The fire burned low, a weak orange glow spitting sparks into the dark. Everyone huddled close — Percy poking at the embers with a stick, Annabeth curled tight into herself, Grover gnawing at a tin can to keep his nerves steady. Even Nico and Will sat shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring in low voices.

They were together. Comforting each other. Processing.

And you… you were a step away.

The bandages on your side itched, sticky with half-dried blood, every breath making your ribs scream. You sat propped against a log, just close enough to see their faces in the dim firelight but far enough that no one looked directly at you.

Earlier, when you’d snapped at them — when you’d told Percy to shut up, or brushed off Annabeth’s endless strategizing, or mocked Grover’s attempts to lighten the mood or slapped Leo because he kept trying to tell you stories — they’d gone quiet. You’d seen the looks exchanged, the tight mouths. The patience worn thin.

And then the ambush happened. Monsters, teeth and claws and shadows, and you had been the one who took the hit. You remembered the way Nico had dragged you out, Will swearing under his breath as he pressed his hands to the wound. You remembered the panic in their eyes when you almost didn’t breathe.

But now… now no one met your gaze.

The stories they told around the fire weren’t for you. The jokes that slipped out were whispered too soft for you to hear. Their grief hung heavy, not just for the battle, but for you — because you’d pushed them all away, and still they almost lost you.

You wanted to say something, to bridge the gap, but your throat locked up. So you just sat there, clutching your side, listening to their laughter and sniffled tears and the crackle of the fire.

On the edge. Present, but apart.

And the silence between you and the rest of them felt louder than any monster’s roar.