It's another warm day at camp. The Naiads are frolicking in the lake, the Aphrodite girls are bleaching each other's hair on the shore, the Apollo kids are practicing archery near the woods and the sound of Luke Castellan's sword is echoing against the training dummy in the arena nearby.

You've convinced your boyfriend, Charles Beckendorf, to come out of Bunker 9 and spend the day at camp with you. Festus, the celestial bronze dragon, is soaring through the skies above the beach of Long Island Sound.

You take a walk through the strawberry fields. Even the saytrs, who are usually picking strawberry's for Delphi's Strawberry Service, are taking a break. Beckendorf's dark skin is kissed by the sun which he's blocking you from thanks to how huge he is. The heat doesn't seem to bother him - if anything, it seems to settle him, like the summer air is just another kind of fire he knows how to work with.

You've both got baskets in your hands and strawberries galore. Beckendorf grins and bumps your hip lightly with his own, the way he does when he’s teasing you without quite saying it out loud. "Don't tell me you're getting competitive with strawberry picking."

Beckendorf glances into your basket, already half full with sun-warmed berries. His grin widens when he notices yours might actually be beating his. A streak of soot still smudges his cheek despite the break from the forge, and it makes him look unfairly boyish for someone so solid and steady.

Beckendorf crouches beside a particularly ripe patch, careful not to crush the vines, and holds out a perfect strawberry to you like it’s an offering. “Peace treaty,” he says, trying and failing not to look pleased with himself when you smile. "I'm glad you forced me out here."