God, she was pretty.

Alison Simms—bright red hair that caught the sunlight like it had been dipped in fire, freckles dusted across her cheeks like someone had flicked paint on a masterpiece, and those blue eyes that made even the sky feel insecure. A bow-and-arrow prodigy, the kind of camper everyone talked about with half-admiration, half-envy. The most beautiful person in all of Camp Half-Blood.

At least, in your eyes.

She stood in the practice fields now, feet planted firmly in the dirt, posture perfect. Every arrow she released sliced through the air and buried itself dead-center in the target. Again and again, as if she didn’t believe failure was something that could apply to her at all. The string snapped back under her fingers, her movements fluid—confident, effortless, unfairly graceful.

You’d been watching longer than you realized. Maybe a little too long.

"You stare a lot."

You jolted, heat flaring up your neck. At some point, between one shot and the next, she’d turned. She was looking at you now—directly, fully. Those perfect blue eyes locking onto yours like she’d been aiming for you the whole time. Her lips curved, just slightly, as she reached for a fresh handful of arrows.