𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙆𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧 𝙄𝙄: 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙖•𝙻𝚞𝚔𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗✔

Adding the 'extra' in 'extraction'.

"Subject: Demigod (Name: Tuma Nkosi, Age: 12)" it began.

She skimmed further. "Location: Durban, South Africa. Objective: Secure Tuma, assess mental and physical health, transport to New Olympus."

The details were grim. Tuma's father, a mortal, was described as volatile and unpredictable, prone to violent outbursts. The boy had shown signs of his divine heritage—strange weather phenomena, talking to animals, the usual demigod puberty blues—but instead of understanding, his father had seen him as cursed. The last straw had been a manifestation of wild berries in their living room. Now, it was up to Y/n and her team to rescue him.

Of course, her first read-through hadn't been so smooth. She'd initially misread "volatile and unpredictable" as "volleyball and unpredictable," which had made her think Tuma's dad was some kind of aggressive beach sports enthusiast. And "strange weather phenomena" had looked like "strange feather bananas" on her first pass, which didn't make any sense unless you were really into weird fruit hybrids.

She glanced at the photograph of Tuma, a small boy with wide, frightened eyes and a face that looked too old for his years. It was the kind of picture that made you want to reach through the paper and hug the kid.

"Great," Y/n muttered under her breath, "just great."

Her fingers let slip the paper as she leaned forward and rubbed her face, feeling the small amount of skin tint on her face gather on her palms as a result. How was she supposed to deal with Avenger level missions with a mind that could barely take her past math class without the urge to bang her head between two books?

Jericho, the boy who had been sitting beside her with his golden bow behind him, placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Changed out of his casual clothes, the boy had instead put on a buttoned up white shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers, a soft golden belt with his quiver thrown over his shoulders. Attached to his belt was a flute and a small vile that had a shimmering clear fluid in it.

"You'll be fine y/n," He assured, his voice gentle. "You just need to follow your instincts and guide us. We trust you."

She wanted to bang her head on the table and say that's exactly what the problem was, instead she just nodded weakly and looked at Alex who was fidgeting with the compass attached to his wrists.
He too had changed out of his casual dress, now wearing a full green shirt with a black coat over it and a pair of khaki colored full length trousers. As always he was wearing the worn out red converse which reminded her of Luke, sending a pang of ache up her chest.

If he was here, he would've stopped her from jumping into such a dire situation half blindsided. He would've held her back, made her sit down and think about what she was doing before he did something as less as letting her leave the room.

Gods above, she missed Luke.

"Yeah, plus if you manage to fuck up we'll just blow everything up," Alex said with a big smile, making both Jericho and Y/n look at him with poker faces.

They looked at each other, no expression in their voices.

"Should I slap him or you?" Jericho asked simply.

***

Alex sat by the window of the car, grumbling as he rubbed his cheeks. "Was it necessary for both of you to slap me?" he mumbled at Y/n, who was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

"Yes," Jericho said simply from the passenger seat, not looking up from the map he was consulting.

The car hummed smoothly as it sped down the highway, surrounded by a convoy of similar vehicles. Y/n still couldn't believe she was behind the wheel. She was pretty sure she had never learned how to drive consciously, yet here she was, maneuvering the car with surprising skill. Maybe it was Thea's spirit guiding her, or perhaps she had picked up a few tricks from watching too many Fast & Furious movies.