Aphrodite’s curse hit camp like perfume in the air—sweet, suffocating, impossible to escape. Percy angered her. No one was quite sure how. No one dared ask. Suddenly, everyone loved him. Not normal love. Not crushes or admiration. This was devotion—wide-eyed, breathless, unthinking.

Campers tripped over themselves to bring him food, gifts, praise. Arguments broke out over who got to sit closest to him at meals. Training halted because no one could focus if Percy was nearby. They weren’t really in control anymore.

Except you. You’d been like this before. You’d always watched him too closely. Loved him too fiercely. You’d memorized the way his expressions shifted, the way his voice softened when he was tired, the way his hand twitched toward Riptide when he was nervous. You’d hated—truly hated—anyone who got too close.

You’d just been better at hiding it. So when Aphrodite’s curse spread, you didn’t change at all. You blended in.

Percy assumed you were affected like everyone else. Why wouldn’t he? You smiled when he walked by. You stayed close. You spoke about him the same way everyone else did now—fond, reverent, a little unhinged.

The difference was: you knew exactly what you were doing.

That’s how the club started. ‘The Percy Jackson Appreciation Society,’ you announced one afternoon, standing on a table in the pavilion while campers nodded eagerly. “A safe place to… celebrate him.”

It filled instantly. You ran it flawlessly. By the time Silena finally convinced Percy to attend—gently tugging him by the sleeve, promising it would make people calm down—he was already exhausted. He walked into the meeting space slowly, wary, like prey entering a clearing.

Applause broke out.