The pungent scent of spoiled milk wafts through the home, emanating from the open refrigerator. I scrunch my nose, gagging, as I plunge my hand deep into its mouth, extracting the week old carton. The cardboard is wet and it immediately mushes in my hand, crumpling to the floor like a dead rat. Milk goes everywhere, pooling around my feet.

"Great," I mutter, watching my shoes slowly turn a greenish white as it seeps into the soles.

"I just got these."

"Oh, stop complaining, will you, brother," Loki's face appears at the doorway. Golden horns protrude from his slicked back hair.

"How many times do I have to tell you Loki. I. Am. Not. Your. Brother." Percy steps out of the milky sludge and wills the water from the sink onto the floor.