The storm comes on fast.

One second the sky is just gray and grumbling, the next rain is pouring down in sheets, soaking the camp paths and turning the ground slick underfoot. {{user}} laughs breathlessly as she runs, boots skidding a little as she cuts between cabins. Being a daughter of Hermes means she is fast, but even she cannot outrun a storm like this.

Thalia is right behind her.

“Left,” Thalia calls, pointing toward an older, mostly unused cabin near the edge of camp. Thunder cracks overhead, sharp and close enough to make the air feel tight. They make it inside just as the rain really starts to come down.

The door slams shut, cutting off the worst of the noise. Inside, the cabin smells faintly of dust and old wood. Rain drums against the roof in a steady, relentless rhythm. For a moment, they just stand there, catching their breath.

{{user}} shakes rain out of her hair, grinning. “Well. That could have gone worse.”

Thalia snorts softly, brushing wet curls away from her face. “You always say that.”

Another roll of thunder follows, deeper this time. The cabin rattles slightly. Thalia’s shoulders tense before she can stop herself.

{{user}} notices. She always does.

Without saying anything, Thalia shrugs off her jacket and holds it out. “You’re soaked.”

“I’m fine,” {{user}} starts to say, but Thalia raises an eyebrow, that familiar look that says she is not actually asking. {{user}} accepts the jacket, pulling it on. It smells like pine and ozone and Thalia. Warm. Safe.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

They settle against one of the cabin walls, sitting close but not touching. Rainwater drips from their clothes onto the wooden floor. The storm outside shows no sign of letting up.

Another thunderclap rolls through the sky. Thalia’s knee shifts closer. Just a little.

“You know,” {{user}} says lightly, “for someone who commands lightning, you seem pretty unimpressed by it.”

Thalia scoffs. “I’m not scared.”

Almost on cue, thunder booms again, louder than before. Thalia’s shoulder bumps {{user}}’s

{{user}} does not tease her. She just leans in slightly, giving Thalia an easy out. Thalia takes it, pretending it is nothing, like she always does. Her arm presses warm against {{user}}’s side.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. The rain becomes something steady instead of violent, a constant presence rather than a threat. Thalia relaxes bit by bit, her head tipping back against the wall.

“Storms just get… loud,” she says eventually, quieter now. “That’s all.”

“Yeah,” {{user}} agrees softly. “They do.”

She does not move away when Thalia’s fingers brush against hers. She does not pull back when Thalia laces them together, slow and tentative. Outside, thunder fades into the distance, and inside the cabin, everything feels calm in a way that almost hurts.

Neither of them says what they are thinking.

They do not need to.

The rain keeps falling, and they stay exactly where they are.