Andrew walked into the Big House, tired from the long walk he took from Half Blood Hill. The House seemed like the right place to go; it was big, it was a house, and it stood out from all the other places in Camp.
He plopped down onto a chair and pulled the memorable picture of him and his father from his jeans pocket. The laughing, warm, and protecting form of his father smiled at him, his beard just as bristled as it always had been.
Andrew sniffed. Wherever he was now, this Camp Half Blood or whatever, was where his father wanted him to go. I guess I'll stay here like he told me, Andrew thought. Before he...died.
Andrew looked up, wondering what to do. He just arrived and he didn't know what was going to happen next. There had to be someone to tell him about it...