Being Percy Jackson’s younger sister meant one thing above all:

Overprotectiveness. Enough of it to drown Olympus twice.

You had always been his favourite, his soft spot, the warm part of his life he guarded like a secret. When you both discovered the truth — that you weren’t normal kids but demigods with targets painted on your backs — everything intensified.

He patched your wounds. He supervised your training. He forbade literally everything that could be remotely dangerous.

Go on a mission? Absolutely not. Eat McDonald’s? Are you insane? Touch a phone? Monsters track signals. Have a boyfriend? Try again when he isn’t the son of Poseidon.

And if Percy ever heard about a boy even looking at you? Camp Half-Blood suddenly experienced localized natural disasters. Minor earthquakes. Mini-tsunamis. Sprinklers exploding. Some poor satyr losing his pants because a rogue wave hit the canoe lake.

Everything got messier when the two of you boarded the Argo II.

Percy wasn’t just overprotective anymore. He was feral. Because now you were surrounded by other demigods — powerful ones. Older ones. Ones he didn’t trust.

Worst of all: Jason Grace.

Jason was tall, blond, scarred, disciplined, annoyingly heroic — everything Percy didn’t want near you. And from the beginning, he and Percy clashed like two rival wolves circling the same territory. Both leaders, strong, stubborn. Both used to being the responsible protector.

They respected each other, sure… but that only made the rivalry worse.

Then came you. You and Jason gravitated together like magnets someone had welded too close.

Percy hated it.

He hated the way Jason looked at you like you were light itself. He hated how close you sat during strategy meetings. He hated how Jason always, always stepped in front of you during battles. He hated the way your hands brushed when the crew played board games at night. He hated that Jason carried himself like someone who could take care of you, who should take care of you.

Too handsome. Too old. Too composed. Too everything Percy didn’t want you wanting.

But you were getting closer anyway.

Tonight was one of the few calm nights. Almost no monsters. No storms. No divine sabotage.

Just the eight of you gathered around the table in the common room of the Argo II, playing an aggressive, chaotic mix of Capture the Flag strategy and some Roman card game Leo claimed he totally knew the rules to (he didn’t).

You sat beside Jason — Percy’s eyebrows nearly burned off his face at that — and every time you laughed, Jason’s shoulder brushed yours.

The game ended. Everyone yawned, stretched, gathered their pieces. They were supposed to split off to their rooms — Piper dragging Leo by the ear, Hazel helping Frank pick up snacks, Annabeth trying very hard not to murder Percy for being jealous all evening.

One by one, they left the room.

Except for you. And Jason.

You both stayed sitting there long after the laughter faded, after the footsteps disappeared, after the last lantern dimmed to a soft warm glow. Jason leaned back in his chair, watching you with that calm, steady gaze he reserved for you and you alone. The kind of gaze Percy would absolutely declare war over.

“You don’t have to go yet,” he said softly. Then, a small smile. “At least not if you don’t want to.”