The camp clearing smelled of pine and damp earth, the sun filtering through the trees in scattered beams. Annabeth crouched near a stone marker, her dark braids swinging as she traced her fingers over carved symbols, muttering softly to herself. Her eyes—intense and calculating—lifted when she noticed you stepping into the clearing.

“Finally,” she said, voice quieter than usual, but firm, a flicker of relief in her expression. “I was starting to think you’d wander off before we figured this out.” She straightened, brushing leaves from her clothes, and a faint, almost shy smile appeared.