I know there's no excuse to how late I am, and I'm very sorry. Really. I've been incredibly busy, and just recently typed out this chapter for you. SO sorry that this is like, three months overdue.

Please enjoy!

Chapter Three: A Day in the (Not-So-Normal) Life

Chiron is pacing back and forth - dizzy from watching him, I drop my gaze to my lap, where my hands are clenched tight in a fist. My knuckles are white. Next to me, Perseus - 'scuse me, Percy - is sitting upright and rigid, like he's in the freaking military or something. I elbow him and he jumps; I turn away, stifling a giggle despite the seriousness of the issue at hand.

Luke, the boy who brought the news, is standing in front of Chiron's desk, arms crossed over his chest. I take a moment to study him. He's alert: his bright blue eyes stalk Chiron's footsteps and his entire body is tense. Like everyone in the ISS, there's not a hint of fat on him - I'd hazard a guess and say he's a little shy of six-and-a-half feet tall, athletic, good with a knife and gun. His face looks like it's been chiseled out of granite; a mop of blonde hair and a shadow of dark across his chin give him a rugged look, and a scar scratches its way down his left cheek. Blade, I'd say. Nothing leaves that deep of a wound - nor that clean of one.

I deem him strong, fast, smart, and attractive. What else is there to say?

Chiron stops his pacing for a moment to pick up the GITC file from his desk. "Cyanide," he mutters. "Only three or four reported cyanide deaths over the span of nearly twenty years, so why now?" He tosses down the file. Keeps pacing.

Helga Jones died of cyanide poisoning. Red-faced and skin flushed pink, she looked almost exactly like Stewart. Except female. The scientists bringing in the blood-test results had just confirmed what we already knew. By some mystery, Helga was as dead as Stewart, in the same manner, and only a day after. A budgeter and a financier gone. Who was next?

"Luke, when did you find Helga?"

My head snaps up at the sound of Chiron's voice; from the corner of my eye, I see Percy do the same, automatically straightening up even more, if it's even possible. Now I know what they mean when they say "ramrod posture." Having used an old-school rifle a couple of times, I don't think anyone can get straighter than a ramrod; Percy's getting pretty damn close.

"Well, my mentor called me to see him after lunch, just standard business. He wanted to go over how I was doing in trainings, y'know, the usual stuff. He asked me a bit about Stewart's death, but since that wasn't assigned to him, we didn't talk about it much, except he asked me what I thought about the suspicions - "

"Suspicions?" I interrupt. Luke turns his blue-eyed gaze on me; I refuse to blush. "Sorry. Suspicions about what?"

"I was getting to that." Although the statement itself should be annoyed, he tinges it with a smile, which I both appreciate and take offense at. "Suspicions that the GITC did it, of course." All right, so that was demeaning. "I told him that in all the years I've been here, the GITC has never full-on attacked us like this, so why would they now?"

"Exactly!" The words burst out of me before I can help them. Percy chuckles next to me. "Rule number one, Annabeth?"

I turn on him. "Oh shut up, you. Your posture is like a freaking drill sergeant's."

Luke laughs at that - I'm liking this guy more and more with each passing minute - "If you two are done…"

Never mind.

"Annabeth. Percy. Focus." Chiron's stopped pacing; he stands leaning against his desk, crossed arms and fidgety. "Luke. Please continue."

Luke runs a quick hand through his hair, jerky and habitual. "I told him that GITC has always been on the edges of our radar, though, so we definitely shouldn't rule them out. Then we talked a bit more, and he dismissed me, so I left. I was on the way to my civics lessons - my classroom passes right by Helga's office. I was running a little - I was late - when I heard a loud thump, and went to investigate: when I did, Helga was dead on the floor."

I'm leaning forward, listening intently, soaking up every detail. Luke pauses for breath, and Chiron drums his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Then? Then what?"

"I ran into the room, saw her, yelled for help, and the civics teacher came running. They sent me to get you, since you're the one assigned to the case, and here I am."

Luke finishes his story and rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Chiron is nodding in that slow, contemplative way he has when he's thinking. I'm sitting with my hands wedged under my thighs; I sneak a glance to Percy and see he's propped his elbows onto his knees and is staring at Luke with those green eyes of his. I can see the wheels turning in his head, and his brow is furrowed like he doesn't quite believe Luke's story, but why not? I see no holes in it.

I watch Percy carefully until he relaxes. He slumps back and drop his hands into his lap. I don't know what to think of that boy.

I share a room with Thalia. It's past midnight when I slip inside, treading as quietly as I can, but she's a light sleeper and raises her head to blink at me from her bunk. "Whatchu doing up so late?"

"Talking to Chiron about the case. Gathering hints." I wriggle out of my jeans and pull on sweatpants, tie my hair up into a haphazard bun. I check the clock and groan - I'm not going to get much sleep tonight.

"And Percy, too?" She's awake enough to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively at me - I give her a slap on the head as I make my way to my bunk.

"Urgh. You're just as annoying as he is."

"Seeing as you like him, I'll take that as a compliment," Thalia replies snidely, and turns over, pulling her blankets up to her chin.

"Not in the mood right now. I'll whack your butt at weapons training tomorrow, though." I flop into bed and yank the covers over my head. "G'night."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite."

I'm asleep within seconds.

I'm in a dark cell, the only light filtering through the door. It's damp and dark and smelly, and I'm crouched in a corner, fiddling with something: of all things, a tube of toothpaste. Beside me, a shape moves - my subconscious jumps until I realize it's Percy.

What is he doing in my dream?

His hair is a rat's nest, and his skin is dirty and smudged in the faint light. A cut highlights his cheekbone, and he's limping slightly as he settles himself by my side, chewing morosely on a chunk of bread. Even his green eyes have lost some of their sparkle. His shirt is in rags, his sneakers are ripped and faded. He looks terrible.

I glance down at myself and am surprised to see my clothes streaked in grime, practically falling off my frame. There's a gash on my calf - touching it, I feel nothing. My hands are coated in dirt, and the toothpaste tube is dark with dust as well. Blonde hair falls over my shoulder in a greasy lump. I'm sure I look just as bad as Percy, if not worse.

He hands me a piece of bread, and I take it - my dream-self recognizes hunger. The grain is thick and the food is stale, but to me it's a meal worthy of a king. I put the toothpaste down and am just about to point at it - it's important, somehow - but then Percy opens his mouth to take his last bite, and I see the eyes on his tongue.

They're blue as the sky, but more cerulean - they blink at me from under long lashes, cold and all-seeing. He pops the bread into his mouth and the eyes disappear, but I've gotten a glimpse, and a glimpse is enough; I struggle away from him, clutching the toothpaste in my hand like a life preserver, and crawl on all fours towards the door, stopping only when I bump into it. Percy follows, and as he laughs, those blue eyes are visible again, and they laugh with him.

I press myself against the impenetrable jail door. Percy steps closer. His mouth opens wide.

I've never functioned well on four hours of sleep.

I bolt upright in bed at the beeping of my alarm and nearly fall out trying to turn the damn thing off. Thalia's already awake, and laughs as I stumble from underneath my warm covers. She yanks on a shirt and laces black combat boots over her jeans, brushes her wild, spiky hair with her fingers. I grope my way into the small bathroom attached to our room, turn on the sink, and douse my face in cold water. It wakes me up enough to run a toothbrush through my teeth and scrape my hair into a ponytail. Back by my bed, I throw on clothes and my favorite sneakers and make my bed quickly - standard ISS protocol, always keep your sleep space tidy - before following Thalia out the door.

The cafeteria is bustling by the time we arrive, trainees already seated and feeding hungrily before classes start. I check the clock - three to five - and line up, grabbing a banana, a mini box of cereal, a glass of milk, and a couple of muffins to tide me over after. I shake Frosted Flakes into my mouth and down the milk in one shot.

"Someone's hungry." Percy slides his tray next to mine - blueberry muffin, blueberry pancakes, Froot Loops, and a glass of orange juice. He drizzles (dumps) syrup onto the pancakes and adds a hefty spoonful of cinnamon sugar. Remembering my dream last night, I scoot surreptitiously away from him and snort. "Speak for yourself."

He shoots me a half-grin and trails behind me as I find Thalia and plunk my breakfast down beside her. "Hey, sleepyhead," she smirks as I tear apart a muffin and down half of it. Chocolate chips… yum. Instead of answering, I shove my glass towards her. "Go get me some more milk, why don't you."

"Ha. Yeah right." Thalia balances a bite of egg on her fork. "Get your trainee to do it."

"Good idea," I approve. "Percy!"

He glances up from where he's busy picking out blue Froot Loops and stuffing them into his mouth. Weird. "No way, Anniebell."

Thalia snickers; I glare at both of them. Thalia just shrugs, used to my intimidating stares, but Percy actually looks a little frightened. Good. I stick my cup out at him. "Percy Jackson, so help me God, I will whap your ass in weapons training today if you do not go get me some more milk right now."

He rolls his eyes and mutters, "Like you could beat me," but gets up and does what I say.

I sit back and raise a triumphant eyebrow at Thalia. She just laughs.

"You so like him."

I stick out my tongue childishly and take a bite of my banana to keep from replying.

Weapons training.

I'm sweaty and struggling as I grapple with Nick, one of the best knife-wielders in the school. We're just using the practice knives, dulled so we can't draw blood too easily, but it's still a close fight. Nick, tall and lanky and muscled, towers over me, but we're evenly matched in terms of skill; I ram my elbow into his stomach and twist away from him while he grunts in pain. We circle warily.

He shakes black hair out of his face and focuses his blue eyes on me, tracking my every move. Nick might strike as quick and stealthy as a lion, but I prefer to be a falcon. Powerful, free, and dangerous on the hunt. I spread my wings and give him a slight smirk. Come and get me.

He's not stupid, but he is a boy, testosterone-fueled and adrenaline-pumped. He lunges at me, still controlled, but driven by a hint of impatience. I duck under his arm and catch his blade on the hilt of my own. He presses downward. I yield a little, letting all his strength surge towards his arms, and brace myself with my legs; at the last moment I drop suddenly and roll to the side.

Unbalanced by the move, he stumbles - impressive, how quick he regains his balance - but I'm on him already. I slam a hand onto his wrist right where it hurts, and he drops his knife; in the same second I kick the side of his knee so he collapses, fist his curly hair in my hand, and yank his head back sharply. A golden blade kisses his throat.

"I surrender," he says. When I release him, he stands, rubbing his wrist where I hit him. "Good job, Annabeth. You hit hard."

"Accurately, though." I throw him a smile. He shakes his head jokingly and picks up his knife. "Nice fight."

"You too." Nick walks off, his stride long and comfortable. I stick my own knife into my belt and run a hand through my sweaty hair.

"My turn."

Percy, who's been leaning casually against the wall this whole time, watching, steps up onto the mat. I cock my head and give him a slow once-over: he's wearing athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and his stance is relaxed and ready, leaning forward on the balls of his feet slightly, loose. I smirk. "Weapon of choice?"

He covers the distance to the weapons wall in three quick strides and scans it only briefly before lifting off a long practice sword. Old-fashioned, medieval, but very effective. Interesting.

I laugh, full-out, and spin my knife into my hand. I toss it up once into the air, just for show, and catch it deftly, fingers curling around the handle. My old friend. "Percy Jackson, it is so on."

Urgh. Not my best. Pretty much just a filler chapter, but I hope you liked it anyway! It's taking me a sec to get back into my normal writing mode.

Reviews are buttered popcorn,
jackala345