The rain made everything worse. It drummed against the mouth of the cave in a steady, unforgiving rhythm, cold water sliding down the rock like it was trying to seep into your bones. Outside, the storm blurred the forest into a grey mess—no visibility, no chance of moving on. Inside, the cave was cramped, damp, and echoing with everything neither of you wanted to say.

Of course it had to be Percy. Of course the gods had a sense of humor cruel enough to pair you with your ex.

You’d loved him once—deeply, stupidly, the kind of love that rewires you and never fully lets go. You still did, if you were being honest. Percy, on the other hand, looked at you now like you were a problem he’d already solved and didn’t want to revisit. He loved Annabeth. That was obvious in the way her name still lingered in the air even when she wasn’t there.

The silence between you was heavy, charged. Not comfortable. Not neutral. Every movement echoed too loudly. Every accidental glance felt like a mistake. Percy stood near the cave wall, arms crossed, jaw tight, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the stone floor. He didn’t look at you unless he absolutely had to. When he did, it was quick—guarded. Like he was afraid of what might surface if he stared too long.

You sat farther back, knees pulled to your chest, cloak damp and useless. You could feel the cold creeping in, but you didn’t move closer. You’d learned that lesson already. Neither of you mentioned the past. Neither of you mentioned Annabeth. Neither of you mentioned the fact that once, caves and storms and being stuck together would’ve meant whispered jokes, shared warmth, his shoulder against yours.

Now? Now the rain just kept falling. And the cave kept you trapped together—two people who had loved each other once, pretending the storm outside was the only thing making it hard to breathe.