NICO DI ANGELO

The Argo II creaked softly beneath the weight of the ocean wind.

It was late enough that the deck should have been empty. The stars hung cold overhead, swallowed every few seconds by dark clouds drifting across the sky, and the sea below looked black enough to disappear into forever. Most nights, the ship felt alive — loud in small ways. Pipes humming. Metal groaning. The occasional burst of laughter from below deck.

Tonight, it felt strained.

Like the entire ship was holding its breath.

Nico sat near the stern alone, one boot propped against the railing, dark hoodie pulled over his head despite the humid air. His posture looked loose at first glance, almost lazy, but the longer anyone looked at him, the more obvious the tension became. It sat in his shoulders. His jaw. The way one hand remained curled tightly inside the sleeve of his jacket.

He stared at the ocean like it had personally offended him.

The bruising around his throat had faded days ago, but it hadn’t disappeared entirely. Neither had the hollowness underneath his eyes.

The jar had changed something.

Not physically — not in any obvious way. Nico still moved with the same silent ease, still appeared out of shadows without warning, still carried himself with that detached, distant sort of sharpness that kept people from getting too close.

But there was something worse now.

Something quieter.

Like part of him had stayed trapped in there.

The others noticed it.

And they were afraid of it.

No one said it directly, of course. Demigods were good at pretending. Good at swallowing ugly things down and dressing them up as caution or logic or concern. But fear had a way of leaking through anyway.

A pause that lasted too long when Nico entered a room.

A flinch when shadows moved strangely around him.

The way conversations lowered whenever he walked by.

The way people watched him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

As if surviving the jar had turned him into something less human.

Or maybe something too close to death for comfort.

You noticed it most during meals.

The others still spoke to him, still included him in plans, but carefully. Like handling a blade they thought might cut them if they held it wrong.

Jason tried the hardest not to show it, which almost made it worse.

Percy overcompensated with forced normalcy that cracked too quickly whenever Nico’s powers surfaced unexpectedly.

Leo joked less around him now.

Frank looked uncomfortable whenever Nico shadow-traveled.

Hazel watched everyone else like she wanted to defend him but didn’t know how without making it obvious.

Even Annabeth, rational and composed Annabeth, studied him sometimes with the cautious focus people reserved for dangerous things.

And Nico noticed every single second of it.

That was the worst part.

People always underestimated how observant lonely people became.

You could see it tonight in the way he stayed near the edge of the ship instead of inside with everyone else. The way he angled himself toward the ocean rather than the doorway behind him. Like he already expected distance before anyone had to ask for it.

Voices drifted faintly from below deck.

Then footsteps.

Two people climbing the stairs.

Nico didn’t turn around.

“...I’m just saying it’s weird,” a voice muttered quietly.

Leo.

“You saw what happened in Croatia.”

Another voice answered lower, sharper.

“Keep your voice down.”

Jason.

“I am keeping my voice down.”

“You’re still talking about him like he can’t hear you.”

Silence.

Then quieter:

“You weren’t there when he snapped at Bryce. The shadows literally moved.”

“He was upset.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing.”

Leo exhaled heavily. “You seriously don’t think he’s different now?”

The words settled into the cold night air.

Nico didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

That almost made it harder to listen to.

Jason spoke after a long pause. “Everyone’s different after Tartarus.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

Another silence.

You could hear the ship groaning softly beneath the waves.

Then Leo again, voice smaller now. Guilty.

“I just... every time he looks at me lately, it feels like he’s already halfway dead.”

The footsteps stopped.

Neither of them had noticed you nearby yet. Neither of them realized Nico absolutely had heard every word.

Because Nico slowly lowered his gaze toward his hands.

And smiled.

It wasn’t a real smile.

That was the problem.

It was the kind of expression people learned when disappointment stopped surprising them.

Small.

Crooked.

Empty.

“Oh,” he said quietly to the ocean, voice almost lost beneath the wind. “There it is.”

Jason went rigid.

“Nico—”

“It’s fine.”

His tone stayed calm. Too calm.

That brittle sort of calm people used right before something inside them collapsed.

Nico finally looked over his shoulder, dark eyes unreadable beneath the hood. “Seriously. You don’t have to do the whole awkward guilt thing.”

“No one’s scared of you,” Jason said immediately.

Nico actually laughed at that.

A soft sound. Brief.

Humorless.

“Please.”

The word hit harder than yelling would have.

Because Nico sounded tired.

Not angry.

Not offended.

Just exhausted.

Like this conversation had happened too many times in too many different forms.

“You hesitate every time I shadow-travel,” he said quietly. “Half the time somebody reaches for a weapon before realizing it’s me appearing behind them. People stop talking when I walk into rooms.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Leo. “And you looked relieved when I was unconscious after the jar because at least then I wasn’t doing anything ‘weird.’”

Leo looked sick.

“Nico, I didn’t—”

“I know.” Nico shrugged lightly. “That’s the funny part.”

He turned back toward the sea before anyone could answer.

The wind pushed strands of black hair across his face.

“You’re all trying so hard not to treat me like a monster that you don’t realize you already do.”

The words landed heavily.

No one spoke.

Because there wasn’t really a defense against the truth.

Not when they had hesitated.

Not when the memory still existed — sharp and ugly.

The giant holding the jar.

The screaming.

The arguments.

The few fatal seconds where fear had outweighed action.

Because breaking the jar meant releasing whatever was inside it.

And for one horrible moment, some of them had been afraid of what Nico might become if they let him out.

Even now, no one liked remembering that hesitation.

Nico remembered it perfectly.

Of course he did.

People like him always remembered.

“You know what the worst part was?” Nico asked softly.

Jason stepped forward carefully. “Nico—”

“The jar wasn’t the worst part.”

His voice stayed terrifyingly even.

“I’ve been in the Underworld. I know pain. I know fear.” His fingers tightened around the railing. “But hearing all of you arguing outside while I was trapped in there—”

He stopped abruptly.

The silence afterward felt raw.

“You heard us?” Leo whispered.

Nico smiled again without warmth.

“I heard everything.”

The ship suddenly felt too small.

Too quiet.

“You thought I might come out wrong,” Nico continued. “Dangerous. Unstable.” His gaze lowered toward the water. “Like maybe leaving me in there a little longer was safer.”

“No,” Jason said immediately.

But his voice lacked certainty.

And Nico noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You hesitated.”

That one sentence carried more hurt than rage ever could.

A shadow passed slowly across the deck.

Not intentional.

The darkness around Nico reacted to emotion the way storms reacted to pressure.

The temperature dropped sharply.

You saw Leo instinctively stiffen.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

Nico saw it too.

Something inside his expression dimmed.

There it is, again.

That invisible wall.

That recoil people did before they could stop themselves.

It happened so fast most people wouldn’t notice.

Nico always noticed.

For a second, he simply stared at Leo.

Then he looked away first.

Like he regretted expecting anything else.

“I should’ve stayed gone longer,” he muttered quietly.

Jason’s face tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

For the first time, emotion cracked through his voice.

Not anger.

Something worse.

Hurt so deep it sounded exhausted.

“You were all calmer without me here.”

“That isn’t true.”

Nico looked at him then, finally, and the expression on his face nearly hurt to witness.

Because underneath all the restraint, all the sarcasm, all the coldness—

He looked devastated.

“You know,” he said softly, “I spent years convincing myself I didn’t care what people thought of me.” His throat moved slightly. “Turns out that’s harder to believe when it’s people you actually trusted.”

No one answered.

The wind howled harder across the deck.

Below them, the sea crashed violently against the hull.

And Nico—who had survived ghosts and giants and loneliness sharp enough to hollow a person out from the inside—looked unbearably young for just a moment.

Not dangerous.

Not frightening.

Just tired.

Tired of being looked at like grief had turned him into something inhuman.

His eyes flickered briefly toward you then.

Only for a second.

But the tension in his shoulders loosened slightly at the sight of you standing there.

Not much.

Just enough to reveal how desperately he’d been bracing himself.

Then he looked away again almost immediately, like even that tiny moment of relief felt too vulnerable to let anyone witness for long.

“I’m going below,” he said quietly.

Jason moved instinctively. “Nico, wait.”

But Nico had already stepped backward into shadow.

Darkness folded around him silently.

Gone.

The cold lingered after.

No one moved for several seconds.

Leo stared hard at the floor, guilt written plainly across his face now.

Jason looked furious with himself.

And somewhere deep in the ship below, a door shut softly enough that most people probably wouldn’t hear it.

But you did.

The sound echoed through the silence like something final.