The ocean has always called to you—calm, constant, endless. A place where you could breathe, where the weight of prophecy and war couldn’t touch you. But even here, in the water, you’re not alone.

You hear footsteps on the dock. You don’t turn. You already know it’s him.

Percy exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath. “You planning on staying down there forever?” His voice is rough, strained. Tired.

You break the surface, blinking up at him. The moonlight catches the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

“You’d miss me too much,” you tease, but the words fall flat.

Percy huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He crouches at the edge of the dock, elbows resting on his knees. “You keep running off like this.” His voice lowers. “Like you’re trying to disappear.”

You glance away, fingers skimming the water’s surface. The silence between you stretches.

“I get it,” he says finally, softer this time. “I do.”

And you know he does. More than anyone, he understands the exhaustion, the weight of expectation, the ache of losing too much, too soon.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, slowly, Percy reaches out a hand. “Come back?”

It’s not a command. Not a plea. Just… him, offering what little comfort he has left.

You take his hand. The water drips between your fingers as he pulls you up, steady despite the way his own hands shake.

And for now, that’s enough.