daylight | percy jackson

hair ties and dragons

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

BOOK THREE

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

❝ who told thee? ❞

ARIA FELT numb. The mythomagic statue in her hand felt cold, and she wrapped her hands around it tightly. If Bianca couldn't make it out of the junkyard safely, she would make sure that her one parting gift to Nico would. 

Bianca di Angelo had grown up too quickly, her once childish mannerisms forced to convert to one of motherly tendencies. She was just a girl, who for once, wanted to feel like the child she was. She was just a girl who had jumped at the opportunity to feel loved by an older figure, a girl who had so much to do, but now, had nothing ahead of her.

She was just a child.

After her little moment in the rubble, where Percy held her as tenderly as a mother, they found a tow truck so old it might've been thrown away itself. But the engine started, and it had a full tank of fuel, so they decided to borrow it. 

Thalia drove. She didn't seem as stunned as Zoë, Aria, Percy, or Grover.

"The skeletons are still out there," she reminded them. "We need to keep moving."

The daughter of Zeus navigated them through the desert, under clear blue skies, the sand so bright it hurt to look at it. Zoë sat up front with Thalia. Aria, Grover and Percy sat in the back, leaning against the tow winch. The air was cool and dry, but the nice weather just seemed like an insult after losing Bianca.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy give her a subtle look-over. 

"You okay?" he whispered to her quietly, the only noise being the sound of the crackling radio and the silent hums of the engine. 

Her voice felt small as she spoke. "How are we going to tell Nico?"

Percy simply shook his head. "I don't know."

"This is my fault," she said, clutching the figurine tighter, as if squeezing it might make Bianca come back. "I-I should have fought harder, I should have- I don't know, done something!"

Percy looked at her directly in the eyes. "This isn't your fault. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"I just did."

Grover looked panicked. "Don't say that!" he sniffled. "It's bad enough Annabeth is gone, and now Bianca. Do you think I could stand it if..." he took a deep breath. "Do you think anybody else but you guys would be my best friend?"

"Ah, Grover..." Percy managed.

"I'm sorry, Grover," Aria muttered. 

The satyr wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy like he had war paint on. "I'm...I'm okay."

But he wasn't okay. Ever since the encounter in New Mexico--whatever had happened when that wild wind blew through--he seemed really fragile, even more emotional than usual.

The world around her was collapsing, the girl only able to watch as each star continued to fall from the night sky, their light burned out, their presence no longer needed in the universe.