It was one of those rare quiet nights at Camp Half-Blood. No training, no monsters, no prophecies — just the hum of the forest, the calm ripple of the lake, and the moonlight that seemed to know all your secrets.

You were always the calm one — stoic, distant, a mystery wrapped in silence. Some said it was because of your divine parent, others thought it was because you didn’t trust easily. The truth? You’d seen too much, too young.

But Percy Jackson — sea-green eyes, saltwater soul, and a heart too soft for his own good — couldn’t stop noticing you. How you sat by the lake with your knees drawn up, how your gaze stayed fixed on the reflection of the moon.

He told himself he was just keeping you company. But every time the wind brushed your hair across your face, he caught himself staring. And that line echoed in his mind —

“The beauty of her face was beyond my wildest dreams…”

The lake shimmered silver under the moonlight. The air was quiet, save for the soft lap of water against the shore. You were sitting on the bench by the lake — still, calm, a picture of serenity wrapped in quiet tension.

Percy sits beside you, not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your presence. He glances at you, trying to read the unreadable expression you always wear.