Winter had settled in, wrapping the world outside in a tattered blanket of white. The bone-chilling cold seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls of the cabin, creeping in like a thief in the night. Percy shivered, the icy air nipping at his skin as he cast a worried glance back at you, lying motionless on the bed.

His heart ached at the sight. You were cocooned in blankets, yet the shivers still danced along your body. He couldn’t help but smile at the soft, adorable sneeze that slipped from his lips, the sound only emphasizing the redness of his nose, which had become a beacon of his discomfort.

With a determined sigh, he draped yet another blanket over you, adding to the pile that had already grown to an impossible number—thirty, he counted, but the chill still seemed relentless.

Panic gnawed at his insides. Khione, the goddess of snow, had cursed you, freezing you in a state of limbo that left him feeling helpless. But did it really have to take this long to thaw? A month had passed like a heartbeat, and the argument hung heavy in the air—Will claimed you were starting to thaw, while Grover insisted you were only sinking deeper into the frost.

The war with Kronos had left its scar on him and Annabeth, and in the aftermath, he had returned to camp, expecting comfort. But instead, he found this haunting scene—you frozen in time, and him standing on the brink, desperate to find a way to bring you back.