You’d been a traitor. Everyone knew now—but Percy knew first.

Because you told him. Because you always told him everything.

And he’d promised—promised—that he wouldn’t say a word.

But he did. He told Chiron. He told Annabeth. And in a single afternoon, you were dragged from Camp Half-Blood, exiled, hunted, humiliated, treated like a warning instead of a person.

You disappeared.

And now… Percy’s the one in a cage.

He sits in the corner of the cell, wrists chained, trying to look braver than he feels.

“My friends are gonna come for me,” he says, forcing confidence into his voice. “Annabeth’s already tracking me. Grover too. You won’t get far with this.”

You step into the torchlight, smiling like his fear is a gift.

“Your friends?” you echo softly. “Percy, they couldn’t even find me when I was screaming for help. What makes you think they’ll find you?”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve just run. Started over.”

“I did start over,” you say. “Right after you opened your mouth and told them everything I trusted you with.”

Percy’s eyes close. Guilt hits him like a wave.

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispers. “I thought they’d help.”

“They exiled me,” you remind him, quiet but sharp. “They made sure I had nothing left.”

Percy steps closer to the bars without meaning to. “Just… let me go. Please. We can fix this.”

No answer.

He grunts, desperately trying to escape now.