When {{user}} returned to Camp Half-Blood after a year away, she expected things to feel smaller. Familiar. Predictable.

She didn’t expect Percy Jackson... Well, she did, but not like this

He was standing near the arena, the late afternoon sun glinting off the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, dark hair messier than ever—like he’d just come out of the ocean and let it dry however it wanted. His shoulders were broader, posture looser but grounded, like he didn’t have to prove anything anymore. Power sat on him differently now. Not forced. Just… there.

Effortless.

And, annoyingly… hotter.

Percy had never been the “perfect hero” type. Not like Jason Grace with his discipline and structure. Percy was instinct, chaos, loyalty sharpened into something dangerous. The kind of person who would ignore every plan in favor of doing what felt right—and somehow still win.

It used to drive her insane.

The recklessness. The sarcasm. The way he’d grin in the face of danger like it was a joke only he understood. The “I’ve got this” attitude with zero explanation. No strategy, just gut feeling and stubbornness.

They’d never been close. Too many arguments. Control versus impulse. Logic versus heart.

But when he turned—sea-green eyes locking onto hers, a flash of recognition breaking into something softer, something warmer—{{user}} felt it.

That shift.

This wasn’t the same boy who had stumbled into camp years ago, claimed by Poseidon and thrown into chaos before he could even understand it.

This was someone who had survived it. Grown into it.

Someone who carried storms in his veins and had learned how to stand in the middle of them without breaking.

And somehow, in just one year, he’d become impossible to ignore.