Chapter 2 – Homeward Storms
The days after the museum trip passed in a haze for Percy Jackson — a haze of confusion, anger, and disbelief.
For Ivar, they were confirmation. Confirmation that the storm he had felt gathering for years had finally broken, and the boy he had been watching — the boy with the same sea in his blood — was about to be pulled into a world he could not yet imagine.
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The Silence After Dodds
Everyone swore Mrs. Dodds had never existed.
To Percy, it was insanity. He remembered her sharp voice, her leathery wings, the clawed hands reaching for him in the museum gallery. He remembered the way her shriek had rattled the stone walls. He remembered the sword — the pen that wasn't a pen. He remembered dust blowing away like ashes in the wind.
But the other students only laughed when he mentioned her. Grover fidgeted, offering half-hearted reassurances. Even Mr. Brunner dismissed the subject with a cool authority Percy didn't dare question.
All except Ivar.
Ivar leaned against a pillar after class, arms folded, watching Percy with calm, storm-colored eyes. He said little, but his presence alone unsettled Percy. Like he knew more than he should. Like he'd seen this before.
"You saw her," Percy said one evening, cornering him in the empty hallway. His voice cracked with desperation. "Tell me I'm not insane."
Ivar's gaze locked onto his, unflinching. "You're not insane. You're marked."
"Marked?" Percy repeated. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Ivar said slowly, as if weighing every word, "that the storm has noticed you."
Percy shivered. He didn't understand. Not yet. But something in Ivar's tone told him the truth was bigger — and heavier — than anything he wanted to carry.
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The Headmaster's Office
The fallout was inevitable. Percy's grades slipped further. His temper flared more often. By the time he shoved Nancy Bobofit into the fountain, the school had enough.
The headmaster's office smelled of old books and chalk dust. Percy sat slouched in his chair, eyes burning with shame and anger. Grover hovered nervously by the door, clutching his backpack like a shield.
Ivar leaned against the window, silent as ever.
The headmaster cleared his throat. "Mr. Jackson, your… behavioral difficulties have left us no choice. You will not be returning to Yancy next year. You are… suspended, effective immediately."
Percy wanted to argue, to scream, to demand answers. But his throat locked. All he could do was glance sideways at Ivar, searching for some kind of anchor.
Ivar's face was unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something like pity.
Outside, Percy overheard Mr. Brunner murmuring to Grover — something about "time" and "keeping him safe." Percy strained to hear more, but Ivar shifted, blocking his view.
"Not everything is meant for your ears yet," Ivar said quietly.
"Yet?" Percy snapped. "What the hell does that mean?"
Ivar didn't answer. He only pushed open the office door, gesturing for Percy to leave. "It means your summer just got interesting."
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The Last Day at Yancy
Packing was quick. Too quick. Percy shoved books and clothes into his bag while Grover hovered, stammering half-excuses about how things would "make sense soon." Percy ignored him.
Ivar, as always, moved with unhurried calm, his bag already slung over his shoulder. He didn't have much. He never seemed to need much.
On the bus out of Yancy, Percy slumped against the window, bitterness twisting in his chest. Grover sat nervously beside him. Ivar leaned across the aisle, his eyes on the road, saying nothing.
"You're coming too, right?" Percy blurted suddenly.
Ivar tilted his head, studying him. "You think I'd let you walk alone?"
The words shouldn't have meant so much. But they did.
For the first time in days, Percy felt like maybe — just maybe — he wasn't completely lost.
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Back to New York
The city smelled like home and suffocation all at once. Summer heat pressed down like a weight, the air thick with car exhaust, hot pavement, and street vendors' grills. Percy had always thought New York was alive — too alive sometimes. But after Yancy, after Mrs. Dodds, it felt different. Louder. Wilder. More dangerous.
Sally Jackson was waiting in the apartment. Her smile was soft, her arms open, and Percy nearly collapsed into her embrace.
"Oh, my baby," she murmured, kissing his hair. "You're home."
For a moment, the storm inside Percy quieted.
Then Sally's eyes shifted past him — to Ivar.
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Sally and the Stranger
Ivar had hung back in the doorway, silent as ever. But Sally Jackson was no fool. She saw him at once, her gaze narrowing slightly. Not hostile — curious. Perceptive.
"And who are you?" she asked.
"A friend," Ivar said simply. His voice carried weight, steady and calm, the kind of tone that could end an argument before it began.
Percy blinked, glancing between them. He expected his mom to press harder, to demand answers. But to his surprise, she only studied Ivar a heartbeat longer, then nodded slowly.
"Any friend of Percy's is welcome here."
Percy frowned. "Wait, really? Just like that?"
Sally smiled faintly. "I know how to recognize people who can be trusted."
Ivar bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the truth behind her words.
Percy didn't understand it. But he would. One day.
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The Stench of Gabe
Of course, peace never lasted. Not with Gabe Ugliano in the apartment.
The moment Percy stepped inside, Gabe's voice drifted from the couch, slurred and sour. "Another stray? What is this, Sally, a boarding house?"
He reeked of smoke and cheap beer, his greasy shirt stained with pizza sauce. Cards lay scattered on the coffee table, coins from Sally's hard-earned tips stacked like trophies.
Percy bristled instantly. "Shut up, Gabe."
Gabe sat up, smirking. "Big words, little man. Careful, or I'll—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Ivar. The black-haired boy leaned casually against the wall, eyes cold as seawater in a storm. He didn't say a word. Didn't need to. The weight of his stare was enough to make Gabe falter, his smirk cracking.
Sally quickly stepped in. "Dinner's ready."
She ushered the boys into the kitchen, her voice tight. Percy muttered curses under his breath, but Ivar said nothing. His hand lingered near his sword, hidden under his jacket. His patience was thin, but his restraint held.
Gabe had no idea how close he was to being remembered in history only as the man who pushed the storm too far.
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Dinner
The kitchen smelled of Sally's blue chocolate chip cookies — her way of showing Percy love in a house filled with Gabe's stench. Percy devoured them, muttering complaints about Yancy between bites.
Sally listened patiently, her hand brushing Percy's hair every so often, her eyes soft. But she also watched Ivar.
"You don't eat much," she remarked when he picked at his food.
"I've eaten worse," Ivar said, a faint ghost of humor tugging his lips.
Sally tilted her head. She didn't press. But she filed it away. She always did.
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The Montauk Revelation
Later that night, when Gabe stumbled into the bedroom, Sally gathered Percy in the kitchen. Ivar sat silently nearby, sharpening his short sword with careful strokes.
"I've booked the cabin," she said softly. "Montauk. Just the three of us."
Percy's eyes lit up. "Really? No Gabe?"
Her smile was faint, tired but genuine. "No Gabe."
Percy cheered, throwing his arms around her. For the first time in weeks, he felt light.
Ivar said nothing, but his gaze flicked to the window where the faint smell of saltwater carried on the night air. Montauk wasn't just a trip. It was a crossing. A threshold. He knew the gods would not let Percy rest there.
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Nightfall
When Percy finally fell asleep in his room, curled under a blanket that smelled faintly of sea salt and safety, Ivar remained awake.
He sat by the window, staring at the skyline. Lightning flickered faintly over the Hudson. The storm was coming closer, its edges brushing the city like a warning.
He whispered thanks, as he always did.
Thanks for survival. Thanks for endurance. Thanks for another day walked.
And beneath it, though he would never admit it aloud, thanks for the boy sleeping in the next room — because storms, even perfect storms, were easier when you didn't walk them alone.
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Closing Image
Sally Jackson lay awake too, staring at the ceiling, her mind restless. She didn't know who Ivar really was. She didn't know why he had appeared at her son's side.
But she had seen enough in her life to recognize one thing: storms had a way of finding her boy.
And now, a storm had walked into her home.
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✨ That's the rewritten Chapter 2 – Homeward Storms at full depth, 1500 words in pacing, emotion, and atmosphere.
Do you want me to continue with Chapter 3 at Montauk (the bus attack leading into the Minotaur fight), or would you like me to add an expanded scene of Ivar and Sally alone — where she tries to read him and he subtly admits he's more than just a friend to Percy?