𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟸.𝟺

"Zella."

Zella looked up from the sun ray flowers that still sat on her dresser of her childhood home. It was as if they were just created yesterday. Bright, lovely, hot, beautiful.

Zella quickly wiped under her eyes and smiled up at her mom, "Yes, mama?"

"I told you to get rid of those, they only upset," her mother, Alina, waved off.

"I know, I know, but dad might get offended," Zella said again. They have this talk almost every day.

"And Jason, he is still missing I assume?"

Zella put the flowers down and nodded, "Yes. I—I have been looking but—"

"It's worthless," her mother cut off, glancing around her room. "Rumors say there is a son of Neptune here? New, eighteen, nineteen maybe?"

"Yeah, yeah. He got into the Fifth Cohort—"

"Figures."

Zella gave a tight smile, "He's a good fighter. They won the War Games. Got a quest from Mars personally, with Frank Zhang, who's a child of Mars."

"Not surprised," her mother sighed. "Seeing as he's a descendant from his father. What's the boys name?"

"Percy Jackson, I think." Her mother furrowed her eyebrows. "I–I know. I've heard rumors of him lately, I think. The name sounds familiar."

Her mother was silent for a moment. "Well, you best be off to the Senate meeting. Will you be staying here tonight?"

"Probably."

"Dinner?"

"Will Attie—Atticus," Zella quickly corrected, "be here? With August?"

"Yes, they get in tonight."

Atticus—or Attie as Zella calls him, was her little brother. August, was her step-dad. Now, she loves her mom and would do anything for her, but she can be a little...unwell. She's the complete opposite of August. August was kind, goofy, loud, but sweet. Her mother... she was stoic and cold. A solider, is the best way to describe her. She hadn't always been this way.

Her mom use to be soft, laughed and smiled with her. Showed her love instead of hiding it under lock and key. Sometimes she sees it was Attie, but it isn't often. It is often that she wishes Attie got the mom she had. The kind, soft, gentle woman, not the traumatized solider who has met Mors.

"I'll try to make it tonight, mama," Zella said softly.

Her mother nodded, pursing her lips in a thin line as she looked down at her. A flicker of worry found her. "Be wary of this son of...Neptune."

"I know, mama," Zella gave a tight smile.

Be wary, be wary. That's all her mother says, since she was maybe eight or nine.

Be wary.

Be wary.

Be wary.

The senate always looked like a high school lecture hall. A semicircle of tiered seats faced a dais with a podium and two chairs. The chairs were empty, but one had a small velvet package on the seat.

Zella sat with her nine fellow senators and Nico di Angelo—the "Pluto Ambassador" in the front row. The upper rows were filled with several dozen ghosts and a few older veterans from the city, all in formal togas.

Octavian, technically her nephew, stood in front with a knife and a Beanie Baby lion, just in case anyone needed to consult the god of cutesy collectibles. She has never been able to stand Octavian, the little asshole.