The woods were chaos. Shouts echoed between trees. Armor clanged. Someone had already fallen into the creek. The red team’s banner snapped somewhere to the east.

Capture the Flag at Camp Half-Blood was always dramatic. Especially when you were involved. You didn’t mean to be the distraction.

It just… happened. Child of Aphrodite. Camp’s unofficial heartbreaker. Effortlessly polished even with dirt on your cheek and war paint streaked under your eyes. People tripped over roots watching you run past.

Boys. Girls. Didn’t matter. Everyone looked. Everyone—except Percy Jackson. He sparred with you like you were just another opponent. He rolled his eyes when you flipped your hair. He didn’t stammer. Didn’t blush. Didn’t crumble.

It was offensive, honestly.

So tonight, you decided to fix that. You tracked him easily—footprints near the creek, broken branches, the faint scent of sea salt that always seemed to follow him. He was moving fast, focused, determined.

You cut him off before he realized it. One second he was sprinting through the trees, the next you stepped directly into his path. He barely avoided colliding with you. Before he could pivot away, you pressed forward, guiding him back until his shoulders hit the trunk of a tree.

The forest noise dulled around you. Your team’s banner fluttered from your belt. His sword was still in his hand—but lowered.

You stepped closer. Slowly. Close enough that he had to tilt his head slightly to keep eye contact. You smirked. Dirt streaked your jaw. Your hair was wild from running. You looked unfairly good.

“Well,” you said lightly, resting a hand against the tree beside his head, “this is convenient.”

Percy blinked at you. Not flustered. Not dazzled. Just… confused. Your smirk sharpened. This was going to be fun.