When Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson board the Princess Andromeda, they still don’t know.

It looks clean. Controlled. Almost welcoming. Too welcoming, maybe—but not enough to send them running. Not yet.

They move carefully through the wide halls, shoes muffled by carpet, weapons half-ready. Tyson’s eyes are wide with wonder. Annabeth’s already cataloguing exits. Percy keeps glancing around, uneasy but hopeful.

Then they see you. You’re standing near the railing of the main deck, sunlight catching on your armor—familiar, unmistakable. For a split second, the tension drains out of the air like someone opened a valve.

You were Camp Half-Blood’s best warrior once.

The one everyone trusted to hold the line. The one who always came back from quests bloodied but victorious. Your name used to mean safety. It used to mean we’ll be okay.

Percy’s breath catches. Relief hits him so hard it almost hurts. Annabeth’s eyes widen, disbelief giving way to excitement. Tyson lets out a happy sound, already stepping forward.

They don’t see the way the ship’s crew keeps their distance from you. They don’t notice the subtle deference in the way the air itself seems to wait.

They don’t know about Luke. They don’t know whose side you’re really on. All they see is you—alive, standing tall, exactly where they didn’t expect hope to be.

“Hey!” Percy calls, breaking into a run.

Annabeth is already beside him, smiling for the first time since boarding. Tyson follows, eager and trusting.

They rush toward you, excited, relieved—And completely unaware that the Princess Andromeda has already claimed them.