Percy didn’t sleep. He waited until the ship was quiet again—until the creaking settled into something almost gentle, until the sea sounded normal, like it hadn’t just listened to your crew sentence him to death. Then he moved.

Annabeth was the first he found, sitting cross-legged near the charts, pretending to read while clearly not sleeping either. She looked up the moment he opened his mouth, already sensing something was wrong. “We’re not safe,” Percy said immediately. Too fast. Too blunt.

Frank joined them next, half-awake, A few of the others followed—quiet, cautious, hands already near weapons. The Heroes of Olympus gathered in a loose circle below deck, lantern light throwing nervous shadows across their faces.

Percy swallowed. “I heard them,” he said. “The crew. Last night. On deck.”

You weren’t there. That made it worse. Annabeth’s expression tightened. “Heard them say what?”

Percy ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, then stopping like if he moved too much he’d fall apart. “They’re not helping us. They’re letting us finish the quest and then—” His voice cracked, just slightly. “Then they’re going to kill us. Take it and run.”

Silence. Someone scoffed. Lightly. Nervously. “That’s a big accusation, Percy.”

“I know,” he snapped, then immediately softened, guilt flashing across his face. “I know how it sounds. But I heard it. I heard {{user}} say it. I heard them say my name.”

That landed harder.

Hazel’s heart drooped. “No. They wouldn’t. They’ve been— they’ve been nice. They shared food with us.”

“Exactly,” Percy said. “They’re waiting until we relax.”

Annabeth stepped closer to him now, searching his face—not for lies, but for cracks. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear?”

Percy shook his head. Once. Firm. “I wish I had.”

Jason crossed his arms. “So what? We just accuse them? Start a fight on their own ship?”

“No,” Percy said quickly. “That’s the point. We can’t. They don’t know I heard. And if they find out—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The realization settled over the group like a weight: smiling through breakfast, accepting help, trusting people who had already decided how they’d die.

Annabeth exhaled slowly. “So we pretend,” she said. “We act like nothing’s wrong.”

Piper looked sick. “And what about {{user}}?”

Percy hesitated. That hesitation said everything. “We don’t let them know,” he finally said. “Any of them. Not until we have a plan.”

The lantern flickered. Above them, the ship creaked—alive, watchful. And somewhere on deck, you were probably laughing with your crew, unaware that Percy Jackson had just told everyone the truth—and that from this moment on, every smile between you would be a lie.