You find him in the woods behind camp — lantern light flickering over the gold dust in the air, over the shape forming behind him, over the serpent-smooth voice whispering from the shadows. Kronos. Right there. Right in front of you. Luke turns when he hears your breath catch.

For a second his face softens — the face you trusted, the one you tried so hard to be like — and then it hardens again, cold metal sliding over something once warm. You stumble back. Your voice cracks before you can stop it.

“Why are you doing this..?” Your throat tightens, eyes burning. “I thought we were friends!”

Luke laughs — a soft, cruel exhale through his nose. “Oh, we were,” he says, flipping his dagger between his fingers like this is casual. “But Kronos offered me so much more than just tea parties.” He says tea parties like your loyalty was a joke. Like every hour you spent following him, admiring him, trusting him — meant nothing.

Luke tilts his head. “Surely you saw this coming..?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I didn’t.” You swallow, tears sliding despite your attempt to stay strong. “I really didn’t.”

Luke watches you cry the way he’d watch rain hit a window — distant, unmoved, already somewhere else in his mind. He steps closer, the shadows behind him shifting like they’re pleased. “You always were too good,” he says. “Too trusting.”

You flinch. He doesn’t care.