You were an ex-traitor. Not by choice. Never by choice. You’d been cornered, threatened, forced into something you hadn’t understood until it was already done. They had taken someone you loved, hurt them until you had no choice but to agree. Everyone knew that. Chiron knew. The gods knew. Percy knew. Or at least—you thought he did.

They said you were forgiven. They acted like you were forgiven. So when you were sent on a quest with Percy and Annabeth, you took it as proof. A second chance. Normalcy. Trust.

Until everything went wrong. The kind of wrong that leaves you shaking, breath coming in broken pieces, vision blurring. You didn’t even realize you were crying until Percy pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, one hand gripping the back of your shirt like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You clung to him. For a moment, it felt safe.

Then pain bloomed—sudden, sharp, shocking. You gasped. Riptide had slid into your back, just enough. He winced as he pulls back, shrugging. “..sorry,” he said through his clenched teeth. “..but I can’t trust you.” he didn’t mean that apology.

that hurt worse than the blade. You looked past him—still stunned, still held up by sheer will—and that’s when you saw Annabeth.

Watching. Not shocked. Not angry. Smiling. Just a little. Like this had been inevitable. Like you should’ve known better than to believe forgiveness meant safety. And in that moment, you realized something terrible: They never stopped seeing you as a traitor. They just learned how to pretend better.