The Argo II had survived monsters, storm spirits, mechanical malfunctions, and multiple near-death explosions — courtesy of Leo Valdez, genius, son of Hephaestus, and the biggest menace the Seven had ever adopted.

But now they had another problem. You.

Leo’s little sister.

You’d joined the quest because of a prophecy — one that mentioned you specifically, one that could save or destroy the world depending on how the Fates felt that week. Chiron hadn’t wanted to send you. Leo had tried to lock you in a supply closet to stop you. And Percy and Annabeth? They’d given up the moment you and Leo started bickering on deck. They were convinced the Argo II would either explode or sink by the end of the month.

But even chaos had its balance. And your balance came in the form of one man. Jason Grace.

Tall, broad-shouldered, carved-from-marble Jason Grace. Roman. Controlled. Responsible. A son of Jupiter with the tragic flaw of thinking everything was his problem. He was the opposite of Leo in every way.

Where Leo was fire, Jason was sky — steady, cold, impossibly high above everything else.

And gods, he intimidated you.

Not because he was scary — but because every time he spoke, your stomach flipped like an untrained pegasus and your heartbeat did that embarrassing little skip.

His voice did something to you. Low. Calm. Warm in a way he didn’t intend to be. A voice that could anchor you from a panic spiral or send you into one.

Leo hated that. He complained nonstop about the way you melted whenever Jason came near.

“Bro, you’re embarrassing me,” Leo would groan. “You’re drooling. Over Jason. Of all people. The dude’s basically a flying refrigerator.”

Whenever your nerves spiked — and they often did — you never went to your brother. You never went to Percy or Hazel or Piper. You went to Jason. And Jason, for reasons no one could explain, always went to you.

He shouldn’t have. He was the Roman praetor. Commanding, authoritative, untouchable.

But around you? He softened. Too much. You were opposites, but you fit.

Which explained why tonight, while everyone else had gone to sleep, Jason sat against the wall next to your bed, one hand brushing slow, absent circles on your arm as he coaxed your heartbeat down to something steady.

The room glowed with faint lantern light. The Argo II hummed gently beneath you. Your eyelids fluttered.

And Jason leaned closer, lowering his voice to that soft, honeyed tone you were embarrassingly obsessed with.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Easy, sweetheart.” You felt warmth spread through your chest, molten and helpless.

“Your breathing’s slowing,” he said lightly, thumb stroking your wrist. “Good girl. I knew you could do it.”

Leo would combust if he ever heard this. Like genuinely explode, as children of Hephaestus do. But right now it was just you and Jason.