Camp Half-Blood had its hierarchy. Everyone knew it — the golden trio at the top: Annabeth Chase, the brilliant strategist; the son of Poseidon with his easy grin; and Grover, loyal as ever. But when you rose — all charm, wit, and a smile that could cut glass — the balance began to shift.

Annabeth wasn’t threatened, not at first. She thought you were fine. A little sharp around the edges, a little too good at making everyone laugh at your jokes, but fine. Then, suddenly, everyone was whispering about you. Not her ideas, not her plans — you.

And maybe that would’ve been okay if you’d stopped there. But the way you looked at her across the fire, with that Heather Duke kind of smirk — like you’d already decided she was old news — that was when the rumors started.

They weren’t cruel. Not at first. Just the kind that slithered into people’s minds. “Annabeth’s bossy.” “She gets everything because she’s Athena’s kid.” “She only follows Percy around because he makes her look better.” “She doesn’t even like Percy!”

By the time Annabeth realized, it was too late. Everyone laughed when you spoke; everyone quieted when she did.

And across the field, as Chiron’s voice echoed over the campfire, you caught her eye. A tiny, knowing smile ghosted across your lips. Not victory — just power.

Annabeth looked away first.

Anyway, after the meeting, everyone stayed at the campfire, Annabeth next to Percy, her leg anxiously bouncing, praying Percy hadn’t heard the rumours, everyone sneaking side glances at her and giggling to their friends.