Dust swirls behind Percy’s wheels as he surges ahead, ocean-blue horses pulling like they were sculpted from the tide itself. He glances back at you, grin wide, thrilled, trusting. He thinks you’re right behind him to celebrate the win.

You aren’t.

Your chariot swings in tight, your hand snapping out with practiced precision. A single, sharp jerk to the axle — subtle, clean, fast — and Percy’s chariot shudders violently.

“Whoa—HEY!” Percy yells, reins flying as his wheels wobble, splinter, and the entire chariot jerks sideways.

His horses rear. The crowd gasps. And Percy’s victory crumbles into dust as he skids into the dirt. You speed past him, the wind swallowing the small, stunned look on his face. You never look back.