Clarisse stands there like she’s been dared to look surprised. Her jaw is tight, shoulders squared, eyes burning hotter than Ares’ forge as Tantalus announces her name.

Chosen. Her. For the Golden Fleece.

The entire camp sucks in a breath, waiting for her to smirk or brag or explode — and she does none of that. She just tilts her chin up, that dangerous little grin creeping in, the kind that says finally, someone recognizes what I already knew.

“About time,” she mutters under her breath.

But her hands? They’re clenched just a little too hard at her sides. Because even for Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares… this isn’t just a quest.

This is a challenge. A test. A chance to burn her name into camp history. And gods, she’s going to take it.