The sun was setting over Camp Half-Blood, washing the training arena in gold. Luke leaned casually against the wooden fence, his sword hanging at his side, blond hair catching the light like it was made for sunsets.

He caught your eye as you walked past, giving a little tilt of his head, half invitation, half challenge. “Sparring partner?” he asked, tone light, though his gaze stayed fixed on you in a way that felt heavier than the joke.

The arena was almost empty now, just the hum of cicadas and the clink of weapons being put away. Whether you joined him or not, Luke didn’t move, waiting, that mix of warmth and something sharper flickering beneath his calm.