[ They both struggle in that respect. He can be persuasive when it calls for it but he ultimately doesn't believe that he's good when it comes down to comforting people or saying the right thing that will make things better. Sometimes there's nothing to say.

But as powerful as words can be, he's also learned that sometimes just being there for someone is enough. The feel of Annabeth's hand in his for example, is enough. ]

Kerri.

[ He draws in a shallow breath. The words are heavy, laden with the guilt of something that has haunted and festered for over a decade. Despite having rarely recounted this he finds the words easily as if it's something he's relived over and over again in his mind. Even if he has however, she might get the impression that there are plenty of details he's left out. Whether it's because they're too painful, or the memories are muddled and meld together is hard to say. Maybe it's both. ]

When I was young I was taken away from Kenari by my mother and father. They meant well. If they hadn't I would have died. But when they took me, I left my sister behind. [ Pain colours the edges of his voice. ] I don't know what happened to her. I still don't.