Chapter 27 – Shawarma
Ares vanished with the sound of a revving motorcycle engine and a high-five that nearly dislocated my soul. Hades just disappeared in a soft poof of shadows, leaving behind a neatly folded $50 bill and a single ominous whisper:
"Use it responsibly. Or don't. At this point, I don't care."
Which, to be fair, was exactly the kind of parenting advice I expected from the god of the dead.
So, there I was, standing on a sidewalk in New Jersey, holding divine cash and a plastic bag filled with leftover fries and existential dread, with no ride home. Just vibes.
I looked at Cerberus, who had vanished too. Probably back in the Underworld, curled up on Hades' favorite couch and chewing on some condemned soul.
I sighed and turned toward the train station.
But first…
"Snacks," I muttered. "Can't travel without proper train snacks. That's how monsters win."
So I wandered downtown, following the unmistakable scent of sizzling meat, until I found a street vendor with a shawarma cart and the kind of attitude that said "I've fought three tax audits and lived."
"Spicy lamb," I said. "Double wrap. Add fries in the wrap. Sauce like you're trying to drown me."
"Cash or card?" the guy asked, flipping meat.
"Cash."
Ten minutes later, I was walking toward the train station, shawarma in one hand, bag of bottled drinks in the other, already planning my nap schedule on the ride back to Camp Half-Blood.
That's when I heard it.
Crying.
Soft, sharp. Not wounded-animal crying. Not monster-trap bait.
Human.
Alleyway.
I stopped. Groaned.
"Let me guess," I muttered to no one, "this is the 'side quest' music starting."
I peeked into the alley.
Yep.
There was a teenage girl, cornered against the wall, and looming over her was what could only be described as a rat monster the size of a motorcycle. Its eyes glowed red. Its tail twitched. And its claws were clicking like it was about to drop the hottest diss track of 2025.
"Hey," I said, still chewing. "You gotta license for attempted murder or is this a freelance gig?"
The rat snarled and lunged.
I flicked my wrist.
Chains flew.
I stepped forward once, twisted my hips like a boxer, and sent a chain-blade tearing through the air.
The rat barely made a squeak before its torso separated from its ambitions. It hit the ground in a puff of dust and unfulfilled evil.
I picked up the shawarma where I'd dropped it, brushed it off, and turned to the girl.
"You okay?"
Her expression did not say "thank you."
No.
"You idiot!" she snapped, storming toward me. "You brutish, impulsive, lout-headed son of Ares!"
I blinked.
"Uh," I said, mouth full. "Yes. And you are…?"
She glared, hands on her hips, voice like a blade forged out of disapproval. "Zoë Nightshade. Lieutenant of Artemis."
I choked slightly on my lamb.
"You're Zoë—the Zoë Nightshade?" I asked.
"Do you know another?" she said, nostrils flaring.
I held up my hands. "Sorry. Big fan. Love your eternal disdain for the patriarchy."
She narrowed her eyes. "I had been tracking that rodent for three weeks. It was a lead. A rare trail."
"A lead?" I asked, confused. "It looked like it was about to eat someone."
"That was bait!"
I stared.
She sighed dramatically. "He was shedding fur where Orion had last been spotted. I needed it to complete the trail."
I blinked again. "Wait. Orion? As in tall, angry, Hunter-hating Gigantes Orion?"
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You know him?"
"Know of him," I said. "You've been chasing him for what, centuries?"
"Two thousand years," she snapped. "Do you intend to remind me of every failure next, or will you insult my haircut as well?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Listen, I didn't know you were mid-CSI: Monster Edition. I just saw you and assumed, you know—'help the civilian' moment."
"I am no civilian."
"No kidding."
She looked me over, disgust mixed with reluctant curiosity. "That chain blade," she said slowly. "Let me see it."
"Uh…" I glanced at my arm. "It's mine…."
"Let me see it."
I extended the chain, letting it uncoil and hover, glowing faintly in the dark.
She stepped close, ran a hand along the links—not flinching at the heat.
"Hmph," she said. "Not bad. Brutal. But effective."
"Like its user," I muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Then she straightened and said, totally serious, "You owe me."
I groaned. "Because I killed your rat lead?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'm sorry. I'll buy you another rat."
She didn't laugh.
Zoë looked at me like she was deciding whether to stab me or recruit me. "Give me the blade."
"What?! No! This is my weapon! It's got history. Trauma. Sentience, probably. Also it makes me look awesome when I'm spinning."
"Then I'll take your hand."
"Wow," I said, stepping back. "You Hunters don't mess around."
"I do not like men," she said flatly.
"See, I've picked that up."
She crossed her arms. "Then repay me in information."
I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of information?"
"You said you know Orion."
"I said I know where you can find him."
She stopped.
For the first time, she looked interested. "You're bluffing."
"Nope. I know things."
"You know where he is?"
"Not exactly. But I can get you close. Real close."
She took a slow step forward.
"What's your price?"
I scratched my chin. "Honestly? I want in."
"In? Into what?"
"The chase. The trap. The fight. I want to help you kill him."
She blinked.
"You want to help me kill the one being I've never bested."
I grinned. "Sounds fun."
She scoffed. "Why?"
I looked down at the chain wrapped around my wrist. Flexed my fingers.
"In order to become one of the greatest," I said quietly, "I need to start by cutting down its legends."
Zoë's eyes flickered.
And for the first time, I think, she smiled.
Barely.
But it counted.