The apartment was unusually quiet when I arrived.
Normally, Mom would greet me with a smile, ask about school, and complain that I had once again got kicked out. This time, she was standing beside the kitchen window, staring down at the street.
She turned the moment I entered.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she crossed the room and pulled me into a hug.
I felt the tension in her arms immediately.
"Mom?"
"I'm glad you're home."
Her voice trembled.
That frightened me more than anything I had seen on the bus.
I stepped back and studied her face. She looked tired. Not ordinary tired, either. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and her usual confidence had disappeared.
"You know something."
She closed her eyes.
"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"I notice a lot more now."
That made her expression change.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Mom."
She sighed and moved toward the kitchen table.
"Sit down."
I did.
For a moment, she simply stared at her hands.
Then she whispered, "There are things in this world that most people never see."
My heartbeat quickened.
"I've seen one."
Her head snapped upward.
"What?"
"The thing at the museum."
Color drained from her face.
"What thing?"
"A monster."
The word seemed to strike her like a physical blow.
She looked toward the windows, then the door, as if expecting something to be standing outside.
"What did it look like?"
"Wings. Claws. Red eyes. It called itself something, I think. I don't know."
Mom pressed her fingers against her forehead.
"Oh, Percy."
"You knew."
She didn't answer.
"You knew all along."
"I knew there were possibilities."
"That isn't an answer."
"No," she said softly. "It isn't."
I waited.
Finally, she looked directly at me.
"There are ancient things, Percy. Things older than the city. Older than this country. Older than almost everything you know."
The words should have sounded ridiculous.
Instead, they fit perfectly with everything I had already experienced.
"The gods?"
She froze.
I stared at her.
"You said ancient things."
Mom's silence was answer enough.
I leaned back.
"So they're real."
She looked down.
"Yes."
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
All those stories. All those myths. Gods, monsters, heroes, impossible creatures.
Not stories.
History.
Maybe my history.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because knowing can be dangerous."
"Not knowing seems pretty dangerous too."
She gave a tired smile.
"You sound like your father."
The mention of him changed the atmosphere.
I had questions about my father that Mom had never answered properly. Where he was. Why he had left. Why she became so uncomfortable whenever I asked.
Now those questions felt different.
"Was he one of them?"
Mom's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
"Your father was...special."
"That's not an answer."
"No," she whispered. "But it's the answer I can give you tonight."
She stood abruptly.
"Pack a bag."
"What?"
"We're going to Montauk."
"Now?"
"As soon as possible."
She moved around the apartment, opening drawers and gathering clothes with practiced urgency.
"Why?"
"Because it's quieter there."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"It will give us time."
"Time for what?"
She stopped.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"To get you somewhere safe."
The phrase chilled me.
Safe.
After the museum, after the shadow, after everything I had learned, the word no longer sounded reassuring.
It sounded temporary.
Mom packed clothes, toiletries, food, and a flashlight. She checked the windows twice and locked the door behind us with unusual care.
I followed her to the elevator.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Are we running away?"
She looked at me.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Then she corrected herself.
"We're moving before something finds us."
That was worse.
Outside, the evening air was warm and humid. Manhattan continued moving around us as though nothing had changed. Cars filled the streets. People hurried along sidewalks. Restaurants glowed beneath neon signs.
The city looked normal.
I knew better.
My enhanced senses stretched outward.
The familiar currents of life surrounded me. Thousands of people carried tiny points of energy. Trees whispered with slow vitality. Somewhere overhead, birds moved through the darkening sky.
Nothing immediately threatened us.
Yet the feeling of being watched remained.
We reached the car.
Mom loaded our bags into the trunk.
Before I climbed inside, I looked back at the apartment building.
For years, it had been home.
Small.
Sometimes chaotic.
Sometimes difficult.
But safe.
Now it felt like a place I had already outgrown.
The journey toward Montauk began after sunset.
Mom drove while I watched the city lights disappear behind us.
Neither of us talked much.
Every so often, she glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
I pretended not to notice.
Eventually the buildings thinned.
The roads became darker.
Trees replaced concrete.
The farther we traveled, the stronger the strange energy inside me seemed to become.
Chakra flowed quietly.
Ki burned steadily.
Two different forces.
One body.
Mine.
I closed my eyes and listened.
The engine.
The tires against pavement.
Mom's breathing.
The wind.
And beneath everything else, something distant.
A presence.
Faint.
But real.
My eyes opened.
"Mom."
She gripped the steering wheel.
"What?"
"Are we being followed?"
Her silence lasted too long.
"I don't know."
The answer was honest.
That made it terrifying.
She reached across the console and took my hand.
"Whatever happens, stay with me."
I squeezed her fingers.
"I will."
Montauk had always represented escape.
A beach.
A place where summer could stretch endlessly and the world seemed simpler.
But I understood something now.
There was no going back to simple.
The ordinary world had cracked open.
Behind its surface waited gods, monsters, ancient powers, and mysteries connected to my own blood.
And somewhere ahead, I could feel destiny waiting.
The road carried us toward the ocean.
Toward Montauk.
Toward whatever came next.
For the first time, we weren't traveling there for vacation.
We were traveling there because peace had already ended.
Beyond the darkness, something ancient was already waiting for us there.