Gotham's Demigods

Messages in the Smoke

Will sat cross-legged on the floor, their apartment eerily quiet, save for the scratching of Nico's pen against parchment.

Not paper.

Parchment.

The kind you had to soak in saltwater and dry under moonlight just to get it to carry divine messages.

Nico didn't speak, but Will knew the way his brow was furrowed, the way his shoulders hunched—it meant he was rattled. Not scared, exactly. Nico di Angelo didn't get scared. But he hated not knowing. And right now, they had more questions than answers.

"Are you sure this'll reach Chiron?" Will asked, gently breaking the silence.

Nico nodded without looking up. "Camp magic still works across planes, even in Gotham. It'll find him."

He finished the note with a sharp flourish and held the parchment over the small bowl they'd filled with burning incense and shadow essence. The smoke curled, almost intelligent, and wrapped around the message. With a soft fwoosh, the letter vanished, leaving the scent of myrrh and something older behind.

Will watched the smoke trail disappear. "Do you think he'll believe us?"

"He'd better," Nico muttered. "Someone got past every ward I put up—and my wards don't fail."

Will reached for the second sheet of parchment. "Want me to write Annabeth's?"

Nico nodded. "She'll want the details. Facts. Observations. Don't editorialize."

"I never editorialize," Will said, mock-offended.

"You footnoted the last letter with your theories on how Greek mist interacts with Gotham's smog."

"Okay, but that was science."

Nico gave him a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Will grinned and got to work.

He wrote slowly, carefully, every line filled with the same tension coiling in both of them.

Annabeth,

We need your brain.

Someone broke into our apartment without triggering magical wards or leaving physical evidence. They were precise—almost surgical. Nothing was stolen. But they looked at our notes. Touched specific pages. Whoever it was knew what to look for.

We've ruled out monsters. This was human, or something close. Possibly trained. Possibly connected to the League of Assassins—but it doesn't match their style.

Our working theory: Bat-adjacent. But we don't know which one. Gotham has a lot of capes and cowls.

Suggestions welcome.

Will (and Nico)

He finished and held it out.

Nico read it over and nodded. "Good. Send it."

Will lit the second bowl. This one had juniper berries and golden mist curled into the flame. The letter vanished into the smoke, gone with a whisper.

Now came the part Will hated most.

Waiting.

He stood and stretched, his arms stiff from crouching so long. "You think they'll reply fast?"

Nico shrugged, leaning against the wall and pulling his knees up to his chest. "Depends. If they're near a safe scrying point, maybe. Otherwise it could take a day. Maybe two."

"Great," Will muttered, and started pacing. "So in the meantime, we're just... sitting here while Batman's ninja sidekick maybe figures out our godly heritage?"

Nico looked up. "You're really stuck on this being Batman."

"Well, it's either that or someone better than Batman. And I don't want that to be true."

Nico didn't respond right away.

Then, voice low: "I think we're being hunted."

Will turned.

Nico's eyes were shadowed. "Not chased. Not attacked. Just... watched. Documented. We're a case file. A threat assessment."

Will felt a cold trickle down his spine. "That means they haven't decided what we are yet."

Nico nodded. "And that's the most dangerous part."

Will sat beside him, their shoulders touching lightly. "So what do we do?"

"We wait. We listen. And we don't give them a reason to decide we're dangerous."

There was a long silence.

Then Will said, "You think Chiron or Annabeth will figure it out?"

Nico didn't answer.

Because honestly?

He hoped so.

But deep down... something told him this was bigger than all of them.