Annabeth wasn’t sure why she even bothered looking anywhere else. When you weren’t in your cabin, training, or eating, there was only one place you’d be.

Sure enough, as she stepped onto the dock, she spotted you—feet dangling over the edge, water lapping at your ankles. Your head was tilted slightly upward, eyes on the horizon, but you were speaking softly, your words just barely carrying over the gentle waves.

Annabeth paused, arms crossed, watching. She’d seen you do this before—talking to the ocean as if it might answer back. Maybe, for you, it did.

“You know, you look a little crazy right now,” she teased, stepping closer.

You didn’t startle. Instead, you turned to her with an easy grin. “If I’m crazy, it’s hereditary.” You patted the dock beside you. “Come sit.”

Annabeth hesitated before lowering herself next to you, boots stopping just shy of the water’s edge. “Who were you talking to?”

You shrugged, gaze drifting back to the waves. “Just my dad. Not that he ever answers.” Your voice was light, but she could hear the underlying frustration.

Annabeth frowned. “Do you think he listens?”

You were quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I hope so.” You nudged her knee with yours, smirking slightly. “If not, I just spent twenty minutes ranting about how annoying you are to the void.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes but bumped your shoulder in return. “Glad to know I’m a topic of conversation.”

You chuckled, leaning back on your hands, eyes still on the endless blue before you. “Always.”