You’d met a lot of new campers before, but none like him.

Percy Jackson — messy hair, half-smirk, whole storm. The kind of boy who looked like trouble before he even opened his mouth. And the worst part? Everyone loved him.

In the two days since he’d arrived, he’d accidentally flooded the canoe lake, beaten two Ares kids in sword practice (by tripping), and gotten a personal tour from Annabeth and Chiron. You’d worked your whole summer for that kind of attention.

You told yourself it didn’t bother you.

Except— it really did.

Every time you saw him, something in your chest buzzed, half irritation, half static. When he smiled, it made your jaw clench. When he talked, it made your brain short-circuit.

It wasn’t like— No. Definitely not that.

Just… loathing. Intense, heart-pounding, completely inexplicable loathing.