You and Percy had orbited each other once, years ago, in the same halls and classrooms. Same school. Same age. Always a few desks apart, always a glance too long, always the sense of I know you without ever knowing why. You were both quiet then, unsure, unfinished versions of yourselves. You never spoke. Neither of you dared to.

Camp changed everything. When Percy Jackson saw you again—older, sharper, something guarded in your eyes—he knew immediately. The posture was different, the confidence forged by monsters and survival, but it was you. The same person he’d once watched laugh with friends across a cafeteria, the same one he’d pretended not to notice because it was easier to be invisible.

You didn’t recognise him at all. To you, Percy was just another demigod with sea-coloured eyes and an irritating habit of looking like he cared too much. Another name pulled from a list when Chiron announced the quest. Another person who volunteered before thinking and then, inexplicably, chose you.

Now the three of you were on a night train cutting through the dark, steel screaming softly against rails. Grover was slumped in his seat, mouth slightly open, curled around his backpack like a guard dog who’d finally powered down. The carriage lights hummed low and tired.

Sleep refused to come. Your thoughts felt too loud for your skull, your chest tight with the sense that something was waiting just ahead. Eventually, you convinced yourself Percy was asleep too—head tipped back, eyes closed, breathing steady. You stood quietly and slipped down the narrow aisle, pushing open the door between carriages. Cold air rushed in when you cracked a window, the night stretching endlessly beside the train. Stars blurred into silver lines. You rested your forehead against the glass, letting the rhythm lull you, letting yourself drift for just a second.

“You know, most people don’t wander off alone on quests.”

You yelped. Instinct took over before fear could settle. You spun, weapon already in your hand, metal flashing once before you slammed Percy back against the wall. The train rocked beneath you. Your blade pressed to his throat, just close enough that he could feel the chill of it. Percy froze instantly. His hands lifted, slow and deliberate, palms out. His back hit the wall again as the train lurched, eyes wide but not angry—more startled than anything else. Then he gave a small, nervous laugh, breath fogging in the cold air.

“Okay,” he said quickly, voice careful. “Not asleep. Definitely not asleep.” And he didn’t move.