The door to the cabin slams behind you before you even touch it. Percy’s doing that thing where he closes it with a little too much force just so you know he’s annoyed, arms crossed, jaw tight, pacing too fast for someone who never gets tired.

You stand there in the middle of Cabin Three, surrounded by the smell of salt and damp wood, while Percy mutters under his breath like the whole ocean is irritating him. Chiron was sick of your constant arguing, he sent you both away.

“Can you stop walking for like—two seconds?” you say.

“No,” he snaps, not looking at you. “Because if I stop walking, I’m gonna say something stupid. And you’re gonna twist it. And then we’re gonna be in the same fight.”

“Oh, you’re the one who’s gonna say something stupid?” you shoot back. “That’s new. Usually you just don’t say anything at all.”

Percy stops. Freezes. Turns.

“That’s not fair.”

“You haven’t talked to me in two days, Percy.”

He scoffs — actually scoffs — like that’s the most ridiculous accusation in the world.

“That’s because you were mad at me!”

“I was mad at you because you left me behind on a mission—”

“It wasn’t a mission!” he yells. “It was a scout! A stupid little check-in! I didn’t think it was a big deal!”

“Well it was to me!”

“Oh my gods,” he drags a hand through his hair, pacing again, “this is exactly why I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty clear.”

“No—no, don’t do that,” he says sharply, spinning back toward you. “Don’t act like I don’t care. I care. I care too much. That’s the problem.”

“Then say something! Fix something! Take responsibility!”

He laughs without humor. “Oh. So I’m the villain now.”

“I never said villain.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He’s spiraling. And he knows it. But he can’t stop.