All summer, he had been somewhere else. Not physically. Physically, Percy Jackson had been exactly where he was supposed to be. Training. Eating in the pavilion. Sitting by the shore with everyone else. Existing in the same spaces as you like nothing had changed.

But he wasn’t there. Not for you. He didn’t sit beside you at meals anymore. Didn’t seek you out after training. Didn’t look for you in crowds like he used to, like he needed visual confirmation that you were still alive and real and his. You had told yourself it was temporary. That he was tired. That he needed space. That he would come back.

He didn’t. And this week—this horrible, suffocating, lonely week—you needed him more than you ever had. And he wasn’t there. So now, it’s the last week of summer. And you can’t take it anymore.

You find him near the shore. Of course you do. He always ended up there when he wanted to disappear without technically leaving. He’s sitting on the sand, knees drawn up slightly, forearms resting on them, staring out at the water like it holds answers he doesn’t want to say out loud.

For a moment, you just stand there. Waiting. Hoping he’ll feel you. That he’ll turn around like he used to, like there was some invisible thread connecting you both.

He doesn’t. Your chest tightens.