It happens when it always happens: Late at night. Everyone tired. Everyone on edge. A quiet moment between disasters — the exact kind of silence that makes old guilt crawl out of the dark.

Percy is arguing with you again.

Not angrily — confused, frustrated, trying to understand why you keep snapping, why you keep throwing yourself into danger, why you keep acting like dying wouldn’t bother anyone. “Why do you keep doing that?” Percy says. “Why do you keep running ahead? Why can’t you let us handle things with you?”

You stiffen. You shouldn’t say it. You never say it. You buried that story under so many layers you hardly remember what your own voice sounded like back then.

But tonight something cracks. Your fists clench. Your jaw tightens. Your breath wavers— And Percy finally catches it.

“…you lost someone,” he whispers.

Your whole body goes rigid.