It starts with you. The golden one. The star of the campfire singalongs, the one Chiron trusted to keep the younger kids in line, the camper everyone else wanted to either be or date.

And then you’re gone. A prank gone wrong—at least that’s what Percy told Annabeth it was meant to be. The nectar was supposed to just knock you off balance, humiliate you. Not… kill you.

But now there’s a body.

Annabeth is the one who sees the fallout before it hits. If anyone knows this was us, we’re finished. Heroes don’t kill their own. Percy, though—Percy just stares at your cabin, at the flowers piling up outside the door, and mutters, “They never deserved her.”

So Annabeth fixes it. She forges a note, makes it look like despair, like you couldn’t take the pressure anymore. Grover begs them to stop, but his voice is small against the roar of rumor that sweeps through camp.

And then it happens again. Another camper—this time one who mocked Annabeth last week. One who questioned Percy’s leadership. Another “tragic accident.” Another carefully placed note.

Soon, half the camp is whispering about a curse, about a wave of despair sweeping through the cabins. But Annabeth and Percy? They sit at the center, tighter and tighter together, hands bloodstained but clean in the eyes of everyone else.

Grover starts flinching at shadows, carrying the weight of too much silence. He knows it’s not a curse. He knows it’s them. But to speak it out loud would mean betraying his friends—and maybe putting himself next on the list.

And the worst part? Even as more campers fall, more “suicides” sweep the camp… Annabeth can’t tell if Percy’s still doing this for you, or if he’s started doing it for himself.

And right now, Annabeth, Percy and Grover sit at the lake, Grover shaking.