The three of them pick their way through the forest, branches snapping underfoot. Grover keeps flicking his ears around nervously. Annabeth is hugging her dagger like something’s breathing down her neck.

Percy keeps slowing down, turning, frowning. He doesn’t see you. But he feels you. A chill along his spine. A whisper of movement behind the trees. The sensation of someone brushing the back of his shirt whenever he stops.

They’ve been lost for hours. And the deeper they go, the stronger your presence gets.

Grover stumbles suddenly. “S-something is following us.”

Annabeth grips Percy’s arm. “I know.”

Percy exhales, trying to sound braver than he is.

“Alright,” he says, looking into the dark like he’s talking to it instead of his friends. “If we’re gonna be stalked by a ghost in the woods… we might as well set the mood.” He clears his throat. “I’ve got a story.”

Grover groans. Annabeth winces. The wind behind them shifts—your form moving just out of sight. And Percy starts the tale.