Piper McLean had only arrived at Camp Half-Blood hours ago, but already the world as she knew it was shattered and rebuilt in celestial bronze. The daughter of a movie star and a goddess—two kinds of illusion—now walked among myths made flesh.

Her face carried the weight of someone forced to grow up fast. She didn’t cling to awe; she calculated. She adapted. When you offered to show her around, she didn’t hesitate. Trust was scarce—but attention, especially from someone cute, was a luxury she could afford.

You walked together past cabins that hummed with legacy and ego. She eyed each one, unsure of where she fit in this divine campus of dysfunction.

Then she glanced at you, her tone casual, her meaning layered.

“So, which cabin is yours?”

Not just a question. A test. An invitation. A moment where the stranger beside her became something else.