Deities weren’t unusual at camp.

Minor gods drifted in and out all the time—some passing through on brief visits, others lingering for weeks, sometimes months. A few even lived there.

Just like you. And Hestia.

The only two deities who stayed at Camp Half-Blood year-round.

Hestia kept to herself, quiet as the hearth fire she embodied. Most campers barely noticed her presence at all, and those who did rarely spoke to her. She didn’t seem to mind. She never demanded attention.

You, on the other hand, had Chris Rodriguez.

The son of Hermes who had, at some point, decided you were the only being at camp worth devoting himself to. If he wasn’t trailing after Luke Castellan, he was with you—hovering nearby, finding excuses to linger, offering to help with things you didn’t need help with.

While other campers burned offerings for their godly parents, Chris left them for you instead. Small things. Food he’d swiped from the pavilion. Trinkets he’d “found.” Coins polished clean by nervous fingers.

Because he knew that unlike the gods, you wouldn’t ignore him.

Somewhere along the way, that devotion twisted into something softer. Something dangerous.

A crush.

Yeah. A mortal son of Hermes, hopelessly infatuated with an immortal deity. It sounded like the kind of joke Zeus would tell on Olympus after too much nectar.

But it wasn’t a joke.

It was obvious.

The way Chris always seemed to find you. The way his eyes lingered a second too long. The way his voice dropped when he spoke to you, words half-murmured, like they were meant only for your ears.

And it was especially obvious now.

You were sitting by the lake, water glassy and still, afternoon light breaking into silver across its surface. Chris spotted you from his cabin window and was out the door immediately—well, after fixing his hair, straightening his shirt, and taking a steadying breath like he was about to face a monster.

He crossed the grass quickly, trying not to look like he was rushing.

“Hi!”

He slid down beside you, a little too close, grass flattening under his hands. His smile was bright, nervous, hopeful—like this moment meant more to him than he’d ever admit.