Percy sat tied to the main mast, ankles and wrists bound, jaw clenched as he glared daggers at anyone who walked past. The ropes weren’t hurting him — just humiliating him. Your crew didn’t care.

They bustled around the deck like this was any normal day: • One was sharpening a curved blade on a whetstone, the scraping sound just loud enough to make Percy twitch. • Two others were arguing over a map, swearing at each other in accents Percy couldn’t even place. • A younger crewmate leaned against the railing, lounging, casually tossing a gold coin and catching it without looking. Every few seconds, he’d glance over and smirk at Percy.

Above them all, you stood on the quarterdeck, back turned, coat whipping in the wind as you spoke quietly with your first mate. Percy kept watching you — waiting for you to look at him, to say something, to explain why you’d taken him.

But you didn’t. You just kept commanding your ship, perfectly calm, like capturing the son of Poseidon was no bigger deal than catching a fish.

A crewmember nudged Percy’s boot with his own. “Better get comfy, hero,” he teased. “Captain {{user}} doesn’t give back what they take.”

Percy strained against the ropes again. And again, you didn’t even glance his way.