The Princess Andromeda cut through the night like a blade, its decks humming with monster footfalls and the low chant of Titan loyalists. Luke Castellan stood near the windows of his suite, hands clasped behind his back, watching the sea swallow moonlight.

Rhea Lynn stood beside him, silent, spear resting easily in her grip. Lightning etched faintly along the bronze shaft, answering to her blood. She didn’t look at Luke for approval anymore. She didn’t need to.

The door burst open.

A dracaena fighter shoved three figures inside—wet, bruised, but breathing. Percy staggered forward first, sea-green eyes flashing. Tyson loomed protectively behind him, chains clinking. Annabeth caught herself before falling, gray eyes already taking in the room, the banners of Kronos, the weapons, the distance between what was and what now stood before her.

Luke turned, surprise flickering into a careful smile. “Well,” he said softly. “Looks like the past followed us aboard.”

Rhea stepped forward. Her spear came up without hesitation, tip leveled at Percy’s chest. No tremor. No doubt.

Annabeth’s breath hitched. “Rhea…”

For a heartbeat, Rhea almost remembered sunlit training yards and shared laughter. Then she tightened her grip.

“Don’t,” Rhea said. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Percy glanced between Luke and Rhea. “You’re really doing this?”

Luke’s voice stayed calm. “Stand down. All of you. You don’t belong here.” Luke spoke, his voice harsh. Annabeth spoke. "He poisoned Thalia. You're seriously going to fight beside him?" She spoke coldly.

"What happened to loyalty?" She asked, her voice breaking.