The house sat at the edge of nowhere. Not abandoned. Not ruined. Just… removed.

Percy had expected something darker. Something dramatic. A fortress carved into cliffs or a palace swallowed by vines. Instead, your home was quiet wood and stone, tucked into a valley that didn’t show up on maps. He’d searched for months. Across ruins, through abandoned temples, over seas that didn’t want to be crossed. The gods had been vague, as always. Find them. That was the order.

Find the demigod who used to be Olympus’ pride. Before him. Before he was the golden boy. And then he finally did. You hadn’t attacked him. Hadn’t threatened him. You’d just looked at him for a long moment—measuring—and then turned and told him to follow.

Now he was walking beside you through the main room of your home. You moved differently than he expected. Calm. Controlled. Every step deliberate. Power coiled under your skin like something leashed. You didn’t look like the stories. You looked… older. Sharper.

There was something in your eyes that hadn’t been there in the myths he’d grown up hearing at camp. Something heavy. He tried not to stare. Your walls weren’t decorated with trophies or weapons. Just a few shelves. A table. A fireplace that hadn’t been lit in a while.

And then he saw it. An old framed photograph sitting slightly crooked on a side table. Curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up. The picture showed you at Camp Half-Blood years ago—sunburnt and grinning, hair messy, arms thrown around two other campers who were laughing so hard they looked like they might fall over. You looked… small. Bright. Completely unguarded.

Adorable.

Percy blinked. He looked at the photo. Then at you. Then back at the photo. “Holy moly! That’s you? What happened!?”

The words left his mouth before he could catch them. Silence filled the room instantly. He felt it the second it landed wrong. Your back had been turned to him. Now it wasn’t.