Camp Half-Blood was buzzing like always—swords clashing in the arena, campers laughing near the lake, nymphs darting through the woods—but today, all eyes kept flicking toward the new guy.

He sat alone at the edge of the amphitheater, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unmoving. A kid of Ares, apparently, but he hadn’t said a word since he arrived. Not even when Chiron introduced him. Just that cold, quiet stare.

Percy glanced over from where he sat with Annabeth and Grover. “He hasn’t blinked in, like, ten minutes,” he muttered.

Grover shifted uncomfortably. “He gives off serious badger energy. You know, all quiet but probably bites.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just overwhelmed. Ares kids aren’t known for being chatty anyway. Give it time.”

But Percy kept watching. Something about the kid didn’t sit right—not in a dangerous way, exactly. More like… something coiled too tight. Percy knew that feeling. The kind that came from holding in more than anyone should.

“Chiron said to be patient,” Grover added quietly. “Said he’s been through some stuff.”

Percy nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like this kid might matter. Maybe not now. Maybe not yet. But something told him this quiet Ares camper had a storm inside—and Percy wanted to know what kind.