Percy hated you. Not the quiet kind of hatred that comes from misunderstanding—no, this was sharp, active, burning. The kind that sat in his chest and poisoned everything it touched. Whatever had happened between you, whatever words were said or choices made, it had turned love into something ugly.

You ran anyway. Not together. Not side by side like you used to. Just in the same direction, feet pounding against the earth as shouts echoed behind you. Rogue demigods ran after you—fast, trained, cruel—closed in with practiced ease.

You stumbled. It was small. Barely anything at all. Your foot caught, your balance went, and you hit the ground hard, palms scraping dirt. You looked up.

Percy had stopped. For one awful second, you thought—he’s coming back. Muscle memory. Old instinct. The boy who used to leap into hell without thinking.

But he didn’t move. He just stood there, chest heaving, jaw clenched, eyes locked on you with something like fury… and something worse beneath it.

Indifference. “Get up,” he snapped.

You tried. You really did. Your body didn’t listen. Hands grabbed you from behind. Rough. Unforgiving. You were hauled up only to be slammed back down, the breath knocked clean out of you.

Percy took a step back. Not toward you. Away.

You wanted to scream his name. Wanted to remind him of everything—everything you’d been to each other.

But the words never came. A rogue demigod shoved you hard, forcing you face-down into the dirt, a knee pressing between your shoulders, pinning you there. Your cheek burned against the ground.

Above you, boots shifted. Laughter murmured. And somewhere just out of reach—Percy turned away.