It's been demoralizing, silent work. Not that either of them are refusing to speak to each other—but everything said is strictly necessary for the job at hand.

Clarisse shouldn't be so pissed off about the fight at the docks still, given the circumstances, but she is. It's because Cedric never said anything about it after the fact. Even the most half-assed hey sorry I thought you were full of shit and threw you in the harbor would have at least let her cool off about it, but that never happened, and at this point the feeling has cooled and solidified to something darker and much harder to shed.

The light gusts out. Cedric turns, saying they should go.

Clarisse is about to turn, too, when something grabs onto her legs, pinching and inescapable. She makes a startled noise, higher pitched than normal for her, and stumbles as she tries to step away from the hands grabbing her. For a second she's reminded of the dead soldiers who sailed into the Sea of Monsters with her. But those guys certainly never grabbed her like this thing is doing—

"Fucking help me!" she snaps, kicking so hard she nearly loses one of her boots.