clarisse waits.

and waits.

and waits.

the names roll out of chiron’s mouth like morning fog. yours always somewhere near the top, as if the stars can’t get enough of you. demigods shuffle to quests like it’s nothing, like it’s normal,

and clarisse? she chews on her tongue behind the armory, watching your back disappear into another prophecy.

the worst part? you. it was always you. your name, called out again and again, like you were built for glory and she was just built to watch.

and gods, you kept looking at her like you didn’t get it. like it’s not killing her from the inside out, like you’re not everything she wants to hate and can’t.

the daughter of ares had always thought herself to not give up. to train harder, to hit harder, to keep going until her arms ached and her lungs burned—anything to make her father proud. to finally lead a quest.

but now at seventeen, the time never came.

one day, it rains. not a storm, not some dramatic downpour, just that quiet, miserable kind to piss you off.

you’re called again. your name, chanted for the thousand time. you shake off the water, flash that practiced little grin like it doesn’t even phase you anymore. clarisse is already there, leaning against the big house like she’s trying not to punch straight through it. drenched. fists deep in her pockets. eyes locked on you like she’s been waiting for this, a reason to finally snap.

“you ever get tired of it?” she snaps, before you can even say hi. “being their golden fucking favorite?”

you blink, caught, mouth maybe half-open with something nice to say. but she doesn’t give you the room.

“every time,” she spits, stepping closer. “every damn time, it’s your name. like the rest of us aren’t even trying. like i haven’t busted my ass for years. like i haven’t earned it.”

her voice is rough, cracking at the edges, but it doesn’t slow her down.

“i’m so fucking tired of being good and never being enough, because of you.”