You loved Jason, you really did. And you knew you didn’t stand a chance. Not when you were a child of Hecate—wrapped in shadows, secrets, and suspicion—while he was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood, all sunlight and stormlight. Jason Grace didn’t look at people like you. But gods, you looked at him.

So you did what you knew best.

You waited until the moon was high and the others were asleep, tucked beneath the safety of wards and celestial bronze. The campfire still flickered in the distance, its embers crackling like your nerves. You whispered the incantation with shaking hands, your fingers curling around a sprig of crushed rose, a sliver of his shirt tucked into your palm.

Just a little spell.

Just enough for him to look at you like he meant it. Enough for his eyes to soften when they met yours. Enough to feel something warm instead of the aching cold of rejection.

You finished the chant. Magic shimmered faintly in the air, almost invisible—but you felt it. You felt it take hold.

The next morning, Jason smiled at you.

Not the polite, half-curious smile he gave most campers. No—this one was real, soft and radiant, like sunlight breaking through morning fog. He asked to sit beside you at breakfast. Said your name like it meant something.

And you smiled back, like your heart wasn’t caving in.

Because he didn’t know.

Because he wasn’t choosing you. Not really.

But gods, for once, it felt like he did.

And if it was all built on lies and magic?

You told yourself it was harmless.

You just needed him to love you. That was all that mattered.