "I'm Annabeth," she offers, "What's your name?"

The girl stares her down, almost exactly like her father had, but with her own criteria for analysis. Whatever she's looking for in Annabeth's face, she finds it.

"Cecilia," she says finally, and tugs on her father's pants.

The man grunts. "Hector."

Annabeth gives him a look of acknowledgment that he doesn't return.

"Are you a ghost?" Cecilia asks, rubbing a hand to her already red eyes, "Sometimes here, sometimes not?"

Annabeth laughs as best as she can in their current situation. "No, I'm not."

"She's a meta, mija," Hector explains curtly.

Annabeth eyes him but doesn't dispute it. "You know what's cool," she says instead, unhooking the carabiner that holds her Yankees cap, "I can share my power."

She leans over, grasping the girl's hand, and places the hat over her hair. Cecilia disappears, and her father startles, but before he can panic any further, Annabeth pulls it off and reclips it to her pants. She looks knowingly at the girl, who giggles.

Hector's expression softens at the sight of her delight, finally loosening his scowl. Annabeth straightens and returns to her usual demeanor. Checking again for footsteps and hearing nothing, her mind whirls through all possible ways to escape this makeshift prison.

Plan A. Knock Luthor out and use his unconscious body to open the door. While a clean and efficient option, both guards and probably Luthor are armed with guns, and getting close enough might be tricky. Not to mention, if they need a voice command, they'd be screwed.

Plan B. Make Luthor believe they've escaped so he has to lift the lockdown to chase them. If the distraction is successful, they would have a near-guaranteed exit. Unfortunately, there's only one exit and she cannot think of a single way to fake passage through it.

Plan C. Keep avoiding him down here until Luthor gets tired and leaves. This one has virtually no pros and an uncountable list of cons.

Annabeth chews her lip. No water for drachmas, no cell reception this far underground, no outside help. They're on their own.

"Okay, we've got a couple of options," she says.

Annabeth gives him the summary of their choices, and Hector's frown sinks deeper with every passing sentence.

"The first one is our best bet right now," she explains, weighing the choices, "Which means we need to take out the guards."

"You got one, right?" he asks, quietly, "I think I heard it."

Annabeth almost nods, but then shakes her head. "Temporarily, I'm guessing. Worst case, we're set for three against two. We're not splitting up because there's no way to guarantee we'll be able to reconvene, and I can navigate us better. No offense," she tacks on hastily, but his agitation neither lessens nor worsens. "Can you fight?"

Hector stares at his hands. "I'm a good shot," he admits, through pursed lips, "But I don't know if I can take them one on one."

"That's, okay," Annabeth frowns. It's not ideal, but she'll have to make do. "I'll get you a gun."

He scoffs disbelievingly at her statement, running a frustrated hand over his stubbled chin.

Annabeth's clenched jaw wants to remain shut, but she forces it open.

"Look, I—," she pauses to try again, "I'm sorry." Hector keeps his eyes trained on his daughter. "I'm the reason you're in this situation. I didn't mean to, and I didn't think of the consequences. I should have, but I... I made a mistake. And I'm not asking you to forgive me, I don't need that. What I need is for you to trust me, just for a short while."

There's a lot more she could say, about how she hadn't meant for it to play out this way, how she hadn't meant for Luthor to sneak out from detainment, or to make the connection between the jacket and the recording, or to kidnap his daughter as leverage. She hadn't meant for any of this, but that doesn't matter now. It had all happened anyways. Annabeth keeps those excuses out of her mouth.

When Hector looks up at her, he looks less angry and more resigned. Distress adorns the corners of his downturned lips, but instead of lashing out, he settles his hand on Cecilia's head.

"You said you would get us out," he says, "Make good on that promise."

Annabeth gives him a short, decisive nod.

"The guards," she pivots, getting back on track, "I threw a statue at the taller one, so if he's back in action, he'll be slightly injured. At the very least, he'll move a little slower, with a limp if we're lucky. The other will be with Luthor."

"Are you sure about that?" he asks, brow creasing.

"Positive. Luthor's priority right now is to find you, not stop you from escaping. He might not know about me, but he definitely suspects you have help, so one of the guards will stay with him as they search, just in case."

"You want us to get to the injured one first?" Hector confirms.

Annabeth nods.

"If he's still incapacitated, we grab his gear, if not, I'll take him."

The man considers this. "Okay, then how will we separate Luthor from—"

Annabeth's hand shoots up in a wordless gesture, and Hector immediately shuts his mouth. She tilts her head. Somewhere down the hall, there's the quiet squeak of rubber against laminate flooring, occurring too often for it to be from a single person.

"They're here," she whispers gravely, "Switch to C."

Hector spurs into action, hoisting Cecilia, who despite her still frightened state remains thankfully silent, up to his shoulder. Annabeth turns the doorknob on the second door, ushers them in, and clicks it closed.

Unlike the other, this room is dark, with a switch on the wall she ignores, lest the light seeps underneath the door and gives away their position. Annabeth and Hector walk quietly through a small maze of file cabinets to the opposite wall, using their hands to feel around for obstacles.

"Calma, mija, we're going to be okay," he murmurs quietly to Cecilia.

Behind them, Annabeth sees the vague shape of his free arm come up to brush his daughter's cheek.

She sucks in her breath. "Wait—"

Without his hand to scope out his surroundings, Hector's foot bangs noisily against a cabinet, the hollow metal casing echoing around them in warped waves. He freezes.

The front door in the previous room slams open, and Annabeth hears Luthor's angry order to follow that sound.

"Go, go," Annabeth nearly yells under her breath.

She pushes against Hector's back, spurring him into action. They dash through the last few cabinets, accidentally bumping into a few more, but at this point, they've abandoned all pretense of staying silent.

The storage room spits them out into another hallway. Annabeth drags Hector and Cecilia all the way down to the end, as far she can get them, and jerks open another door, shutting it moments before Luthor and his guard emerge from the same dark room.

Annabeth crosses their new hiding spot, a workshop, to exit through the opposite way.

"Hades, it's locked," she curses, viciously. She pulls harder, but the bolt, the knob, and the door are all metal, and it doesn't give way.

"What?" Hector echoes, rushing to join her. A door in the distance, the way they had come from, opens, and this time they both hear it. "I think, I could pick the lock," he stammers, "But I don't have—"

Annabeth reaches up and yanks two bobby pins out of her hair, a few blonde curls falling loose. Hector takes them, prying one apart, and bending the back of the other down.

Cecilia flits nervously around his crouched body, and Annabeth holds herself back from doing the same, instead alternating her attention between listening for Luthor and watching Hector fiddle with the pins.

Another door in the distance opens. Luthor and his guard are checking each room in the hallway one by one. It won't be long before he reaches them, and there's no way out but through.

Her companion's grip slips, the makeshift tension lever falling out of the lock. He fumbles to pick it up, hands sweaty.

"Hector," Annabeth warns.

"I just—need more time," he grunts, trying again.

We don't have any, she almost snaps, but stops herself. That won't help him.

Biting her tongue, Annabeth darts around the workshop for something that might. There's a 3D printer in the corner, a sanding table, glass cabinets filled with circuit boards and wiring, and heaps of scrap metal. Near the latter, she sees a cylindrical object, almost two feet tall. An idea strikes her.

One that will work, but might really trap them in here.

Only a door or two down, Luthor kicks something in frustration, and she hears the sound of it shattering. Annabeth refuses to meet her end down here. This can't be the way she goes out, alone and isolated, outwitted by some mortal psychopath. The dagger at her hip grows heavy.

She could take them, take Luthor and take the guard. She hasn't trained her whole life for nothing. It might ruin months of hard work, but she could do it. Dodge the first shot, throw the knife, follow it up with several swift blows to the chest. She can't control all the variables, all the flying bullets in the small room, but she knows she can make it out.

From her father's side, Cecilia looks back at her, her bottom lip wobbling. Annabeth sets her jaw. She has trained her whole life, but not for this, not to just survive.

Annabeth makes her decision.

"Whatever happens," she calls out to Hector, "Don't stop."

She turns the gas knob on the device slightly to the left and presses down on a button with her index finger. A small blue flame shoots out, and approaching the side they had come in, Annabeth holds the blowtorch up to the metal doorknob.

She hears the door directly across the hall open, quiet footsteps shuffling in. She turns the heat a notch higher. A few moments later, she hears the steps return, the dull thuds stopping closer than the squeaks.

"Last one, sir," a male voice says.

"Indeed."

At Luthor's cold acknowledgment, Annabeth releases her hold on the flame and backs away slowly, still keeping it raised. She positions herself between the door and Hector's form. The clicking of pins continues in her ear, and when she allows a small glance back, she sees a bead of sweat drip down his forehead.

All of a sudden, Luthor howls in pain, and something heavy thuds against the other side of the door. Annabeth jumps slightly even though she had been expecting it, but Hector, paying heed to her earlier instruction, jams the bobby pin further into the lock.

"Open that damned door!" Luthor shouts to his guard.

Annabeth hadn't had enough time with the torch as she had hoped, which means the heat was fading, and Luthor would—

Hector gasps, and Annabeth does not hesitate to whirl around and flee through the now-unlocked door. She uses a precious second to re-bolt it behind her, racing down the new hallway, Hector and Cecilia at her heels.

"This way," she gasps out, making a swift right. Behind her, Hector heaves with exertion, but the adrenaline rush helps him keep up.

As if in slow motion, she sees the handle on a nearby door turn. They break left almost immediately after and Annabeth flattens herself against the corner, grabbing Hector's arm to stop him from going further. He opens his mouth to ask about the holdup, but then he hears the footsteps too, and his eyes widen. She holds her hand up in a wait gesture, before unclipping her hat and disappearing under it.

Hector tucks his daughter's face into his neck and stays perfectly still.

Annabeth readies the torch, steeling herself, and as soon as a dark figure rounds the corner, she holds down the button and aims.

The previously injured guard gasps and doubles over at the sudden white-hot pain, but she doesn't give him any time to recover. Releasing the pressure on the torch, she knees him in the stomach, snatches the gun from his flailing fingers, and slams the cool metal to the back of his hunched neck. He crumples instantly.

Annabeth shoves the gun into the back of her waistband and uses a free hand to rip off her cap. Hector stares at the guard's unconscious body, stunned, but after a barked order, follows her lead back into the maze of hallways.

LINEBREAK

Their new hiding spot is only a door down from the first room they had camped out in, based on the slightly idealistic thought that Luthor would assume they would go somewhere new. Annabeth knows it won't fool him for long, but it's all she can think of at the moment.

She allows herself a few precious breaths to calm her heartbeat, before reaching back and retrieving the gun she had stolen. She holds it out to Hector, but he just stares at the pistol.

"What did you do?" he breathes.

Annabeth's chest curls with a bitter, defensive feeling.

"The guard will be fine," she snaps, "It was on the lowest heat setting and he was wearing multiple layers."

"To Luthor," he clarifies, a look of horror slowly dawning upon him, "You burned him, his hand, oh god, our exit—"

"I didn't have—," Annabeth shakes her head firmly, "I made a tactical choice."

"To trap us in here forever?" Hector demands. Cecilia sniffles, but this time he ignores her. "What if there's permanent damage? The biometric lock, it won't open, and then we'll—"

Annabeth's hand shakes around the gun. "I was trying to help. If I hadn't, Luthor would have opened that door and shot you on sight, why can't you see that?"

"Right, like I'm going to believe a word out of your mouth when you're the reason we're here in the first place!" Hector lashes out, his rising fury making him dangerously loud.

"I did it to save your daughter!"

There's a brief, tense moment of silence. Cecilia lets out a wet sob, balled-up fists coming up to press against her eyes.

The angry atmosphere melts, Hector kneeling down to pull her into a hug. Annabeth finally notices how would up she had gotten, and gingerly places the gun on a countertop beside her.

"I'm scared," the girl wails, "I just wanna go home!"

Hector murmurs soft platitudes into his daughter's hair, picking his head up once to send Annabeth a look that's conflictingly grateful and distraught all at the same time. She closes her eyes briefly in exhaustion.

"Please, if we get home, I'll be good, I promise! I'll-I'll eat all my vegetables," the girl cries softly into Hector's neck, hiccupping between words. He tries to hush her, but she's on a roll now, pleading to some unknown deity, "I'll do all my homework, even the math ones, and-and I won't cry when I have to go to school, even if I see the weird people."

It's painfully reminiscent of prayers she's heard at camp, of her siblings and pseudo-cousins sharing all the perfectly ordinary things they're excited about, if they just make it through this one fight and get to go home.

"Weird people?" Annabeth says, trying to distract herself from the lump in her throat.

"They have one eye," Cecilia mumbles, and her father sighs and mutters something about an overactive imagination.

And suddenly Annabeth stands ramrod straight.

"Is her mom in the picture?" she asks.

Hector sends her a disbelieving look and doesn't answer, so she repeats the question, insistently.

"No, she passed a few years ago," he replies, voice hard, "What—"

"And she was the biological mother?" Annabeth presses.

"I'd think so, I watched her give birth," he answers, glaring, "What is your problem?"

Annabeth ignores him, mind swimming with new information.

She slings the backpack off of her shoulders, and unzips it, pulling out her preferred knife. Resting it in the palms of her hands, she bends down to Cecilia's level. The girl's eyes widen with curiosity. The celestial bronze glows faintly in the fluorescent light. She unhooks her arms from her father's neck and reaches a small hand out to it, an almost subconscious movement.

"You've had a gun this whole time?" Hector interrogates, frowning.

Cecilia's fingers pass through the knife. Annabeth can feel the soft press of skin against her palm.

As she stands abruptly, the man emits a small noise of confusion. Again, she ignores him. A million things race through her brain at once, and Annabeth picks apart the threads as fast as she can, and slowly something takes shape. A plan. She chews her lip harder. The chances were low, but then again, she had seen...

Annabeth looks at Hector.

"I think I know how to get out of here," she says, "But you're not going to like it. Hades, I'm not going to like it."

Hector stares back, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"We have to get to the basement."

LINEBREAK

Getting to the third floor proves trickier than going from the first to the second. Annabeth opens the door to the hallway, straining her ears as far as they'll reach. Luthor's close.

She returns inside, locking gazes with a still silently protesting Hector. She hands him her Yankees hat, carabiner attached, and the gun from the guard.

"As long as you carry her, it'll shield you both. I distract Luthor, you run and wait for me outside the bottom stairwell."

The man takes the hat and opens his mouth to argue, but Annabeth cuts him off again.

"I'll lead you to the end of the hall. You remember the directions from there?" Annabeth makes Hector repeat them back to her.

"What if you don't make it?" he says after Annabeth is sure he won't get lost.

She purses her lips, deciding to be entirely upfront. "I have to, this won't work without me."

Hector stares at her conflictingly. "I—" he shakes his head, "Okay. Okay, I'm ready."

Annabeth flips her dark hood up, tucking in every loose curl to hide her identity as much as possible. "Let's go."

She opens the door, and they exchange one last determined look before Hector and Cecilia disappear into thin air.

LINEBREAK

Almost immediately, it goes terribly wrong.

They make it to the end of the hallway, at least, but as soon as they reach the two-way cross, Annabeth hears a shout and looks to her right to see the shorter guard catch sight of her.

"Run," she hisses under her breath, directing Hector to continue forward, an instruction she prays he hears, and takes off to the left.

Two sets of thundering footsteps follow in her wake. All of a sudden, the air cracks and a bullet whizzes by, inches from her face. Annabeth hears the sound of another shot and breaks sharply left, into another hall.

She loses track of how many turns she's made, twisting back and forth between the walls, but now that he's seen her figure, Luthor doesn't relent in his pursuit. He knows she is not Hector.

She picks up her pace, legs burning. She just needs a few brief seconds of hesitation to lose them, and she knows she can go faster. She ignores the tightening of her muscles, and pushes through, racing past two more squares in the grid. Sneaking a peek behind her and finding the hall empty, she turns right and pulls up short against the wall. The sound of her footsteps disappears abruptly, and she hears Luthor and the guard slow to a stop.

"Where did they go?" Luthor demands, and when the guard hesitates for just half a second, she hears the sound of Luthor's gun reload, "Forget it, you take that side."

Annabeth slides further down, back pressed against the wall until she reaches the next corner. Circling around almost fully to where she had heard them, she waits at the last turn and listens. The boots against the ground squeak, ever so slightly. It's the guard. She keeps her head down and lets him approach.

The second he comes around, Annabeth grabs the gun, redirecting his line of fire, and pushes down, breaking his finger in the process. He grunts and tries to lash out with his good hand, but in the blink of an eye, she uses her size to step into his space and turn, hefting his weight onto her back and slamming his body down into the ground. Still gripping his injured hand, she wraps his own arm against his neck and throws all her weight to the side, pulling his elbow tight. He splutters against the choke hold for eight seconds, before sinking to the ground, unconscious.

Annabeth hears the shot go off behind her and doesn't think, just lets her instincts take over. Her arm grabs the fallen gun and her body launches to the right, tucking forward. She rolls to her feet, already on the move.

"You will pay for this," Luthor's voice echoes, tauntingly, from around the corner, "Or, we could make a deal. You tell me who you are and what you are doing on my property, and I don't kill you."

Annabeth stays quiet, feet sliding her further and further away. She needs to get out of here before he puts all the pieces together. She can't run around this floor forever. Hector and Cecilia are waiting for her, and she won't let them down. She shifts the fabric at her side, secures her hood, and exhales, then—

"I surrender," she announces, as gruffly as possible.

"Oh?" Luthor stops in his step and lets out a darkly unnatural chuckle. "Come out then, little girl."

Annabeth bites her tongue at the failed attempt to disguise her demographic and inches back to where she had run from, toward Luthor.

"Stop," Luthor commands, "Gun on the ground, hands in the air."

She drops the pistol, metal clattering in the silence, and kicks it into Luthor's view. Arms raised in the air, head firmly faced down, and praying to every god she knows, Annabeth brings herself into view and hopes that Luthor's morbid curiosity as to her identity outweighs his need to subdue her.

Everything bone in her body screams in protest. She's unprotected, exposed, vulnerable. She watches Luthor's polished leather shoes thud closer, and closer, until he stands only a foot or two away. Annabeth watches his arm drop, gun dangling loosely at his side.

"Show your face," he says, in a low voice.

Annabeth does not look up.

"I said," he hisses. She sees his other arm rise, open palm red and raw, "Who are you?"

He places his fingers under her chin, and pulls.

At the exact same time, Annabeth reaches down with her parallel hand, and squeezes his fingers tightly, blisters pressing painfully against each other. Luthor snarls, bringing the gun up once more, but she ducks down and darts through his legs. Reaching underneath her hoodie, she turns back, and plunges her steel dagger through his upper calf, piercing fabric, skin, and deep into muscle.

The howl of agony Luthor releases is both haunting and satisfying. He stumbles to his knees and swipes backward with his gun. Annabeth runs, feeling like she's on fire. She hears Luthor growl and let off another frustrated shot, but she's already gone, sprinting to the stairwell.

LINEBREAK

"Hector," she whispers furiously, "Hec—"

"I'm here." The man materializes a few feet away, and Annabeth takes the cap from him. "You're bleeding," he observes, startled.

What? Annabeth frowns, and glances down at her arm, peering through the dark fabric. Oh. That's what that was. She waves it off with a shake of her head.

"A graze," she mutters, "Let's go."

"That's a lot of blood," he stresses, letting Cecilia down to follow her.

It hurts, but it's not nearly the worst she's had. At least the sweater soaks it all up.

"I'll deal with it later," she dismisses, "Listen, I slowed Luthor down, but he's probably on his way. Come on, this way."

She leads them through a path she's been on before, ducking under and over heavy piping.

"How?"

"Stabbed him."

Hector chokes.

"With the pretty knife?" This time Cecilia speaks, deeming it safe because her dad is also talking.

Annabeth smiles slightly. "I wish." And if only it was as easy as exploding gold glitter.

"I know you're down here."

Luthor doesn't bother to walk quietly this time. All three of them hear the heavy, uneven thudding of his wounded leg as he descends the stairs. His voice sounds violently unhinged, rage driven to madness.

"There's nowhere to go."

Hector glances at her alarmed. Annabeth shakes her head again, firmly, and pulls him down another hallway, deeper, and then another.

"Where are you taking us?" he whispers, throat scratchy in the dusty air.

Above them, the lights flicker in and out of use. Annabeth's eyes start to burn. They're here.

She stops walking and turns to the wall.

"There's no exit," Hector pleads, shifting like he wants to dart away.

Annabeth opens her mouth to counter him, but Cecilia does instead. "Not true, papa," she whispers.

Annabeth runs her fingers along the faint seam on the rough surface, searching, searching. Somewhere above her head, she finds the indent. As the dust brushes away, a familiar symbol comes into view.

"Come out."

Luthor has resorted to lugging his bad leg. His shoe scrapes along, crunching loose particles on the ground. The metal of his gun drags across the surface of the walls.

Annabeth pays him no mind. Hector watches in horror as she dips a finger into her gunshot wound and raises it, pressing firmly.

The blood seeps into the wall, the Greek letter delta glowing golden, and the entire slab of concrete scratchily slides open. Beside her, Hector stares on, uncomprehendingly.

"Get in."

He hesitates, and Annabeth thinks she might have to pull him through with force, but Cecilia peers into the dark tunnel and steps through the entrance with ease. Hector snaps out of it and lurches forward to join her.

"You can't escape me," Luthor calls out, with malicious glee.

She gives the corner one last glance, Luthor's crooked shadow swelling, and smirks. The moment after Annabeth crosses the boundary, the door bolts shut, sealing itself up and disappearing from view.

LINEBREAK

Annabeth takes a deep, long breath. The air smells like dirt and rainwater.

"What is this?" Hector whispers from somewhere over her shoulder.

She can almost hear his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of it all. But it's no use. The darkness is impermeable.

It's strange, that she feels much safer in here, the evil seeping from the walls a much more familiar sensation than Luthor's underground metal prison. She knows better than to dwell on that feeling.

"The Labyrinth," Annabeth whispers back, "It's not a part of Luthor's world. He can't get to us in here."

As if a string has been cut, the tension drops from Hector's body.

"So, what's the plan? We wait him out, then sneak back—"

"No," Annabeth says, with a finality in her voice that makes him clutch Cecilia's hand tighter. "The only way out, is through the maze."

She reaches back into her backpack. Under the cover of darkness, Annabeth pops a piece of ambrosia into her mouth and lets the familiar taste of blueberry ice cream settle on her tongue. After strapping the celestial bronze dagger to her thigh, she flicks on her flashlight, pointing it down the path before them.

"What's down there? Where does it go?" he breathes, aghast. She can't imagine what he must see.

"I don't know," she admits "But Cecilia does, don't you?"

The girl startles at the way Annabeth crouches down to meet her eyes but nods shyly and points in front of her.

"There's a light, on the floor."

Annabeth breathes an audible sigh of relief and hands the girl's father the flashlight.

"Just keep walking," she instructs, then lowers her gaze, "Tell your dad if you see anything weird, okay? I'll cover our backs."

They travel in dead silence for fifteen minutes, but it feels like much longer. The pain in her arm has dissipated almost completely, but the blood has yet to dry, fabric sticking against her skin. Hector has yet to ask a single question, and she's immensely grateful for the ability to just focus on getting through. She angles herself to search for some sort of following shadow, and, finding none, turns back around to see that Hector has stopped.

The path before them diverges into two distinctly-looking passages. The one on the left is adorned with flickering torches, lighting the way through. The man steps towards it, but Annabeth tugs him back sharply by the shoulder.

She looks at Cecilia. "Which one?"

The girl points nervously to the right, where the cave narrows uncomfortably and seems to slope downward.

"Out of the three of us, she's the only one with the sight. If she says that way, that's where we go," Annabeth explains, at Hector's open mouth.

He shuts it, pursing his lips, and nods.

They squeeze through the gap one by one, linking hands to pull each other through for another few minutes before the space widens again. Cecilia makes them take the middle path through a three-way fork, every step feeling like it's taking them deeper and deeper down.

Suddenly, the girl stops in her tracks, and pivots left. She points to the section of the stacked stone wall before her. Annabeth grabs at the rocks, prying them off with her fingers and Hector starts to help. After dislodging a few, the rest of them fall away, and soft, cool-toned light filters in.

Blinking against it, Annabeth helps Cecilia and Hector through before climbing out.

"We're home," Cecilia gasps, looking around. Her father joins in her awe as they recognize the familiar surroundings.

They're in the center of a quaint town center, spit out at the back of an old church. Beyond the short grass field, the sun is starting to come up behind the red-bricked buildings.

"I don't get it," Hector mutters, "We were in Metropolis, and we only walked for thirty minutes."

"Do you want me to explain?" Annabeth asks, tilting her head.

If that's what he wants, she'll give it to him. She owes him that much.

"I don't," he says, finally. "I haven't understood a single thing that's happened tonight, including you and your whole—" He gestures vaguely at her. "Thing. I think I'd like to keep it that way. I just want Cecilia and I to get back to our lives."

Annabeth nods, somewhat relieved.

"And," he pauses, "I'm not going to apologize for being angry, but...I said some harsh things to you down there, when you were just trying to help and for that, I'm sorry."

She manages a weak smile. "Don't be. I got you into that mess, didn't I?" She means for it to be laced with humor, but instead, it's a little sad. She clears her throat. "Do you have anywhere to stay? Luthor might come looking for you."

The man frowns, then sighs. "I have a couple of friends that wouldn't mind housing us for a while, god knows how long we'll be there."

"August first." At his confused look, she continues. "He goes to court on the twenty-ninth."

Hector scoffs without heat. "Don't be naïve. Luthor's got the best lawyers blood money can buy. He's going to win that trial."

Annabeth smiles sharply. "No, he's not."

There's another moment of silence where Cecilia twists her feet into the dewy grass while he eyes her warily.

"Two weeks, huh?" he asks.

"Two weeks," Annabeth confirms, and watches the two of them walk hand in hand down the street until they are no more than faint pinpricks against the dawning sun.

LINEBREAK

Leaning against the church's back wall, Annabeth holds her cell phone up.

"Annabeth?" The voice in her ear is groggy with sleep. "It's like," Percy groans, "Five-thirty am, what's up?"

"Sorry, time moves weirdly in the labyrinth," she laughs lightly, despite her budding headache.

She can hear him bolt upright in bed. "What?" he demands, suddenly completely awake. "Where are you?"

"Town church of Ridgewood, in New Jersey."

"I'm coming."

Annabeth closes her eyes just briefly, in rest. All the adrenaline in her body has drained her, and she's tired. It's the regular sort of exhaustion this time, though, the lull following a battle, fought and won.

She peels her eyelids open, just in time to catch Mrs. O'Leary bound out from the shadow of a tall tree. Percy leaps off her back and runs up. Annabeth extends her arms out and lets him smother her in a tight hug. He smells of saltwater and familiar laundered bedsheets, and Annabeth buries her nose in his shirt.

She stays like this, for as long as she can, before the panting hellhound swipes her tongue up, licking them apart. With his hands on her shoulders, Percy studies her in concern. The darkened, ripped patch of his sweater, heavily bagged eyes, and hair frizzy from being trapped underneath a hood.

"Is that a bullet hole?" he practically screeches, sticking his finger straight through the arm of the fabric.

She can't help the well of laughter that bubbles up inside her, as he stares, incredulous. When it subsides, she leans forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I think I need a break," she admits.

"Let's go home," he says and circles his arms around her back once more.

"I can't." Another laugh, slightly delirious, erupts from her chest. "I have work in three hours."

LINEBREAK

Bright and early on Sunday, Annabeth jogs through her usual route in Heroes Park, along the small lake, through the winding trees, and then across the green field, towards the central statue.

It's busier than the same time on Saturdays, with several picnic blankets dotting the grass and an impressive number of runners, stretching their limbs or following their own paths. Annabeth joins them, bending down to reach her fingers to her toes.

Beyond the statue, a few meters away, a coffee truck with a permanent set up of small tables replaces the early bird menu sign with their all-day one. Despite it only being two hours after daybreak, about a third of the chairs surrounding it are occupied.

Annabeth types an unfamiliar number into her phone and presses dial. She holds the device up to her ear with one hand and stretches the other arm across her body. She feels nothing but pleasant tightening, like she had never been shot in the first place.

"This is a private line," a deep voice responds, irritably, after two rings, "Who is this?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"What?" it snaps. "Who—"

"Regarding Luthor." Annabeth repositions her phone to the other ear, switching arms. "A deal that will benefit the both of us."

"And what's that?" the faceless man replies, somewhat sarcastic.

"Pull your support."

A harsh laugh echoes through the receiver. "Listen, if this is some kind of joke by a reporter or the DA's office, I'll have you know, what you're doing is highly illegal."

"I'm not kidding," Annabeth continues, "When I say it really is in your best interest to drop Luthor."

"Best interest? That's funny, I'd imagine our best interest would be to not break a contract with the man paying us more money than most people see in a lifetime. Now, if that's all—"

"What good is all that money if you lose?" Annabeth props her toes up against the base of the statue and leans forward, stretching out her calf. "The evidence is piled up against him, and the way I see it, a loss as big as this will ruin your reputation."

"Lose," the man echoes, scoffing, like he cannot comprehend the very concept, "Again, I don't know who you are, or what this is, but don't ever contact this number again."

"I didn't want to do this," she sighs, which is a complete and utter bold-faced lie, "Check your email." The other end is silent. "Trust me. You should see this."

She waits a few seconds, patiently, switching legs before the sound of sputtering liquid fills her ear.

"What...what is this?"

"You might be able to fabricate evidence here, bribe some high-ranking officials, whatever it is you people do to get your way, but do you really think that kind of process is going to hold up in international court? Luthor will get what's coming to him. Best case, the entire world watches you lose, and all your current clients spook and withdraw their contracts. Worst case, Luthor isn't the only one on trial."

The person on the phone holds their breath, no doubt flicking through all the pictures and data that she has sent over. Finally, he sighs, long and deep.

"Good choice," Annabeth says, and ends the call.

A few meters away, a grey-haired man sits at a table, coffee dripping down his collared shirt, and holds his head in his hands.

A.N. oh ?????? we're in it for the home stretch !!

i legit love shut up and follow my plan annabeth sm

please let me know what you thought of this chapter, i am currently living off of your guys' comments <33

i liked the fun facts, so i'm gonna do them again.

1) "lets go home" and "i can't i have work" is the percabeth version of "i should come over" and "to do what"

2) cecilia, the name, means blind, which i think is just so funny

3) i really did not mean for this chapter to be this long, but once i started writing, it just kept coming. i even had to delete a few labyrinth scenes bc tbh, she's been through enough today and i couldn't pile 'almost getting abandoned in the maze trying to save mortals from a monster' on top of that (and i was tired)