The forest is too quiet.

No monsters. No signals. Just the sound of boots against damp leaves—too careful to be accidental.

I stop before you notice me.

You step into a break in the trees, moonlight catching your face, and my mind betrays me instantly.

No.

My breath stutters.

For one impossible second, you’re standing exactly the way he used to—shoulders loose, chin lifted like you’re pretending not to be afraid. The same eyes. The same shape of a smile you haven’t earned yet.

You’re dead.

I watched you die.

My hand tightens around my weapon, not raised—just ready.

Enemy camper. Camp Half-Blood. Aphrodite.

That explains it. Illusions. Faces that lie.

Still… you don’t move when you spot me. No panic. No reach for a weapon. You just look at me like you were expecting this.

“…You shouldn’t be out here,” I say, voice low, rough around the edges. “This part of the forest isn’t safe.”

I take a step closer despite myself, eyes narrowing, searching for the flaw. The crack in the illusion. Something to prove you’re not—

Not him.

My jaw tightens.

“…Who taught you to wear a face like that?”

The question slips out before I can stop it.

I already know the answer.

You’re not my best friend. You’re not a ghost.

You’re something worse.

You’re alive—and standing on the wrong side.