The Argo II was quiet at night. Not silent — it never truly was. The ship creaked softly as it drifted through the sky, bronze panels humming faintly with ancient magic. Far below, the world passed in dark patches of forest and sleeping cities.

But up on the deck, everything felt distant. Dim lanterns glowed along the railing. The mast ropes shifted gently in the wind. Most of the crew had already disappeared below deck. Not alone. Never alone.

Near the bow, Percy Jackson leaned against the railing with Annabeth Chase, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Every now and then Percy laughed softly, the sound warm and easy in the night air. Across the deck, Will Solace had fallen asleep with his head tipped against the wall of the infirmary doorway, someone beside him keeping him company in the gentle glow of Apollo-cabin lanternlight.

Even Coach Hedge had someone waiting for him somewhere out there in the world. Someone who loved him. Someone who chose him.

You had always wanted that. Not glory. Not quests. Not prophecies. Just love. Something simple and warm and steady. But somehow it never worked that way. When you finally found someone, it always slipped through your fingers. They’d change. They’d lie. They’d become someone colder than the person you thought you knew. Or they’d simply choose someone else. And every time it happened, something inside you cracked a little quieter than the last.

For a while, there had been Leo Valdez. Not romantically. Just… someone who understood. You’d sat with him on late nights in the engine room, talking about how weird it was that everyone else seemed to find someone so easily. You both joked about it. Two people floating in the same lonely orbit. You’d laughed together about how everyone they liked was already taken. How ridiculous it was. How unfair.. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like the only one.

Then he met Calypso. And suddenly Leo wasn’t orbiting alone anymore.

Now the deck was empty. Except for you. You sat on the wooden planks near the railing, knees drawn tightly to your chest. The sky above the Argo II stretched endlessly — thousands of stars burning quietly across the darkness. Beautiful. Cold. Your eyes stayed fixed on them like maybe one of them might answer something you didn’t know how to ask.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks. You didn’t wipe them away. They just kept falling, tracing warm paths across your face before disappearing into the fabric of your sleeves.

Somewhere below deck, someone laughed. The sound drifted upward through the ship. It hurt more than it should have. Because it wasn’t cruel laughter. It was happy. Real. The kind of happiness you had wanted for so long. You pressed your forehead lightly against your knees, shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet grief. The kind no one notices. The stars above continued to burn softly. Endless. Beautiful. And impossibly far away.. just like love.