Poseidon walked beside Percy through camp like a quiet storm given human shape — calm on the surface, dangerous underneath. Percy had a million questions, but then his dad stopped. Completely.

Poseidon’s eyes locked on you, standing near the canoe lake, wind tugging at your clothes, hair drifting like it had its own current.

Percy blinked. “Uh… Dad? You okay?”

Poseidon’s jaw tightened — the same way the ocean does before a wave rises. “The Fates,” he said softly, “watch that one closer than most.”

Percy looked at you again — wondering what could make a god look nervous.

Poseidon added, under his breath: “And the wind… it follows them like a warning.”

Percy didn’t understand. But he felt the air shift around you — and suddenly wished he did.