The sky has been wrong all day.

Thunder rolling without rain. Sunlight cutting through clouds at the wrong angles. The gods are clearly arguing about something again, and Camp Half-Blood has been herded into the pavilion like loose pieces on a game board. Everyone’s tense. Whispering. Watching the sky.

Then Apollo arrives. He steps into the pavilion like he owns the chaos—golden, calm, entirely too amused by the end-of-the-world vibes. He scans the room, spots you instantly, and smirks.

Behind him is Will. Apollo gestures forward, just a small flick of his hand, like he’s cueing a performance. Will freezes for half a second—then breaks into a run.

He dodges benches, nearly trips over a Hermes kid, and skids to a stop in front of you, breathless, eyes bright and a little wild.

He grabs your hands. “Come home with me,” he says, words tumbling out too fast. “Like—right now. Let’s just go. Forget this. We can—” He laughs nervously, shaking his head. “We can get married. I’m serious. Or not serious. I mean—kind of serious.”

The absurdity of it all—the thunder, the gods, Will Solace proposing marriage in the middle of a divine meltdown—hits you at once.

You giggle. And that’s all the encouragement he needs. He pulls you with him, laughing too, straight out of the pavilion and into the unstable weather. Wind tugs at your clothes, thunder cracking overhead like the sky is trying to interrupt.

You don’t slow down. From just outside the pavilion, Apollo watches the two of you go—hand in hand, unbothered by gods or storms or fate itself. He smiles. And the sky rumbles on.